There's something romantic about the image of a lighthouse high on a cliff, casting its beam to guide sailors and protect ships from rough shorelines....moreThere's something romantic about the image of a lighthouse high on a cliff, casting its beam to guide sailors and protect ships from rough shorelines. However, the reality of keeping that light on was probably far more a matter of hard physical labor than romance, particularly before that lighthouse ran on electricity. Christina Schwarz's historical novel, The Edge of the Earth, explores that reality along the Big Sur coast of California in the early years of the 20th century, building up the drama between the two families who keep the Point Lucia lighthouse without downplaying the work involved in what they do.
Finding herself without steady employment for the first time in nearly two decades, and approaching 40 with the realization that she had no plan to re...moreFinding herself without steady employment for the first time in nearly two decades, and approaching 40 with the realization that she had no plan to realize her life-long plans for marriage and children, Dratch decides that it might just be the right time to have a personal life. She has no shortage of good friends, but hasn't been in a relationship for a while, and she's really never dated. (And once she makes a few attempts at it, she understands why.) Then, one night, she meets a guy in a bar. John lives in Northern California and is visiting New York City on business, but they hit it off well enough to embark on a bicoastal relationship that neither is in a hurry to define. Six months down the road, however, life defines it for them: parents-to-be. Rachel and John discover that unplanned pregnancies, and the life upheavals that accompany them, aren't just for teenagers.
Although she's not widely recognized for it, Janis Ian was a pioneer--as a musician, as an admitted and acknowledged lesbian, and a...more(read as audiobook)
Although she's not widely recognized for it, Janis Ian was a pioneer--as a musician, as an admitted and acknowledged lesbian, and as an independent artist making use of the Internet to connect with fans and market her work. All of that gives her story continued relevance. And the personal tragicomedy of it--the romantic drama, the associates who proved untrustworthy, the vindictive IRS agent who pursued her for years over back taxes--makes it fascinating reading.
I found that I needed to remind myself of the distinctions between autobiography and memoir more than once while listening to Society's Child While it may take off on tangents, memoir usually is structured around a central theme that drives its narrative; autobiography is less organized, and therefore, more like the life it portrays. That quality caused me to have trouble with Ian's chronology at times, and I needed to remember that while a story has to be told in some sort of sequence, some the events in that story may be occurring concurrently...and I just didn't need to fixate so much on what happened when and in relation to what else. That ended up not being so difficult after all, though, because Janis Ian drew me into her story beautifully.
In The Baker’s Daughter, Sarah McCoy covers an impressive amount of story within an economical 300 pages. In brief chapters that shift between past an...moreIn The Baker’s Daughter, Sarah McCoy covers an impressive amount of story within an economical 300 pages. In brief chapters that shift between past and present narratives, she explores the life of a German baker’s family during the last months of the Third Reich, the modern-day personal conflicts of an El Paso-based feature writer, and the unexpected friendship that grows out of the intersection of their stories. McCoy also weaves larger themes of cultural conflict into both the historical and contemporary threads of her story, via the Schmidt family’s Nazi connections and Reba’s Mexican-American fiancé Riki’s work with the Border Patrol, and makes a lesser-known component of the “master race” plan, the Lebensborn project, a significant part of Elsie’s family’s story. Between the history, the social issues, and the interpersonal relationships, this novel has quite a reach--and more often than not, it connects.
The “heroes of conscience” that are the subjects of the essays in Not Less Than Everything are drawn from centuries of Catholic history, including the...moreThe “heroes of conscience” that are the subjects of the essays in Not Less Than Everything are drawn from centuries of Catholic history, including the most recent one. The “professionally religious”--priests, nuns, monks--are well-represented, as you might expect, but there are secular “heroes of conscience” portrayed here as well, demonstrating that morality and theology don’t necessarily operate in tandem.
The Meisenheimer story is told by James, the second of four American-born grandsons of immigrants Frede...moreRead for BlogHer Book Club, February/March 2013
The Meisenheimer story is told by James, the second of four American-born grandsons of immigrants Frederick and Jette, whose plans to settle in St. Louis were permanently sidetracked when they stopped over in the small Missouri town of Beatrice. Surrounded by fellow Germans, they put down roots, but they are tested by larger events as World War I alters American attitudes toward Germans everywhere and Prohibition shuts down the family business. But because reinvention is an American hallmark, the bar is reborn as a restaurant, and over the decades, its menu evolves from Jette’s native German specialities to her son Joseph’s all-American burgers to a great-grandson’s Mexican-style offerings. And while James associates his family’s story with music--taught to sing by their father Joseph, who learned to love music from his father Frederick, he and his three brothers sang together as a barbershop quartet--but food is at least as big a part of it.
