Rebecca Moll's Blog

The Story of Edgar Sawtelle by David Wroblewski, A Book Review by Rebecca Moll

Unspoken, beyond words, a life, a legacy that lies in the heart of man and his best of all friends…

At the very least, there is something about a boy and his dog, the open prairie, a family legacy that rings Americana. But The Story of Edgar Sawtelle is so much more.

Three generation dog breeders. A family business built on grit, creativity, and that true American spirit that leaves no room for giving up. Bred for companionship, character and intellect, litter after litter of dogs earn their marks through repetition and example. With careful selection, based on research and years of trial and error, the Sawtelle legacy lives on, in drawer after drawer, file after file, line after line of painstaking record and notation, bred into in the hearts of Sawtelle men and the best of all friends.

Then comes the third generation, Edgar. A boy who can hear, but not speak. And his faithful companion, the epitome of the Sawtelle breed, Almondine. Together they face the world, so much more than just a boy and his dog, their common ground, lack of language, breeding a love beyond words.

Edgar grows up secure in the bosom of mother, father, and Almondine, surrounded by a multitude of mothers and pups. He eagerly walks in his father’s footsteps and the pawprints of their beloved dogs.

But life rarely follows expectations. Claude, the wayward uncle returns. A sudden death. A boy in mourning. A mother lost to grief, finding comfort where Edgar only sees betrayal and murder. And with all the cruelty of life, Edgar must flee into the wilderness, three yearling dogs close behind. Together, they face the world, their survival a life lesson calling upon the very tenets of their breeding.

And it is that love beyond words that brings Edgar full-circle, back to his beginnings, back home, with hope in his heart and wisdom at his wings he must face what he fears most.

A beautiful story that remains long after the last page. From the unspoken bond between man and dog to the grandeur of nature and our Creator, there is beauty in what can never be said, but must be felt, lived and loved, generation to generation, lineage to lineage, a beauty beyond just a boy and his dog.

Great summer read. One I will, for sure, read again, and again, and again.

Frances and Bernard by Carlene Bauer, A Book Review by Rebecca Moll

The fragility of life. The hopefulness of hearts. “Dear…”

First off, 5 Stars. There is something compelling about epistolary. Written conversation, the absence of sound and sight, all those innate clues of the human experience of the face-to-face version. And yet, a story told in letters, devoid of inflection and body language, is anything but one dimensional, far from flat. Perhaps the absence of other senses heightens our perception in this experience, too?

I do love letters. Always have, former international pen-pal and all. For me, a letter is timeless. A snapshot of what was and yet, will be. The spoken word last intact only as long as it passes through our brains, words out the window like little birds set free, remnants left to imprison our minds, memories like fools in a fun house of mirrors. In contrast, letters leave us with at least one half of the conversation, a proof-in-the-pudding real life experience that does not fail the test of time. Both reader and writer, this experience allows for more than a one-way interaction. The lost art of listening has left face-to-face conversation much like rush hour traffic with lanes cutting in from both sides at high speeds. But letters let you control the speed, slow down life a bit. And who doesn’t like a surprise in the mail box? A letter from a loved one, a far-away friend may even be better than a gift beneath the tree.

Reading a story told in letters is a unique experience as well. A bit like peeking over their shoulders. You get the story the characters decide to tell, perhaps, not their true feelings, not necessarily the whole truth, giving you, as the reader, a little detective work to do. And in Frances and Bernard, each letter a piece of the puzzle, you soon find yourself reading between the lines, what wasn’t put to paper, an emerging picture that paints a beautiful and bittersweet love story.

I understand that Frances and Bernard is based upon a collection of letters between mid-20thc literary figures, Flannery O’Connor and Robert Lowell. I must say Carlene Bauer did more than read between the lines in creating such a beautiful work of art. Characters that make you cheer, cry, and laugh out loud, riding the highs of life’s wins, the lows of loss, sharing the burden of regret along the way. As the pages turn, your heart will crack a little, mend itself over, only to crack again.

