Badgwendel's Blog, page 5

The Sundial

Sometimes you don’t love every single book by an author, even if said author is as amazing as Shirley Jackson. I struggled through reading The Road Through the Wall and kept wondering when the horrific deaths promised on the cover would happen (and thinking one of the mothers just had to be a portrait of Geraldine Jackson). I thought The Road Through the Wall would be my least favorite Shirley Jackson novel and then I re-read The Sundial over the weekend. Folks, I think I have a clear winner.

The Sundial is about the very nasty and wealthy Halloran family living in their almost feudal estate. Lionel Halloran has died and his mother Orianna has seized control of the estate and getting ready to wreck havoc on her little kingdom. All hail Queen Orianna. Then Aunt Fanny, spinster and Orianna’s sister-in-law has a vision of doom and destruction for everyone not on the estate. There go Orianna’s plans and to make matters even more fun, Orianna’s old “friend” Mrs Willow and her adult daughters come for a visit. Of course everything goes to pieces.

I can’t stand any of the characters and would love love LOVE to see them all perish in a fiery doom about five pages into the book. The only time I cared about the characters was when Mrs Willow refers to her and Orianna’s past as “bad girls”. Okay, Mrs Willow, tell me more…were you and Queen Orianna semi-amateur or professional “bad girls”? Did Orianna snare Richard Halloran with the old “I’m in the family way” trick?Mrs Willow should be hanging out with Cathy from East of Eden and showing her two leech daughters how to earn their livings with the gold mine they’re sitting on. She might be my favorite person in the book. Okay, Mrs Willow should totally be spared from a fiery doom. Fancy is a devil brat that might even give hell spawn from the bowels of the deepest pits of Hell my old friend Eloise pause. Maybe Orianna should reconsider her decision of having Fancy as her heir. Fancy is thisclose to taking a page from Rhoda in The Bad Seed. Fancy also reminds me of some of the worst high on Pixie Stix and Red Bull brats from Toddlers and Tiaras. Orianna isn’t exactly a prize either and my Mental Casting Agent kept seeing her as combination of the Grandmother from V.C. Andrew’s Dollanganger series mixed in with a huge dollop of Joan Collins circa 1983.

I am certain The Sundial has deep meanings and my tiny primitive brain is too coarse and village like to handle a novel of it’s scope. Then again I am certain that I should have listened to my gut feeling and not requested the darn thing through the inter-library loan system. For those of finer sensibilities and highly sensitive brains, enjoy The Sundial. Me? I’m going to eat the lovely Starbucks chocolate chip cookie Blacklight bought me and curl up with Stephen King’s Nightmares & Dreamscapes…

 

Filed under: book review, Library Raid, Shirley Jackson, The Sundial Tagged: book review, Library Raid, Shirley Jackson, The Sundial

The Poisoner’s Handbook

Things you shouldn’t Google at work unless you have a Very Understanding Boss and Department Head: Poisoner and Handbook.

Let me explain. So I’m at Company X, innocently laying waste to my work drawer and listening to scary episodes of Stuffed You Missed in History Class like you do because it’s late October. And I’m listening to the “Who Was America’s Lucrezia Borgia?” episode and they mention a book and of course my brain is all “Ooohhh must read book” but I’m busy cranking out the work and don’t have time to write down the title and can only remember it had the words “poisoner” and “handbook” in it once my work day is almost over. And of course, just as I’m checking the library system for the book, that’s when Boss Lady and Department Head walk past my desk…

But like I said, I have a very understanding boss and department head. And if anyone is going to get poisoned it’s me with my bad habit of “well the date on the cheese says X but it’s been in the fridge the whole time and cheese is just spoiled milk so sure I’m going to eat this”. And you don’t need the amazing and dedicated people under the leadership of Charles Norris circa 1918 to figure out why I’m going to be very sick after eating said cheese.

