New Century Reading

Such Small Hands

No, this book is not about 45. Although in many ways, it's as unsettling and unnerving as his presidency.

This slim tale--or fable--is the story of Marina, who, as the book opens, is in a car crash which kills her parents. She is hospitalized for a long while, then taken to an orphanage that seems almost too good to be true. The other little girls there are happy, love the orphanage, the staff is kind and supportive. But when Marina arrives, with a doll given to her during her hospitalization, she throws things off balance. The other little girls don't quite know what to make of her, nor she them.

But things really go awry when Marina creates a game and invites the other girls to play with her at night, when they're supposed to be sleeping. It's an eerie game that no one seems to enjoy, yet none of them can help participating in it. And ultimately, it gets darker and darker.

I can't say much more than that. This tale is creepy as all get out, not least of which because it's told in such a strange way, with repetitive sentences and images (let's just say that Walt Disney and his empire play a role that he would probably not really like) and undercurrents of evil simmering under the surface. The story is told in sections of Marina's third-person POV alternating with that of the other little girls, told in a collective "we" voice. How much of the writing's strength is due to the translator, I don't know. I read it in one sitting, and it left me uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. Which is to say, I may seek out more of this author's work.

Snotgirl

I was a big fan of the Scott Pilgrim series back in the day, so I was excited to see that Bryan Lee O'Malley had something new. Co-authored with Leslie Hung, the storyline sounded deliciously arch: Snotgirl is a popular fashion blogger who suffers from extreme allergies, something she worries will hurt her brand (I mean, when have red eyes and green stuff coming out of your nose ever made you fashionable?). But when her allergist takes a leave and she has to see someone new, he gives her an experimental medication that helps, but has some very odd side effects, and now she's not sure if she committed a murder or not.

Fun and campy, right? I love that on the back cover of the book, right above the ISBN and price, is this categorization: 

Contemporary fantasy/romance/fashion/comedy/anxiety/INFP

Awesome.

But.

I know this is the first of a series--"Vol. 1" is prominently displayed on the cover--but geez, it's nearly all set up. And very slow set up at that. We get Snotgirl (the nickname is bestowed upon her by a new friend) bewailing her physical health, her lack of really good friends, her ex-boyfriend having dumped her. Again. And again, and again, and again. There are some hints of storylines to come, but for goodness sake, why not give us a little more in the first round? My first reaction was, to heck with it. But realistically, I liked Scott Pilgrim enough to continue onto the next volume of this. But that one better deliver.

Being Mortal

This book has been sitting on my kitchen counter for at least a year. I kept it there to remind me that it was a Book I Should Read. But, you know, who wants to read a book about death and end-of-life decisions?

However, I'm now watching my 95-year-old father begin what could be his final decline, and I figured it was time. I'm glad I did. In some ways, this isn't anything new; the book is only 3 years old, yet I've seen the topic covered in countless news and magazine stories during that time and possibly before. Still, putting a book together on this topic--by a surgeon who has witnessed countless examples--is a valuable addition to the discussion. And there should be discussion. Lots of it.

Dr. Gawande examines the gaping chasm between what people want (or think they want) for their end of life, and what they actually get. He looks at how family is involved in that; I admit my hackles started to go up when he first extolled the virtue of the extended family rallying around the elders. But then he admits that that was probably more successful when life expectancies were much shorter than they are today. 

He also looks at how doctors and medicine in general is involved, and he paints a troubling picture. Not of abuse or neglect, per se, but more of medical professionals so focused on their profession that they can't see the patient for the disease. He uses several examples from his own practice and doesn't hesitate to admit that he's been part of the problem. But, touchingly, he also details what happened when his father was diagnosed with a tumor. Both of his parents were doctors, and the three of them spent much time together in other doctors' offices, yet with their combined experience, they were often flummoxed at what was available and how to make choices. If people who spend their working lives deep in these issues have trouble sorting them out, then how are the rest of us supposed to manage?