The fragility of life. The hopefulness of hearts.

If you haven’t read Frances and Bernard, please do. So much more than fiction. Take it from someone whose circumstances precipitate letters with a loved one, there is beauty in the back and forth, pen to paper, signed and sealed, stamped and sent forth. And as a little piece of you soars the skies, you remain, a little fragile in the time in-between, a heart full of hope, until, voilà - a letter arrives in the mail.

His Very Best, Jimmy Carter, A Life by Jonathan Alter, A Book Review by Rebecca Moll

Having grown up a child of the 60s and 70s in a home that was politically vibrant, the fullness of this narrative fills in the gaps and cracks left behind in my child's mind. With each chapter, I remember, compare, and contrast what Johnathan Alter presents to my own adult assumptions and beliefs about our 39th President, the politics of our recent history, and his legacy that now has a life of its own. No historian or political guru am I, so I keep my devil’s advocate close, knowing that all humans are somewhat misunderstood and that, always, somewhere outside, inside, and/or surrounding my understanding, stands the truth.

A seeker of truth, Jimmy Carter was diplomacy, peace, dignity, and champion of the inalienable rights all human beings deserve: shelter and food, health and happiness, and the freedom to be the best person you can be.

It is a long narrative, but given time, the journey of Jimmy Carter deserves nothing less, the kind of reading I most enjoy, a little at a time, soaked in amongst what I have known, have recently learned, and will come to know as the pages turn and life marches on. This people-mover reading style allows for observing our ever-changing world while dabbling in some introspection and contemplation that haste always seems to lay waste.

And so, upon turning the last page I am forced to ask myself, what am I doing to make this world a better place? What small gesture can I do today to help others?

What rang true for Jimmy Carter just may be the answer. "Love your God and love the person in front of you." Simple, yet is it? For a man whom lived life to the fullest for a full century, he was no saint, something many of his adversaries are quick to point out. Yet, his moral tenacity and personal fortitude just may offer a solution to the evil and chaos of today. We are better than our sins. And so, everyday we get up and make up and try again.

"Love your God and love the person in front of you."

Good enough for Jimmy. Good enough for me.

The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafón, A Book Review by Rebecca Moll

If you love to get lost in the shadows of a story, find yourself seeking what is around the corner with apprehensive anticipation while at the same time wishing you could step into the pages and visit the people and places that have lassoed your imagination, then The Shadow of the Wind is a must read.

A Cemetery of Forgotten Books, an old romantic mansion and a blue tram shrouded in an ever-sweeping fog of history, Barcelona rising from the ashes of WWII, a little-known author, Julian Carax, who is disappearing one book at a time, and the stranger without a face stepping right out of the very book he vows to burn, his name, Lain Coubert.

Whose heart does not bleed for a young boy who mourns the loss of his mother, falls for unrequited love, and finds a book that takes him on a journey that goes far beyond the binding of its pages, especially when he discovers someone is destroying every last copy of the author’s works? Daniel steals your heart little by little as the perilous mystery unravels much like shadows amidst the shifting winds that keep re-appearing, always just a step or two, a page or two beyond reach.

Characters step on and off the page, some more than others keeping to the corners of your thoughts in between readings. And oh, how they come to life when you least expect it! Fermin, misjudged and misunderstood, his downfall at the depths of despair, resurrected, rejuvenated, falls madly in love, his brilliant mind, cutting whit and wicked humor, laying claim right alongside Daniel where your and Bernarda’s life-blood lies. Nura, Bea, and Clara lay their own claims upon the boy, tempting his fate and stealing his all-too-ripe innocence, one bite of a time. And then, Julian, for whom Daniel seeks, a parallel of sorts, pinning for love forsaken, his bleeding heart writing the very story that defines his and Daniel’s lives.

Romantic, yet funny, classic yet nouveau, beautifully written, Carlos Ruiz Zafón will capture your thoughts and your heart, wrap them up in a time and place you will wish to stay forever. And as the rosy sepia fades, do not despair, a sequel awaits, The Angel’s Game.