What do you need Charles Norris and his staff for? Well, that’s exactly what Deborah Blum explores in her brilliant The Poisoner’s Handbook: Murder and the Birth of Forensic Medicine in Jazz Age New York. Who needs CSI and it’s ilk when you can read about how one man (Charles Norris) and his dedicated staff turned the lackluster medical examiner’s office into a lean, functioning and crime solving machine. Add in different poisons and cases the medical examiner’s office handled and I am in HEAVEN. It’s all the things I loved in Caleb Carr’s fictional forensic detective novels without the Teddy Roosevelt cameos and John is a drunkalunka LOSER bits. There’s unsolved murders (just who poisoned the dough at the lunchroom? Still unsolved to this day), guilty as heck people, people who might have gotten away with murder (Mary Frances Creighton but don’t worry…she doesn’t learn and gets her eventually), innocent people (the bookkeeper whose family is decimated by poison, you want to give him a hug and better life) and the men who managed to try and solve all these cases of the leanest of budgets in a corrupt city.

If you’ve gobbled up Sin in the Second City: Madams, Ministers, Playboys, and the Battle for America’s Soul (a most excellent book), The Devil in the White City, In the Garden of Beasts, Thunderstruck and Midnight in Peking: The Murder That Haunted the Last Days of Old China, stop reading this review and read The Poisoner’s Handbook: Murder and the Birth of Forensic Medicine in Jazz Age New York ASAP!

Filed under: book review, Books I Want, Deborah Blum, Murder, New York City, The Poisoner's Handbook, true crime Tagged: book review, Deborah Blum, Forensic Medicine, Murder, New York City, The Poisoner's Handbook

Special Delivery

If you’re visited the Shirley Jackson page, you might have seen me saying something along the lines of “if you’ve only read Shirley Jackson’s horror, you’re not getting the full Shirley Jackson experience”. Now I’ve read lots of Shirley Jackson but it wasn’t until I was poking around on the Central Connecticut library system’s online catalog I found a Shirley Jackson book I’ve never encountered called Special Delivery: A Useful Book for Brand-New Mothers. I did a double take right down to removing and cleaning my glasses, sticking them back on and staring at my computer monitor in slack jawed wonder. Now since I was on my lunch break, at my desk in a high traffic area of my building, imagine the lovely picture I made. But no, my brain and eyes did not fool me and inter-library loan request Special Delivery: A Useful Book for Brand-New Mothers  I did.

Along with being a master of the horror genre, Shirley Jackson was a loving mother and could craft little plays of perfect (and imperfect) motherhood. Special Delivery: A Useful Book for Brand-New Mothers is one of those hidden treasures. Even looking at Special Delivery: A Useful Book for Brand-New Mothers with 2013 (childless yes, but I have encountered people in all states of motherhood) eyes, it holds up and is a must read. Shirley Jackson provides the bulk of the essays. everything from people visiting Baby, her experiences the four times she had her children, things to bring the nurses, and the like. There are also contributions from now classic and sometimes sadly forgotten comic writers such as Mark Twain, Cornelia Otis Skinner (does anyone but me know who she is?), Robert Benchley (yes THAT Robert Benchley from the infamous Round Table and grandfather of Peter (Jaws) Benchley) and Ogden Nash. It’s also a time capsule on days when long hospital stays and baby nurses and diaper service where the norm vs our kick you out 24 hours post spawn popping, 6 weeks of paid maternity leave (if you’re lucky) and daycare.

And the truly amazing thing? Around the time Special Delivery: A Useful Book for Brand-New Mothers was published (1960), Shirley Jackson was ending her days of  semi charmed motherhood, her children were no longer the cute kiddies from Life Among the Savages, she was a pariah in town over defending her youngest daughter from an abusive teacher and a few years her first grandchild would be born. Yet her pieces make you (okay…me) almost want a little pink, sleeping bundle of baby wrapped in a soft blanket and smelling of soap and baby powder of your very own to coo over. (Blacklight: “NO! Besides aren’t you too old for babies? Me: “I’m 40!” Blacklight: “But you just said you were old enough to be grandmother last night!”)

With publishers discovering just how popular the retro market is, wouldn’t it be awesome if Little, Brown and Company (and their parent group Hachette Book Group USA) reprinted Special Delivery: A Useful Book for Brand-New Mothers? I would so buy a copy and the only thing I’m a mother to is a betta fish and stuffed dragons. Maybe there’s still time for a Mothers Day 2014 re-release?