Haigh connects the “Bakerton Stories” in News From Heaven not only to each other, but also to Baker Towers, although I don’t think there’s a recommend...more
Haigh connects the “Bakerton Stories” in News From Heaven not only to each other, but also to Baker Towers, although I don’t think there’s a recommended order in which to read the books--the references aren’t plot-specific. Several stories revisit members of Baker Towers’ Novak family, both filling in blanks from the earlier stories and exploring what’s become of those people since Haigh last wrote about them. The Novaks also make cameo appearances in stories that center on other Bakerton families--the Lubickis, Wojicks, and descendants of the founding Bakers themselves--and I found it fascinating to explore the relationships among them, viewed through an assortment of perspectives.
The stories in News From Heaven make fewer overt references to Catholicism and immigrant/first-generation culture than Baker Towers does, but those elements still color life in a town whose ups and downs have always gone hand-in-hand with the fortunes of the coal-mining business that built it.
There are two kinds of people--those who couldn’t wait for life after high school, and those whose lives peaked in high school. Melissa Belle “Lissy”...moreThere are two kinds of people--those who couldn’t wait for life after high school, and those whose lives peaked in high school. Melissa Belle “Lissy” Ryder is the second kind, but she hasn’t spent the last twenty years pining for her glory days; rather, she’s been living them as if she were still in their midst...despite all contrary evidence, which includes losing her job, her home, and her husband. But she’s in for a rude awakening at her high-school reunion, as one classmate after another confronts her with her own rudeness at the time. The next morning, she’s offered an unusual opportunity to make things right...which leads to other things going shockingly wrong.
After becoming one of the early blog-to-book successes with Bitter is the New Black, first in a series of humorous memoirs, Jen Lancaster made her fiction debut two years ago with If You Were Here. In Here I Go Again--the resemblance to the title of a Whitesnake song is thoroughly intentional--she mixes the snarky humor and knowing pop-culture references that have marked her earlier writing with authentic-sounding dialogue, a dash of fantasy and magical realism, and an unexpected amount of heart.
This is a story about second (and third) chances, karma, and consequences. It’s a story that illustrates that it’s never too late to develop self-awareness, and that sometimes it takes a long time to become a grown-up and stop becoming your mother. I’m pretty sure it’s intended on Lancaster’s part that Lissy starts out as a caricature--Here I Go Again follows her journey to become something more.
Thought-provoking, insightful commentary on movies has been around for decades, but there’s less history of it with television. However, both televisi...moreThought-provoking, insightful commentary on movies has been around for decades, but there’s less history of it with television. However, both television drama and the internet have pushed boundaries during the last 15 years or so, and it seems fitting that thought-provoking, insightful commentary on thought-provoking, insightful television would spring up online. TV critic Alan Sepinwall has been a leading source of this commentary, at his popular blog, What’s Alan Watching?, and on his long-running podcast with fellow Hitfix.com writer Dan Fienberg. Drawing on years of background material as well as new interviews, Sepinwall discusses twelve of the most groundbreaking, influential television dramas of recent times in The Revolution Was Televised: The Crooks, Cops, Slingers and Slayers Who Changed TV Drama Forever.
The “crooks” and “cops” Sepinwall’s subtitle alludes to are from series like Oz, The Sopranos, The Wire, The Shield, and Breaking Bad; the “slingers” would be the foul-mouthed Wild West denizens of Deadwood; and, of course, the “slayer” is one Buffy Summers. The book’s thesis, supported by Sepinwall’s examples, reflects the influence and depth of genre conventions in storytelling--in addition to the shows referenced in the subtitle, we have 24, Battlestar Galactica, and Lost--and their expansion well beyond any limits of genre, illustrated via Friday Night Lights and Mad Men.
Copyright attorney Nick Carter is stunned by the story he’s told by the brother-sister intergalactic pop stars Frampton and Carly when they arrive una...moreCopyright attorney Nick Carter is stunned by the story he’s told by the brother-sister intergalactic pop stars Frampton and Carly when they arrive unannounced in his office one evening. My recollections of 1977 here on Earth are that it wasn’t an especially significant year for much of anything, but as Carly and Frampton explain to Nick, it was the year that the rest of the universe accidentally discovered our music, and fell wildly, insatiably in love with it. Life throughout the cosmos was redefined by the transformative force of the theme song from Welcome Back, Kotter, and the moment when it was first heard marked a new beginning of time. (Personally, I think maybe we owe the universe an apology, but anyway...) For over three decades, our music has been eagerly consumed across the galaxies, without our knowledge--and without appropriate royalty payments. As the aliens have come to understand the scope of their massive copyright-law violations, they’ve realized that repayment of the debt to Earth’s music industry will basically bankrupt the rest of the universe. Can Nick find a legal loophole...soon enough to foil a plan that would literally blow up the debt, and Earth right along with it?