Should you wish to walk in the footsteps of more than imagination, a trip to the beautiful city of Barcelona and the author’s own map at the back of the book is a pleasant surprise. Read along and lose yourself, even if for only a short while. After all, that is the idea, isn’t it?

Between the lines, therein lies, a sweet respite, body, soul, and mind.

Ahab’s Wife by Sena Jeter Naslund, A Book Review by Rebecca Moll

Ahab and the white whale. But what about his wife? Her life?

It is only fitting that these last few chapters have washed ashore with myself, early risen, the night sky fiercely reigning, enveloped in the arms of warm quiet, my cozy chair, a stowaway on a ship named Una.

My second reading has been a journey of both new and renew. The intern years offer new perspectives, a revisiting of a story I loved, whose characters I still love as if they sit beside me, stand before me, strengthen and encourage me, sister ships from another realm.

Charlotte of the Try-pots, the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th Mrs. Hussey. Frannie, dear Frannie, Aunt Agatha, consummate and compassionate, Uncle Torchy of the Lighthouse, red hair aflame, and Susan, black as coal, eyes shining like icy water. Margaret Mitchell, scientific and independent, Mary Starbuck, Issac the goaler. Judge Austin and his paternal devotion. And then love, Kit Sparrow and Giles Bonebright, brethren of flesh, salt, and sea, Captain Ahab, cauldron of love and seeker of vengeance, little Liberty and Justice, and, lastly, Ishmael, call me Ishmael, resurrected to tell the tale, to live another day.

Set in a time of stringent conformity, Una offers a ingranuous contrast with her need to question, to drive her own stake of understanding, to make sense of her place in not just the world in which she lives but that other world, the vast sea of black, the fathomless depths of both sea and sky. The nucleus of Nantucket meets her challenge with new thoughts and trends on religion, nature, and science. Both nurturing and liberating, Una faces the tragedies and triumphs of life with a widows-walk vantage. Sails unfurled she meets the winds head on.

And as the sands of time and I turn the last page, I look not just to the celestial sea outside my window, gaze upon Una's stars, but to yet a third reading someday, to new perspectives, and a reunion with old friends.

Pure poetry is this novel, eloquent, thought provoking, a voyage for the soul.

Sail on my friends,
Rebecca

Belong to Me by Marisa De Los Santos, A Book Review by Rebecca Moll

If you have ever taken a “big” move from one place to another, relocated all your stuff, including hopes and dreams, then you know the choreography that it takes. All your stuff, boxed up, you move to your new home, new city with the dance of your old still stepping out in time. In the ensuing chaos, you unpack and restack, each day setting down new rhythms of your life, two floors not one, all white and light instead of your favorite warm butter brown, neighbors on both sides instead of down the hall or up one floor or a spit-distance across the alley. And while your stuff begins to fall into harmony with your new home, a few crushed toes at first, so do you, and your husband, your kids and even the dog.

But like most things in life, a 10,000 hour or more investiture to master anything worth mastering, belonging takes time, a few misjudgments, and few big blunders, too. Cornelia and Teo leave the city and move to the suburbs. For Cornelia, the pull of neighbors, female friendship, family, bus stop chats, and impromptu pot lucks are irresistible. But she soon finds out belonging takes more than desire, that stepping into a well-orchestrated dance requires learning a few steps first. As Cornelia toes her way in, her own understanding of what it means to belong, even with Teo begins to change, and in turn, so does she.

Written with expert mastery of the female dynamic and the humor it requires, De Los Santos brings you right into the kitchens and living rooms of Cornelia, Piper, and Elizabeth, sets you down among the dirty laundry, the O.C.D. pristine countertops, the little sticky fingerprints decoupaging walls and doors, the all-too-quiet bedrooms, lets you overhear some never before told secrets even before they are told. And as you turn the pages, laugh and cry, you begin to feel you belong, wish you could tell Piper, "stop", and Lake, "no", Dev, "go for it", and Teo, "please", Elizabeth, "I'm so sorry", and Cornelia…

Sometimes it is the last person you ever thought you would want to belong to, one that felt exactly the same, that opens their arms first. And with those first steps to embrace, you fall into rhythm.