Filed under: book review, Books I Want, Cornelia Otis Skinner, From The Library Stacks, Library Raid, Mark Twain, Odgen Nash, Robert Benchley, Shirley Jackson, Special Delivery, This NEEDS To Be RePublished Tagged: book review, Books That Need To Be Republished, Cornelia Otis Skinner, Mark Twain, Odgen Nash, Shirley Jackson, Special Delivery

Self-Inflicted Wounds

That girl crush I have on Aisha Tyler thanks to her work on Talk Soup, Archer and her brilliant stand up comedy specials? Rock solid. What is there not to love about a gal who is frank and open and owning her love of science fiction, video games and being a big old nerd? Heck, if I could hop into a time machine and set if for California circa 1983, I would be eating ice cream sandwiches with Aisha Tyler and asking her what her favorite Ray Bradbury story is. (Mine? All Summer in a Day).

So any wonder I snapped up Aisha Tyler’s Self-Inflicted Wounds: Heartwarming Tales of Epic Humiliation after work the other day and disappeared in the bedroom to devour it (along with a Toblerone) after making Blacklight his breakfast? Self-Inflicted Wounds: Heartwarming Tales of Epic Humiliation is just what the title implies, Aisha Tyler revealing the truly stupid things that she did to herself. And as her tales (from setting the apartment on fire making home-made french fries as a little kid to her early stand up days) progress you get a look at what made Aisha Tyler the awesome lady she is today. Her bad-ass but loving single father. Her strong and determined mother. Being the only (black kid, vegetarian, science fiction nerd, etc). You know some parts must have been heartbreaking to reveal or repeat (her parent’s divorce, very lean times with her single father) but you end up wanting to give her a supportive hug before suggesting a round of shots and some X-Box. (Note to Aisha: We have Goldschläger, Hotel California in the red bottle, PlayStation 2, Atari 2600, Intellivision, Sega Genesis and Sega Dreamcast…are you cool with that?

Self-Inflicted Wounds: Heartwarming Tales of Epic Humiliation isn’t for everyone (Blacklight: “She doesn’t play Atari 2600 or Minecraft? Whatever…”) but for those open to all the awesome facets of Aisha? Get your mitts on Self-Inflicted Wounds: Heartwarming Tales of Epic Humiliation ASAP!

Filed under: Aisha Tyler, book review, Buy or Check It Out, Self-Inflicted Wounds Tagged: Aisha Tyler, Archer, book review, Buy It Now, Self-Inflicted Wounds, Talk Soup

The Ashford Affair

It’s 9:05 am, Saturday morning. The library has just opened and I’m cruising by the Rapid Read (7 days loan, no holds) section and what do I spy with my little hazel eyes? A lovely new Lauren Willig book called The Ashford Affair. So into the library bag it goes!

The Ashford Affair tells the stories of New Yorker lawyer Clementine and her beloved grandmother Addie. Until her grandmother’s 99th birthday party, Clementine had no idea the secrets Addie was hiding. As Clementine learns more about her family including a mysterious death in African savannah, we see Addie’s story starting as a 6-year-old orphan taken in by her late father’s half-brother, the Earl of Ashford. The frightened Addie is befriended by her cousin, Bea and the two girls vow to be more than sisters to each other. But just how far does this bond last as they grow up and betrayal enters the picture. (Side note: my clever lizard brain was all “NO! You mean BEA-trayal!” Too true lizard brain, too true). Clementine’s story is interesting but it’s the story of Addie and Bea that captives you. You know Clementine will find happiness as her life starts to implode. But will Addie and Bea?

The Ashford Affair is one of those books where if you have the proper background reading, the story springs into 3-D. I’ve been reading Elsa Lanchester’s autobiography and there is a bit in The Ashford Affair where Addie and Bea are night-clubbing and my lizard brain was convinced the cousins ended up at Lanchester’s infamous Cave of Harmony at one point. And when Addie arrives in Kenya and Bea is blithely pointing out “oh there’s Alice de Janze” and “dinner at Dina’s”, the person whose read about the Happy Valley set just knows everything they need to about Bea’s character and that scandal is ahead.

And this is going to sound crazy but I meant it in the very best way. Lauren Willig’s The Ashford Affair reminds me of Kathleen Tessaro’s The Debutante and The Perfume Collector to the point that I forget who the author was with its careful blend of life between the wars and our modern times. It’s always a lovely surprise to have an author be able to move beyond their comfort zone (Willig’s best-selling Napoleonic-era spy series). Another lovely surprise is reading the Acknowledgements and finding out Frances Osborne’s The Bolter, a biography of the infamous (and Happy Valley resident) Lady Idina Gordon, inspired The Ashford Affair.