Most nonfiction has subtitles for a reason, and it’s a good idea to pay attention to them. In the case of Deborah Copaken Kogan’s personal-essay colle...moreMost nonfiction has subtitles for a reason, and it’s a good idea to pay attention to them. In the case of Deborah Copaken Kogan’s personal-essay collection, Hell is Other Parents, you’re going to encounter more “other tales of maternal combustion” than the snarky observations about modern parenting that the title implies. That said, the main title isn’t misleading. There are snarky observations about modern parenting in “Hell is Other Parents,” “La Vie en Explose,” and “The Adolescent Vulcan” (a double entendre of sorts--Kogan’s son Jacob played the young Spock in Star Trek (2009)), but Kogan herself is the object of some of them, and her life as a parent is largely incidental to pieces like “The Big Chills” and “The Graveyard of Old Beaus,” a followup of sorts to Shutterbabe, her earlier memoir of her life as a globe-trotting photojournalist.
As 2013 begins, 80-year-old Newsweek magazine will enter a new phase as an online-only publication. It’s not the first time that changes in the socioe...moreAs 2013 begins, 80-year-old Newsweek magazine will enter a new phase as an online-only publication. It’s not the first time that changes in the socioeconomic landscape have forced it to change how it operates. Forty years earlier, the magazine was sued by almost fifty of its female employees when they didn’t see any other way out of the uncredited “research” ghetto in which any woman who wasn’t a secretary was forced, by practice and policy, to dwell. In The Good Girls Revolt, Lynn Povich--one of the Newsweek women who spearheaded the lawsuit--describes the work culture that deemed that writing, reporting, and editing were men’s work, and the societal changes that drove women to demand that culture be changed.
The Newsweek lawsuit may not be an especially well-remembered incident in the barrier-breaking and society-reshaping years of the late 1960s and early 1970s, but as the first action of its kind by women working in the media, it’s a significant one. In March 1970, Newsweek was the first major newsmagazine to do a cover story on the second-wave feminist movement--and with no women reporters or writers on staff, it had to hire a freelancer to produce it; the researchers and fact-checkers who sued to change that status announced their legal filing the same day that story was published. Change didn’t come quickly--or willingly--and when internal “understanding” broke down, the women pursued further legal action.
In documenting the story of the lawsuit, Povich--who was named Newsweek’s first female senior editor five years after the first filing--spoke with many of the individuals affected by the action, including those charged with implementing its mandated remedies and those who were conflicted over being involved with it at all. While they supported changing Newsweek’s discriminatory practices, some of the women who joined the lawsuit didn’t personally want the opportunity to become writers or reporters or editors, and Povich treats their viewpoints as even-handedly as she does those for whom those opportunities couldn’t come fast enough.
Thanks to actions like the Newsweek lawsuit, gender discrimination in the workplace is officially illegal now, but that doesn’t mean it’s disappeared; it just takes more subtle forms that are more challenging to address. Those of us who were children when these groundbreaking events were occurring--and those who weren’t born until after the Equal Rights Amendment had withered from lack of passage--need to be reminded of the struggles that made things possible for us and of the matters that are still far from settled. THE GOOD GIRLS REVOLT is a fast-paced, engagingly written (and reported) chronicle of one of those struggles...and a good, consciousness-raising reminder.(less)
Occasionally I feel like no matter how closely I'm reading a book, I'm missing something. It may be due to something in the writing style that's eludi...moreOccasionally I feel like no matter how closely I'm reading a book, I'm missing something. It may be due to something in the writing style that's eluding me or an important element in the story that I don't quite understand for some reason, but regardless of what causes it, I feel as if I'm somehow a few steps behind. Sometimes I'll get to the end and still feel like I haven't caught up; it feels like waking up from a dream that I was trying to understand while dreaming it, and it's frustrating. A re-read might clarify things for me, but reading experiences like this don't usually leave me too inclined to want to re-read. It's disappointing, particularly when it was a book I was initially pretty excited about reading.