Funny, thought-provoking, and creative, Belong to Me is a heartwarming read for any mother, sister, wife, daughter who wants to belong.

And what about Cornelia you ask? What does the reader wish to say to her? No spoiler here. Read the book. And while you’re at it, don’t forget your dancing shoes.

Fall to Me by Rebecca Moll

Summer clings,
yet Autumn sings,
a distant trumpet trill.

Curling leaves,
trees that heave,
fields that weave,
bronze and tawny hue.

Scurry squirrels haste about,
manic with the clock.
A shift, a change, a rendering to stock.

Oh, distant winds of hope and peace,
seasons for us all,
Fall to me thy Winter's sleep
and Spring again for all.

Doctor Zhivago by Boris Pasternak, A Book Review by Rebecca Moll

Lucky for us, Pasternak put pen to paper...

When someone mentions Doctor Zhivago, I invariably think of my father, how after watching the movie more than 50 years ago, said it was a beautiful love story. Of course, I was a child and as a child, love was a very two-dimensional experience. I loved my mother and father and they loved me. I loved my dog, Daisy, and Daisy loved me. I loved my dolls and they loved me. And then older, images of Omar Sharif (Yuri) and Julia Christie (Lara) wrapped against the blinding Russian winter with their luxurious fur collars racing against time in a classic Russian troika, three gorgeous white steeds leading the way, it was a perfect picture of forbidden love.

A glimpse perhaps into the depth and breadth of this classic novel, maybe?

Now, almost 50 years later, a lifetime of experience, a wonderful husband and three children I believe that love not only exceeds my childish two-dimensional view but defies all boundaries. Rather colloidal in nature, it fills the space we allow only to shape shift perspective and understanding. Warm and easy. Fast and furious. Unbidden and forbidden. Steely and intractable. Love both unifies and cleaves. And we are left grabbing with both hands that which we know comes without warranty.

And what other backdrop than the great expanse of Russia, its people, and their iron-clad love for all things Russian, their defiance against oppression, fight for social reform, war in all its glorified tragedy to tell a love story? And in the midst of this turmoil, their lives intersecting at odds from childhood, comes Yuri and Pasha, Tanya, and Lara.

To fall in love when you already love another. A wife, a husband, children you could never forsake. And yet, it is this love, this rare and pure love, the impossibility of it all, like matter which defies dimension, a country uprising against the reign, a people pitted against each other, forbidden, forbidden, absolutely forbidden that draws their lives together over and over. Yuri and Pasha. Lara and Pasha. Lara and Yuri. Tanya and Yuri.

There is a steeliness to the Russian steppe, a cold and forbiddingness that creates beauty in the simplest of existences. An abandoned house, a few logs for a fire, a hidden cache of frozen potatoes, and pages and pages of Russian poetry. And two hearts that long for nothing but time and space, together.

And although my simple take-away falls far below any mediocre literary conclusions, I carry with me a little of Yuri, his love for poetry and the natural world, Lara, her passion and vitality, Pasha, his dedication and defiance, and Tanya, her steadfastness and compassion. For I know their dimensions defy containment and great literature that they are, they will continue to inspire and acquire readers of all ages for years and years to come.

Yes, Doctor Zhivago is a beautiful love story. Yes, the depth and breadth leave you wishing for more. But like that shape-shifting emotion, it comes of its own terms, offering moments of time and space that defy dimension. Lucky for us, Pasternak put pen to paper.

A book for my permanent shelves, one I am sure I will revisit. Highly recommended. Pairs well with red wine and late-night lights.

Sweet Child of Thine By Rebecca Moll

“Your days are numbered…throw open the windows of your soul…”
~Marcus Aurelis

When one and one don't add to two,
And ABC's gone ruse,
A window opens in the mind,
A key turns something loose.