It could be easy to dismiss The Ashford Affair as just another chick-lit book about hidden family secrets pretending to be literature. But Lauren Willig’s careful research and deft hand raise The Ashford Affair above the regular chick-lit genre. And will inspire you to read more about the times and the people Addie and Bea encountered.

Filed under: book review, Happy Valley, Kathleen Tessaro, Lauren Willig, The Ashford Affair Tagged: book review, Happy Valley, Kathleen Tessaro, Lauren Willig, The Ashford Affair

The Sequel Question

So I’m at the Berlin Peck Memorial Library ongoing book sale, scouring the hardcover fiction section for treasures. And on the shelf under the L’s is Rae Lawrence’s Jacqueline Susann’s Shadow of the Dolls in pristine condition for $1.00. And I snatched it off the shelf and raced over to add it to the towering stack of treasure right on top of Stephen King and Peter Straub’s Black House. And it wasn’t until I was stuck in traffic on the way home I wondered why I bought those things. And realized it was only because they were sequels to books I truly adored.

The question I really should have asked myself standing in the hardcover fiction section is this. Are sequels necessary?

I can remember too many books that seemed to be nothing more than money grabs from a deceased author’s estate (Rae Lawrence’s Jacqueline Susann’s Shadow of the Dolls, Alexandra Ripley’s Scarlett, the V.C. Andrews ghostwritten series, etc). Now I fully admit to being one of those people who bought into the hype back in 1991 and begged my parents to buy Scarlett for my nineteenth birthday even though I knew they had already bought me Stephen King’s Needful Things. And I doubt my parents had even left campus before I was curled up on my bed tearing into Scarlett. Yes, I had a brand new Stephen King novel and decided Scarlett was the must read. But by the time Scarlett hits Ireland I was wondering if I had wasted my parents hard earned money. And was certain I had when I finished Scarlett at 1 am and went to sleep. Perhaps the reading public felt the same way because I can’t seem to go to a book sale or visit the book section at Savers without seeing at least one copy of Scarlett lurking. Need a book or two to raise your computer monitor? For some crazy craft project like the book pumpkin atrocity I saw displayed at a library this week? Scarlett or any of the above will do just nicely.

And what about sequels that are amazing in theory, because your favorite author is revisiting Character X or Universe 123 and “ZOMG how can I get my hands on this” and the utter letdown when you start reading and you wonder why you were so excited in the first place (I’m looking at you MaddAddam). I’ve read Stephen King’s The Talisman so many times I could have flipped over to the Territories myself but the followup Black House lost me before Tyler Marshall got taken. Buying my own copy at the library sale? I’m only going to revisit Black House due to one of my patented Gwen’s Crazy Literary Theories. But for every Black House and MaddAddam, there are sequels so good you keep re-reading them over and over.

I think there are some books which need sequels. These are the books that leave you asking questions when you close the covers. Margaret Atwood’s Oryx and Crake is an excellent example. Finishing it for the first time, I could not wait to plunge back in that world and it seemed an eternity until The Year of the Flood was in my hands and some of my questions could be answered. Another type book demands a sequel? The ongoing series that reveals one more part of an expanded universe with each book. Sure I could read just one of Lauren Willig’s Napoleonic-era spy books since the spy story is usually girl becomes part of spy plot/has amazing sex/marries the hunk but the modern story being spooned out in each book keeps me coming back for more.

Other books? Well, a book that wraps up a theme or story completely doesn’t need a sequel. I’ve never been tempted to reads the bazillions of Jane Austen “sequels” that spring up like mushrooms (I’m looking at you Pride and Prejudice sequels) cluttering the new fiction shelves at the library because Jane Austen has summed up those characters in their little worlds enough that I’m perfectly content leaving Lizzie and Darcy to their unseen future. As much as I puzzle over Barbara Vine’s A Dark-Adapted Eye, changing my mind over who is Jamie’s mother with each reading, I would recoil in horror if Ruth Rendell put on her Barbara Vine hat and cranked out a sequel. The little world of Vera and Eden ending with their deaths is self-contained.