Megan Abbott's Dare Me was one of those reading experiences for me. It was fast-moving and gripping, but although the story isn't overly complex, I couldn't seem to shake a sense of confusion throughout. That may have been partly because it's centered on a cheerleading team; I'm a nerdgirl and certified non-jock without much interest in sports and their trappings, and the world of cheer is pretty foreign to me. But there was also something stream-of-consciousness in the first-person narration of Abbott's "lieutenant" cheerleader Addy that kept me off-balance and somewhat outside the story. I don't mind not being able to figure out where a story is going; I actually think that's a good thing, generally. However, it does bother me when I feel like I can't make sense out of where it's been.
With its high-school setting and borderline "mean-girl" characters, Dare Me seems to fall into the "YA-crossover" niche, although its darker story elements--adultery, a suspicious death, underage drinking--are most certainly adult. That said, there's not much adult presence here. Parents barely make an appearance in the novel, while the breaching of teacher/student boundaries is central to its plot; it's a disturbing element, and it's probably intended to be.
To be fair, my expectations may have been out of whack; I had the impression that Dare Me would be a little more like Gone Girl, and it's...not. Based on the blogger reviews that piqued my interest in this novel in the first place, I have the feeling that my response to the novel is a minority opinion, but although I was never bored, I just didn't connect with it.(less)
I wasn't thoroughly enamored of Maria Semple's debut novel, This One is Mine, but I liked it enough to feel inclined to watch for what she'd do next....moreI wasn't thoroughly enamored of Maria Semple's debut novel, This One is Mine, but I liked it enough to feel inclined to watch for what she'd do next. While waiting for that to come along, I also checked out some of the work she'd done in her earlier career as a television writer--namely the entire series run of Arrested Development on Netflix--and became even more alert for something new from her. It came along this summer, and Where'd You Go, Bernadette has landed on several "best-of-2012" book lists.
Cleverly structured as a modern-day epistolary novel--almost more of a scrapbook, comprised largely of letters and e-mails between characters--...Bernadette represents the efforts of the title character's teenage daughter, Bee, to reconstruct just what was going on during the weeks preceding her disappearance from her own home during an attempted mental-health intervention, and what's become of her since. As she tries to piece the story together, Bee learns about her mother's past as a visionary architect...and why she not only hasn't designed a single thing in nearly twenty years, she has become increasingly less interested in leaving their tumbledown Seattle home, and it so often goes wrong when she does. However, Bernadette's most recent solution to that problem--contracting her family's personal errands to an online virtual assistant in India --turned out the be less ideal than it seemed.
The novel's framework allows Semple to give voice to a large cast of characters and follow them through their interactions with one another; the text-communication device also permits exposition that feels more organic to the story. The strongest and most present voice is Bee's as she knits the pieces together and reflects on her close relationship with her offbeat but loving mother; but despite appearing in the story only through her own correspondence, Bernadette is also remarkably vivid.
Where'd You Go, Bernadette is a smartly comic novel, and its humor frequently goes in unpredictable directions. I already knew that Semple was adept at satire, but didn't entirely expect the degree of humanity she gives to most of her characters here. I'd had high hopes for This One is Mine and they weren't quite realized; I didn't quite know what I should expect from Semple's second novel, and was pleasantly surprised and satisfied by what I found there. The surprise was even more pleasant because I'd somehow missed the memo about the novel's structure, and decided to read it by ear. You probably wouldn't think a novel built on correspondence could work well as an audiobook, but it really does.
I couldn’t find other audiobook credits for narrator Kathleen Wilhoite, but she’s an actor/singer/songwriter whose lengthy IMDb filmography includes a recurring role on the TV series Mad About You, where Maria Semple was a writer. (That’s an interesting bit of connection trivia...that may mean absolutely nothing.) It's always clear which characters Wilhoite is voicing, and she's notably effective and endearing as fifteen-year-old Bee.
It's also clear why this novel has been getting so much praise, and why I'll keep watching to see what Maria Semple does next.
I’m not really sure how to sum this one up in my own words. Let me try this: Shine Shine Shine is Lydia Netzer’s ambitious, strange, genre-blending de...moreI’m not really sure how to sum this one up in my own words. Let me try this: Shine Shine Shine is Lydia Netzer’s ambitious, strange, genre-blending debut novel, and while it seems to reflect a wide range of influences, the whole of it is strikingly original.
Shine Shine Shine ’s primary narrative thread is propelled by two collisions occurring within days of each other and over a hundred thousand miles apart. Nine-months-pregnant Sunny Mann’s minivan is broadsided while she is driving home with her autistic son, Bubber, after visiting her dying mother in the hospital. The only casualties are the van and one of Sunny’s wigs--its flight into a puddle exposes her to the neighbors as completely bald. The accident occurs on the day her astronaut husband Maxon has left on a mission; he’s with the team charged with delivering the robots he developed to prepare the moon for a human colony. But when their ship is hit by an asteroid and they lose communication with NASA, their mission--and lives--depend on Maxon’s ability to put those robots to work a little earlier than expected.