The view anew,
The grass a blue,
The sun a cherry red,
That's bled and bled and bled the bed ‘til shock is nothing said.

Birds crawl about,
No song to tout,
Fish soaring o'r head.
Flowers fly,
And mushrooms cry,
For someplace high and dry.

The sky is green,
Where clouds have been,
And roots crown trees that reach,
Beseech,
You blink,
You think,
But nothing comes to mind.

A road appears ahead,
It's left or right,
Fight or flight,
The window can be closed,
But if let be,
Can it be?
The wind blows free,
Un-dimensionally?

What do you do when all is new?
Not what you knew to be true?
Is blue really blue?
And what of white and black and brown?
When law that's good dies duty bound,
While bad it’s beating down,
Of child's play that’s turned and slayed while bullets sprayed,
From wronged monsters made,
And pink and blue and other shoes,
Tie and bind and hide,
Undermine, deride and chide?

Oh, sweet child of mine!

I do not like what I behold,
This window to the world,
So cruel this rule,
Of blame and rank and file,
How some can justify,
Their hate and rally cry.

I blink,
I think,
My heart it sinks,
For those misjudged and tried.

From just a babe,
We were told,
And told, and told and told...
Taught it rote,
Un-bespoke…
What was it we were told?

But why not see possibility?
Teach love instead of hate,
Despite how we relate,
Throw the window wide,
Let Father have his time,
And hope and dreams,
And hearts will keen,
And swell with love and PRIDE.

For words come back,
We know so well,
For all humanity,
For the greatest of these,
Do as for Thee,
Your neighbor as yourself.
And pray for peace and pray for hope,
but most of all for LOVE,
Oh, Lord above,
Hear their cries,
Your sweet, Sweet Child of Thine.

Take What You Can Carry by Gian Sardar, A Book Review by Rebecca Moll

What do you choose to carry?

If you believe there is merit in perspective, that life’s hardest lessons and cruelest moments have value in how they refine us, whittle us down to just what we can hold in one breath, feel in one heartbeat, grasp in one hand, then Take What You Can Carry will resonate deeply with you.

Set in the late 1970s, we look back in time when women in the American workplace struggled against the status-quo male dominated hierarchy. And if that rewind refines your perspective on such struggles today, then hold on. In short order the story line turns sharply with life in Northern Iraq and the Kurdistan women who lived on the brink of survival. Suddenly, we can no longer hold with what we understood to be inequality.

And on this road of life where we pack and repack experiences, where what we choose to carry steers our understanding of ourselves and the world in which we live, that which doesn't break you, makes you stronger. Upon broadened shoulders you heft what you can and forge ahead into the unknown.

Olivia, a young, American, aspiring photojournalist, grabs with both hands the opportunity to accompany her Kurdish boyfriend, Delan, to a wedding in Northern Iraq, hoping to bring back a photo that will launch her career. Torn apart by war, danger and peril bring opportunity, yet Olivia’s camera remains in her bag, her first thought, survival. As she falls in love with his family and a little girl next door, Lailan, Olivia struggles with not only with the question of whether such heartbreaking moments should be captured, but if she has the instinct and guts to do so. Insecurities deepen as does her love for a land and its people whom she feels she cannot betray. And then, the moment arrives, capturing on film not only the beautiful landscape for which she focused, but a horrifying tragedy that alters lives forever.

Sardar writes with a transparency that transports you into the hearts and minds, the place and time of her story, a beauty that cleaves you to the very characters that reach for your hands, pull you along, while you wallow in emotions that you cannot fathom how to carry. Olivia and Delan, Hewar and Gaziza, Soran, and Miriam. And most of all, little Lailan, who like you, upon turning the last page, feel your heart too big.

My second of Sardar’s books, I look forward to a third, You Were Here. Typically, not one to monopolize on a single author, I will give it time, foray into other works and genres, collecting this and that along the way, like puddles in my palms, ephemeral, I must choose.

Take what you can carry? It’s good enough for me.