Another point to consider is this. Is your character fascinating enough to warrant another entire book? Take a character like Helen Fielding’s Bridget Jones. Her bumbling adventures and quirky little diary of her trials and tribulations was great fun in Bridget Jones’s Diary. And then along came Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason. Our Bridget wasn’t as charming and the story felt forced and flat. I wanted to keep in touch with Bridget but more “friends on Facebook” versus the full book treatment. Maybe Wendy Holden has the best solution. Her first book, Simply Divine, introduces Champagne D’Vyne, the IT girl with the tits who goes through more men than Blacklight goes through Kleenex pocket packs during an allergy flare-up. Champagne is rather a cartoon but she does capture your attention. She pops up in later books wrecking havoc on rock stars and A list movie actors and just when you’re sick of seeing her (i.e. Gossip Hound), Wendy Holden is clever enough to stop using Champagne as a supporting villian/plot twist in each book. The next time we here about Ms D’Vyne is look quick or you’ll miss it  gossip item and then nothing more is seen.

Will I give up reading sequels? No. Because there are stories that need to be continued. And those? I will read to pieces.

Filed under: Gwen's Crazy Literary Theories, sequels Tagged: Gwen's Crazy Theories, sequels

Bridget Jones: Mad About The Boy

In the last week I’ve read Stephen King’s Doctor Sleep and Helen Fielding’s Bridget Jones: Mad About The Boy and you know what? Blacklight is right (Blacklight: “I am? Really? About what?”)! Bridget Jones: Mad About The Boy is the scariest thing ever. I would rather snuggle with a worm beast thing straight of out of Laird Barron’s The Croning. What the blue hell happened to the Bridget Jones I read over and over again? The Bridget Jones I tracked down UK papers to read?

Bridget Jones: Mad About The Boy finds our Bridget as a single mum of two, eating grated cheese straight from the bag (gross) and guzzling wine. I guess the Independent columns of 2005/2006 aren’t canon (Bridget has Daniel’s baby-a son) because Bridget’s son is a miniature Mark Darcy and her five year old daughter Mabel is a lisping little troll who only charms me when she refers to something called a Sylvanian Mulberry Raccoon Family as the Fuckoon Family. Come on…FUCKOON! Ohhh…those…I’ve seen these creepy things at a posh toy and hobby shop…

Now apparently the Internet imploded when people found out Bridget is a single mum because *****SPOILER ALERT**** HORNS SOUNDING**** SPOILER ALERT**** READ FURTHER AT YOUR OWN RISK*****OKAY WHATEVER I WARNED YOU***** Mark Darcy died in Darfur doing humanitarian work. How is this a problem? Mark Darcy has always been a decent and kind person and a happy relationship makes a boring book. Am I sad that Mark Darcy is gone? Yes. But Bridget Jones is the Queen of Romantic Bleep-Ups and is at her best looking for love, she NEEDS to be single. If you want silly mum with the perfect husband please feel free to stop reading this review and pick up Sophie Kinsella’s Shopaholic series.

Okay, so you’re still with me. So our Bridget is a widow, fat (brace the floors because she’s….175 lbs!), and lonely. She’s also working on screenplay of Hedda Gabbler by Anton Chekov. Now even my dim only reads weird books brain knows that’s wrong but Bridget? Well…what do you expect? It’s Bridget! Encouraged by her friends (where the bleep is Shazzer! I demand Shazzer!), Bridget plots to lose weight, be an excellent mum, get laid, etc. She discovers social media and oh Great Tulu if I thought Lola’s text speak in Marian Keyes’ This Charming Man was horrific, I apologize, I love you Lola, I truly do…because Bridget on Twitter aka @JoneseyBJ is worse. I really wish Bridget had discovered a working brain cell vs the joys of Roxster the youngster. And Roxster? Really?!??! Even Daniel is boring. Sex-On-A-Stick Daniel! Well except when he used a syrup covered fork to comb the tiny demon Mabel’s hair. Good on you Daniel!

It’s really not a good thing whenever you end a page you wonder just how big the advance check for the book was and if the author needed to pay off her mortgage or children’s private school ASAP. I certainly wasn’t caring a fig about this Bridget. Because to me, Bridget Jones Diary is awesome. The Independent columns of 2005/2006 are awesome. I want that Bridget Jones back.