The parallel threads of accidents and aftermath are intercut with flashbacks to Sunny and Maxon and their near-lifelong history together, as seen from both of their perspectives and by Sunny’s mother, Emma Butcher. Maxon and Sunny are an odd couple, but not in the sense of being a strange match; it’s because that they’re both odd. Sunny’s not just bald-headed, she’s a completely hairless, fatherless girl who craves normalcy, and Maxon is a misfit genius with some resemblance to the robots he’ll eventually create. These people could have been portrayed as not much more than off-putting collections of quirks, but for the most part, Netzer dodges that potential hazard. Although I found the storytelling in Shine Shine Shine a little overworked in spots, I was won over by the richness and humanity of her characters. I could identify with them, but I didn’t feel like I’d met them before, and I appreciated that.
This novel first came to my attention last spring in a Shelf Awareness “Maximum Shelf” feature, and while it seems to have fallen short on the book-blogger buzz-o-meter since then, it lodged in a corner of my brain as “the one about the bald wife and the astronaut” (although at times I did confuse it with the also starry-covered The Age of Miracles). But when I learned that the audiobook was narrated by Joshilyn Jackson, I quickly and easily decided that I wouldn’t delay in reading Shine Shine Shine by ear. Jackson beautifully differentiates the three narrative voices, and her performance seems to convey a real affection for the material--the narrator and the author are long-time friends. If you also choose to read this as an audio, stick around for the conversation between Netzer and Jackson about the book and two songs from Netzer’s “folk-punk” band, The Virginia Janes, that close the recording.
I’ve seen mixed blogger responses to Shine Shine Shine which really isn’t that surprising--in its way, it’s as odd as its protagonists, and that won’t work for every reader. I loved it for the fact it wasn’t afraid to be odd, but I’m still trying to decide how much I loved it for itself. In any case, it captivated me, and I’ll be interested in seeing how Lydia Netzer follows it up.
Making celebrities out of people whose deeds aren’t exactly things to celebrate is well-established American pastime, and for several decades through...moreMaking celebrities out of people whose deeds aren’t exactly things to celebrate is well-established American pastime, and for several decades through the mid-20th century, bank robber Willie Sutton was one of the biggest. A master of disguise dubbed “The Actor” by the press, Sutton learned his “trade” on jewelry-store jobs, but soon moved on to robbing banks because--in one of those quotes long-attributed to someone who may or may not actually have said it--”that’s where the money was.” In an era of frequent financial depressions--the “Great” one of the 1930s was preceded by several smaller ones earlier in the century--banks were not popular institutions with beleaguered average Americans. But Sutton’s success in undermining them, combined with his reluctance to use violence in doing it, made him quite popular. However, in Moehringer’s take on Sutton’s story, it wasn’t all about the money; he really did it (mostly) for love.
Framed by the day of Sutton’s release from New York’s Attica State Prison--Christmas 1969--which he spent in the company of a reporter and a photographer, traveling back and forth throughout New York City on a tour of his personal history, most of Sutton is told in flashback. Largely self-educated through his love of books, Willie portrays himself as a methodical thinker and careful planner (except, perhaps, in selecting his partners in crime), driven by tough economic times and lack of schooling into the only “career” path that offered the potential means to win the lovely and well-off Bess Endner. If popular acclaim for taking on--or, rather, from--those bloodsucking bankers, jars of cash buried all over New York City, and a spot at the top of the FBI’s very first Ten Most Wanted list are any measures, he was quite a success at his job.
Sutton wasn’t a Robin Hood--he “robbed from the rich,” yes, but didn’t exactly redistribute the wealth--but his activities were born of a common resentment of the financial markets and the effects of their boom-and-bust machinations on the working classes. Nearly a century later, we’re again living under conditions similar to those that spawned his criminal career--bank failures, unemployment, property loss--and those similarities suggested to Moehringer that this antihero’s story might resonate with a new audience.
It helps that it’s a fast-moving, fast-talking narrative researched and related by a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist. The book has some stylistic quirks--most notably the lack of quotation marks in dialogue and use of present tense throughout--that some readers may find bothersome, but didn't bother me; I actually found they enhanced the book's impact. That said, Sutton is historical fiction and not biography, and Willie Sutton may not be an entirely reliable narrator--but he’s got a heck of a story, and I was thoroughly drawn into it. They don’t make bank-robbing antiheroes like that any more. (less)
I think I was months was born just a few years too early for John Hughes’ iconic 1980s teen films to resonate fully for me. When the best of them, The...moreI think I was months was born just a few years too early for John Hughes’ iconic 1980s teen films to resonate fully for me. When the best of them, The Breakfast Club, was released in 1985, I was almost twenty-one, a college student...and married with a baby. Although I wasn’t too far from high school chronologically, my life was clearly in a different stage. That said--although maybe not for that reason--my favorite movie associated with the “Brat Pack” era isn’t one of his. It’s the ensemble piece St. Elmo’s Fire, released just a few months after The Breakfast Club and featuring several of the same actors who had been in day-long high-school detention there as recent college graduates. I realize that it’s probably a lesser film artistically, but that doesn’t dim my affection for it.
In You Couldn’t Ignore Me If You Tried --a quote from The Breakfast Club--entertainment journalist Susannah Gora looks at several movies that, taken as a group, still seem to be held high in the affections of the now thirty- and forty-something adults who experienced them, sometimes in multiple viewings, as youth in the 1980s. They were movies that didn’t talk down to teens and young adults--rather, they spoke to us and like us (although perhaps more articulately than most of us). Their characters were authentic, even if the situations they were placed in weren’t always entirely relatable, and--possibly thanks, at least in part, to the simultaneous emergence and influence of MTV--they made use of music in effective new ways that contributed to the films’ emotional impact on their audience.
Although the period Gora considers is effectively bracketed by two films written by Cameron Crowe--1982’s Fast Times at Ridgemont High and 1989’s Say Anything (his directorial debut)--its primary focus is on writer/director John Hughes and his tales of contemporary Chicago-are teens, including Sixteen Candles, The Breakfast Club, Pretty in Pink, and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Her research for You Couldn’t Ignore Me... included interviews with many of the participants in the movies it covers--writers, directors, actors, producers, and music directors--and offers a great deal of behind-the-scenes detail while mostly avoiding a gossipy tone.
I read this one pretty quickly, and found it informative and insightful--and it made me want to hunt up a few movies to add to the ol’ Netflix queue. Readers and movie-lovers within a decade or so of my age, and who have maintained a connection and affection for the pop culture that they consumed during their 1980s youth, will likely have a similar response to You Couldn’t Ignore Me if You Tried.(less)
I’m not a big fan of the short story, generally speaking. I’m inclined to blame it on my high-school literature classes, where they made up the bulk o...moreI’m not a big fan of the short story, generally speaking. I’m inclined to blame it on my high-school literature classes, where they made up the bulk of what we studied, but it’s probably more because I prefer to spend more time with the characters and situations that I meet in fiction, and by definition, short stories don’t take much time. Even though it can be challenging to make time for reading anything some days, when I have that time, I usually prefer to invest it in a longer-lasting reading relationship with a novel. The increasingly popular “novel in stories” format is an excellent compromise for a reader like me. A collection as evocative and arresting as Molly Ringwald’s fiction debut, When It Happens to You, is no compromise at all.
Although they have some surface resemblance, novels with several narrators differ from linked-story fiction. In my reading experience, a “novel in (x number of) voices” is more plot-driven, constructing its narrative from several viewpoints surrounding a common situation; a “novel in stories” seems to find its more connections through a common character or setting.
The eight stories in When It Happens to You are related enough to function as chapters in Ringwald’s overall narrative, but they shift perspectives, chronology, and style enough that each could be read independently. The common element is the characters Greta and Philip, whom we encounter at a time of marital crisis; at least one of them appears in every story, although they are primary characters in just about half of them. However, with each appearance, we learn something new about them and how they are being affected by their separation, sometimes seeing it through their effects on the relatives, friends, and neighbors who take the central roles in the other stories.
The other qualities that link Ringwald’s stories are their emotional honest, their vivid characterization...and just how well they’re written. I don’t think I was surprised by that, exactly, but I was impressed, and thoroughly drawn in.
Ringwald’s first book, the "illustrated self-help memoir" Getting the Pretty Back, was a surprising look at turning forty from a woman who, thanks to several iconic movies she made with writer/director John Hughes during the 1980’s, represented adolescence to millions. She’s obviously left her teens long behind, however; her fiction is the product of a mature, deeply thoughtful writer. When It Happens to You feels very accomplished for first fiction, and makes me curious to see what the future holds for Molly Ringwald, actor and author.(less)
A lot can happen in a day, although sometimes its full effects aren't apparent till a few days later. If it's a day when your best friend decides that...moreA lot can happen in a day, although sometimes its full effects aren't apparent till a few days later. If it's a day when your best friend decides that his student-government victory speech is a fine opportunity to announce his homosexuality to the entire school, and then enlists you to ask the adults you're living with--your gay father and his long-term partner--a couple of questions about their own experiences with "gayness," it's one of those days when a lot happens. And when that day is followed by one in which you learn that some of your school associates may not be entirely okay with your best friend's announcement, even more happens, and you start to see the effects.