If you adored the first two Bridget Jones’ novels and haven’t cried yourself to tears over dead Mark Darcy, then by all means snap up Bridget Jones: Mad About The Boy. But if you’re not in the mood for How Bridget Jones Got Her Groove Back then do what I should have done at the library last week, back slowly away from the “F” section of the New Fiction Shelves and grab  the latest Lauren Willig Napoleonic-Era British spies book.

Filed under: book review, Bridget Jones, Bridget Jones: Mad About The Boy, Helen Fielding, Why Why Why Why Tagged: book review, Bridget Jones, Bridget Jones: Mad About The Boy, Helen Fielding, Why Did I Read This?

The End Of The Line

I adore and respect Monica Dickens. I think the Samaritans are an amazing group who do wonderful work and have helped so many people. I’m grateful that they and other groups like them have helped people I care deeply about. But I really don’t like Monica Dickens’ Samaritans novel The End of the Line. I know…I am a total savage and not fit to read anything. But I don’t like this book. I tried, I truly did. I kept putting it down, vowing to shove it right into the depths of the library bag and then tried to read a few more pages and well…let’s just say for a book it’s size? I should have been done much sooner. It’s the same problem I had with Barbara Pym’s Quartet In Autumn. I can’t stand the bulk of the characters and don’t care what happens to them once the book ends.

I want to yell at Paul to ditch his drunk wife, take their son and run like hell before he gets any more trapped then he already is. And then say “Told ya so” when his wife has  a stroke. Victoria only became interesting after she got boinked on the head and should just hook up with Billie already. Tim bugs.  And Jackie…oh Jackie…he might have been better off in a place like the Southbury Training School with all its flaws then stuck with his mother. The only character I didn’t want to weep tears of rage and/frustration over is Sarah and that’s only after she proved to be more than a wet blanket.

Like so many other books I’ve read, I am certain a perfect reader exists for The End of the Line just like there are people out there who really appreciate Barbara Pym’s Quartet In Autumn. It’s not me and that’s okay. I’m not going to love everything Monica Dickens ever wrote just like I don’t love every thing from the pens of Lovecraft, Stephen King and Shirley Jackson.  The problem for me may lie with wanting more of Monica Dickens’ personal Samaritans experience. Perhaps her non-fiction Befriending: The American Samaritans is the better book for me. Or maybe I  should just curl up on Mr Couch with my stuffed cat, some lovely hot tea and the Follyfoot series…

Filed under: book review, Can You Tell I Hate This Book?, Library Raid, Monica Dickens, The End Of The Line Tagged: book review, Monica Dickens, The End Of The Line

The Winds Of Heaven

There are times when I’m quite grateful I was born in late 20th century. And yes, this even holds true after working a very challenging day at Company X, enduring the commute back to Moderate Income Apartments and knowing that once I walk through my apartment door there’s a stack of dishes to wash, Blacklight and Miss Susan Fish to be fed and laundry to be done. If I grumble and forget, someone please go to the East Hartford/Raymond Library, find Monica Dickens’ The Winds of Heaven and wave it in my face. Or save yourself the drive and just whisper “Remember Louise Bickford” in my ear.

Now just who the devil is Louise Bickford? Good question. Louise Bickford is a fifty-something widow, who thanks to being crushed by life and a jackass of a late husband, exists on on tiny allowance and spends her time shuffling between staying with one of her three daughters and at a hotel an old school friend runs. I know you’re thinking, well why doesn’t she just get a darn job already, get a little service flat of her own and the heck with her daughters charity and hospitality. Excellent points and I for one rather want to shake some sense into Louise and her daughters but that would rather defeat the plot our dear Monica Dickens has concocted. Besides, you have to remember the times and that Louise was gently raised and a gentlewoman. Her children won’t let her starve except for emotionally.

One day while out with her oldest daughter who I have dubbed Eldest Bitch and grandchildren on an outing, Louise makes an unlikely friend of sorts, a heavyset older man who works in a department store and writers lurid thrillers in his spare time, the exact kind Louise has to smuggle into her bitchy oldest daughter’s house to read in private. Now this oldest daughter would certainly think Mother’s new “friend” is simply not their kind-I mean he WORKS-in trade! The horror (goes to clutch pearls but remembers took them off when came home from work). Oh yes, and Eldest Bitch (government name: Miriam) really is not so lovely herself. Girl has a secret! Middle Bitch (government name: Eva) is an struggling actress and might care if she could only tear her attention away from Totally Unsuitable Married Dude. Youngest Bitch (government name: Anne)? Oh Great Tulu, you just want to shake her until her teeth rattles-how did she snag herself a hot stud monkey husband who DOES ALL THE WORK? (Blacklight: “Maybe she’s awesome in bed?”).