Longtime television writer Richard Kramer worked on several TV series noted for character depth and authentic voices (thirtysomething, My So-Called Life, Once and Again), and those attributes also stand out in his debut novel, These Things Happen. The third-person narration shifts among a half-dozen closely connected characters, but the central ones are fifteen-year-old Wesley Bowman and George, the actor-turned-restauranteur who has been his father Kenny's partner for a decade. Wesley has been living with his mother, Lola, and her older second husband, Ben, since his parents split up, but it's been decided that he should spend a semester living with his father so the two can re-connect. Kenny is a prominent attorney and in-demand spokesperson within the gay community, and he's just not around all that much for Wesley (or George, for that matter), so the arrangement isn't quite going as anticipated. And when Wesley is caught up in a gay-bashing incident directed against his best friend, Theo, bigger questions are raised.
Although not all of his characters will engage the reader to the same degree, Kramer makes each member of his large cast stand out as an individual, and he draws an involving picture of the complexities of modern family life--particularly if that life is being lived in Manhattan, which is effectively also a character in the novel. New York-centricity tends to be one of my sweet spots in fiction, and it added to the story's appeal for me. The third-person narration allows for exploration of each character's inner life without immersing the reader in it the way alternating first-person voices might. As the family's situation grows more fraught later in the novel, the style becomes more stream-of-consciousness. I'm not sure if that choice was made in order to make the reader feel the emotional currents more strongly, but if it was, it had the opposite effect on me--I found concentrating on those sections more difficult as a reader, and felt less involved with the story as it led up to its conclusion.
Despite that, I'd say Richard's Kramer's first venture into novel-writing succeeds, for the most part. Its greatest strengths are in areas that aren't too surprising for a writer whose prior work has been on acclaimed television dramas: the dialogue shines, and the characters are affectingly, recognizably human. These Things Happen is being marketed as adult fiction with potential crossover to young-adult, largely for its coming-of-age GLBTQ themes. Its attributes suggest appeal to wide potential audience, and I hope it finds it.(less)
Some fiction isn’t “about” much of anything. Flight Behavior is “about” a lot of things. Climate change is the "big" thing, and it’s considered in ter...moreSome fiction isn’t “about” much of anything. Flight Behavior is “about” a lot of things. Climate change is the "big" thing, and it’s considered in terms of the scientific facts and the popular resistance they’ve encountered in many places. Marital and family disharmony is another key element of the novel; Dellarobia is a devoted mother to her two children, but her life is far from what she expected it to be and she’s uncertain of her place in it. However, I felt the novel’s central force was the tension between the two worldviews that seem to characterize 21st-century America--liberal/conservative, red/blue, or whatever shorthand you choose to identify it. That tension is based in differing responses to change, and ultimately, “change”--not just of the environmental variety--is the primary theme of Flight Behavior. Our knowledge of the world and the people who surround us--and even of ourselves--is often incomplete and imperfect, and any bit of new information can force us to reassess everything and engage with the world in a new way.
There’s a great deal going on here. The author’s background in biology informs the scientific elements of the novel, but those elements aren’t conveyed in a manner that feels inauthentic to the story. Kingsolver’s characters are well-developed and complex, and their grappling with the effects of a changing natural world on their lives feels authentic as well. However, what struck me most about Flight Behavior was a sense of empathy and compassion. The novel’s setting is the Appalachian Mountains of eastern Tennessee, a conservative, economically-struggling area subject to a fair amount of Southern stereotypes; by endowing Dellarobia with wry humor and just enough self-awareness, Kingsolver refrains from making her characters cheap targets.
Robin O'Bryant was already represented by a literary agent when they decided to publish her first book, Ketchup is a Vegetable: and Other Lies Moms Te...moreRobin O'Bryant was already represented by a literary agent when they decided to publish her first book, Ketchup is a Vegetable: and Other Lies Moms Tell Themselves, independently. As a popular blogger and regionally-syndicated newspaper columnist, Robin has name recognition, particularly in the South. However, self-publishing Ketchup was a choice made with an eye toward raising her profile nationally, building a track record that traditional publishers might respond to for future books. Support from successful authors in a similar vein, like Celia Rivenbark and Jenny "The Bloggess" Lawson, and a first-place finish in the Non-Fiction category of the 2012 Shirley You Jest! Humor Book Awards suggest that it was a gamble worth taking. (Full disclosure: I was a first-round judge for the SYJ! Awards, but Robin’s book was not in the group I was given for consideration.)