Louise changes households every season and all it normal (emotional starvation) in her narrow world until part of her support network shatters. Is this when Louise finally puts some starch in her girdle and gets a job at a society for gentlewomen, a lovely little service flat complete with a sweet grey cat and screws her gentleman friend until the bed breaks? Umm…sadly this particular scenario is only in my head. Monica Dickens wouldn’t have nice Louise do that. Middle Bitch? Heck yeah. What happens is Louise gets a quiet interlude of happiness and peace in a tiny caravan/camper/travel trailer with her beloved eldest grandchild. But then hey…PLOT TWIST and the end.

There are some goods bits about The Winds of Heaven. (Blacklight: “You mean it wasn’t that one were you thought the dude was gay?” Me: “The Nightingales Are Singing! Yes! That one! The Winds of Heaven is SO MUCH BETTER!”). There’s Youngest Bitch’s hot husband. Eldest Bitch’s big secret (which is rather obvious if you are paying attention). You’ll definitely want to hop in a time machine with a wad of pound notes and hit the Portobello Road Market. (If you see any dresser sets marked with G? Hands off! MINE!). And The Winds of Heaven would make an interesting UK period series. Now to pop The Winds of Heaven in the library book and come up with my dream casting. How about Cate Blanchett in high brittle mode for Eldest Bitch, Kate Winslet in sloppy mode as Youngest Bitch…

 

 

Filed under: book review, From The Library Stacks, Library Raid, Monica Dickens, The Winds Of Heaven, Uncategorized Tagged: book review, Monica Dickens, The Winds Of Heaven

Random Family

Sometimes I wonder if Amazon is peeking over my shoulder. You rather have to ponder that particular thought when you have books stacked up waiting for their turn on the review block and one of them shows up as  a Kindle Daily Deal. But when you’ve just re-read a book for the countless time like Adrian Nicole LeBlanc’s Random Family, it’s hard to separate yourself back in the present and do things like settle down and write the darn review already. You drive home from work and pass a young mother pushing a stroller down the road trailed by a string of children and think of Coco. Or see a lush girl, head thrown back in a whole body laugh sitting on a low wall surrounded by a court of young men and remember the opening lines when Jessica would hit the street. Usually I tear through books like a mad thing, gobbling words and pages as fast as I can, trying not to choke on the sheer amount of information I’m downloading.

But Random Family is a book to savor. In less capable hands, a book like Random Family would be more “oh look how awesome I am to get down and dirty with the poorz…oh I’m so edgy and awesome! Here comes whitey to save the day! Why don’t poor people eat healthy things versus all this junk food! OMG! I went to the dollar store! I ate something from the bodega! I’m the only white person here! Look at me!” Try the exact opposite. The very first time I read Random Family curled up on the couch of my first apartment, Coco and Jessica could be the people in the building next door with the children running around, the amazing smells drifting across the narrow driveway between our buildings, the Spanish music that made you want to rise up from the couch even if you felt like death warmed over and dance. Adrian Nicole LeBlanc’s genius lies in both her quietness, making you almost forget how often she must have been there with Coco and Jessica and their families, sharing meals and sadness and joy and the way she allows her subjects to open up and just tell their stories with interference or judgement.

I would love to read more about the people who were kind enough to share their lives in Random Family. I always close the book hoping Serena and her cousins could break away from their families cycle of poverty and drugs. I hope Jessica finds the peace and love she needs and deserves. I hope Cesar found a better life once he left prison. And I hope Coco kept her spirits high and still tucks a lollipop in her ponytail every now and again. But if Random Family is the only book Adrian Nicole LeBlanc ever writes and we have to leave Jessica and Coco and Cesar in the past when Adrian Nicole LeBlanc  leaves their lives, I’m okay with that. I’m just glad and grateful for the experience.

Filed under: Adrian Nicole LeBlanc, book review, Books That Haunt You, Random Family, Uncategorized Tagged: Adrian Nicole LeBlanc, book review, Books That Haunt You, Random Family