Robin has three daughters under the age of seven, and since her experiences as their mother provide much of the source material for Ketchup, the book shoots straight for the popular mommy-blog market (those who read them as well as those who write them). However, it doesn’t have a “blog-to-book” feel; most of the pieces are longer and more fleshed-out than typical blog posts, which allows more space to hone the humor...and Robin’s writing is infused with plenty of funny. It’s not necessarily the sort that made me laugh out loud while reading it--that’s more likely to happen when the writing involves wordplay (or snarky pop-culture critique)--but I did smile in recognition of both the subjects and the voice. Robin’s a born-and-bred Southern gal, and it comes roaring through. Twenty years of living in the South made me fairly well attuned to the region’s distinctive way with language, but the fact that I heard Robin read in person at the Creative Alliance ‘12 “Say It Salon” helped me “hear” her even more clearly in Ketchup.
Ketchup bridges the humor and “mommy memoir” categories; most of the pieces in it are episodic, and there’s not much of either a thematic or chronological narrative through-line, but I don’t think that detracts from the enjoyment of reading it. Rather, the fact that it can be read in short bursts may make it even more appealing to its time-challenged core audience.(less)
I like to travel, but wouldn’t say I have a strong sense of adventure--there are many places I have no desire to visit and activities I don’t personal...moreI like to travel, but wouldn’t say I have a strong sense of adventure--there are many places I have no desire to visit and activities I don’t personally wish to do. But that doesn’t mean I’m not still curious, and for that reason, travel writing appeals to me. Since most of my travels these days involve a forty-mile stretch comprised of the four Los Angeles freeways between my home and workplace, audiobooks are a great way to pretend I’m somewhere else. I recently spent a week in several locales, some exotic--Patagonia, the Amazon, Costa Rica, Mount Kilimanjaro--and some less so--New York, Baltimore, Vienna, Dublin--with Andrew McCarthy as my tour guide. Our travels also took me deep into McCarthy’s psyche as he inched toward that “triumph of hope over experience” event: marrying for the second time.
If the author’s name sounds familiar, it’s probably because he’s “THAT Andrew McCarthy”--yeah, the one from the 80s (Pretty in Pink, St. Elmo’s Fire, etc.). He still acts, and sometimes he directs, but he’s also developed a career as an award-winning travel writer and editor-at-large for National Geographic Traveler magazine, where several of the pieces in his first book, The Longest Way Home: One Man’s Quest for the Courage to Settle Down, originated.
In many respects, McCarthy was already pretty “settled down.” He had two children and had been with his daughter’s mother for seven years; they’d been engaged for four of them. But when they finally began talking about wedding plans, he grew anxious and conflicted. He needed to figure out why--he hoped it wasn’t stereotypical male commitment-phobia--and as much as he loved his family, he needed to go off on his own to work through it.
It wasn’t long before the reason for McCarthy’s preference for solo travel seemed pretty clear to me: despite the fact that he’s made a living as an actor, a profession that seems to require extraversion, the guy’s a fellow introvert. While the book’s subtitle suggests he was searching for “the courage to settle down,” I think he was also seeking how to balance being a fully-invested partner and parent with preserving his core self--not an unusual challenge for anyone in a committed relationship, really. I never actually questioned McCarthy’s commitment to his fiancée or his children, and I'm not sure truly he did either. I think the struggle was more about intimacy and boundaries, combined with the concern of the once-divorced person not to end up a twice-divorced person. I was pretty sympathetic.
The book itself seems to reflect some of those intimacy-and-boundaries struggles. It’s not a fully-encompassing autobiography; McCarthy’s pretty sparing with backstory, and will definitely not satisfy your curiosity about his 1980s Brat Pack heyday. He’s remarkably introspective and intimate with the reader in some places while keeping a distance in others, most notably in not referring to his children by name and identifying his future wife--spoiler: he DOES find that courage--only as “D” throughout the book. That reserve keeps The Longest Way Home from fully satisfying as personal memoir, although I think it may connect better in audio format; I’m glad that’s how I read it. But the book also provides an introduction to McCarthy’s travel writing; I found that thoroughly engaging, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he keeps collecting awards for his work in that field.(less)
Loading...