There are no easy answers, but Gawande does propose conversation, and lots of it. He also provides clear examples of what people should seek from medical professionals when diagnosed with critical and possibly terminal conditions. He advocates heavily for hospice, and I couldn't agree more--my mother died 4 years ago, and hospice care made her end of life much better, and my father has just entered it. It's an entirely humane, human-focused approach that says, "What does the patient want and value? What are their goals?" rather than "How many meds/procedures/experimental trials can we throw at them?" Above all, he urges patients and their families to push hard at medical people when it comes to realistic outcomes. The reality is, doctors are human too; they want to provide hope, even if they know deep down that they're probably giving false hope.

It would be easy to say, read this is you have elderly people in your life. But death and deadly diseases don't just strike the elderly. There are some heartbreaking stories in this book of people who died far too young. Take a deep breath, take this off your own metaphorical kitchen counter, and read it. Then give it to the other people in your life, ask them to read it too, and start talking.

Pride and Prejudice (and a recipe)

And we're back, with part 2 of James' six-month Jane Austen Read All A-Long. And oh, this month we read one of my favorite books ever, not to mention favorite of Jane Austen's:

I've read this book many times, and I still love it every time I read it, and still get so caught up in it that I find myself racing to the final pages, even though I certainly know how it ends. 

I love it from the very first sentence:

"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife."

I mean, c'mon. Look how much is packed into that sentence, and how beautifully it sets up the book. There's that arch tone that Austen was such a master of. It's got a formal, flowery-ness that clearly puts it in a different time than now. And it tells us what the roles of men and women were during that time.

And look how quickly and sharply she details the social "niceties" of a small village when Lydia Bennet, who nearly caused a huge scandal by running off with a gentleman, returns to town as his wife rather than a ruined woman: 

"To be sure it would have been more for the advantage of conversation, had Miss Lydia Bennet come upon the town; or, as the happiest alternative, been secluded from the world, in some distant farm house. But there was much to be talked of, in marrying her; and the good-natured wishes for her well-doing, which had proceeded before, from all the spiteful old ladies in Meryton, lost but little of their spirit in this change of circumstances, because with such an husband, her misery was considered certain."

OUCH.

There is so much humor, often subtle yet also deeply sarcastic, that I frequently laughed out loud. Yet this book, like Sense and Sensibility, also has tinges of melancholy. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet have a marriage that has not worked out so well; the five Bennet sisters have little to look forward to in life, given that their home is entailed to a cousin, and they have no fortunes to make them attractive; that fate is further driven home by family friend Charlotte Lucas, making a marriage which, on paper, is a decent one, but condemns her to a life of being married to one of the most pompous asses that ever existed; they live in a time when the rebellious behavior of one sister could ruin the prospects of the other four permanently. I could go on and on. Even with a happy ending (c'mon, I'm not going to worry about spoiling a book this old), it's still clear that our heroine's family continues to be problematic for her, even if her own good marriage allows her to help their prospects a bit.

I haven't read all of Austen's books, and I've heard rumors that Persuasion might be her finest, which I'll find out when I read it later this fall. But for now? What a treat to return to this. Next month: Mansfield Park.

And now, as promised, a Pride and Prejudice-related recipe from Dinner with Mr. Darcy.

Newcastle Pickled Salmon

Author's note: "I like to imagine that Mrs. Bennet chose this recipe from Newcastle because her favorite daughter, Lydia, had been dispatched there with Wickham shortly before the date of this dinner [a special dinner to impress wealthy young men]. Mrs. Raffald specified "strong beer alegar" which is close to vinegar, and "long-pepper," which is a little hotter than black pepper."

2 1/4 cups pale ale (Newcastle Brown Ale is good and appropriate, but will color the fish slightly)
1 tsp sea salt
4 salmon fillets
2/3 cup white wine vinegar
1/2 tsp ground mace
1/2 tsp ground cloves
1/2 tsp black peppercorns
Long pepper, if you can find it, or a pinch of dried chili flakes
1 inch fresh ginger, sliced

1. Bring the ale, 1 1/4 cups water and the salt to a boil, and take the scum off the top. Put the fish skin-side down in the mixture, and poach lightly for 7-8 minutes, the carefully remove each fillet onto a plate, reserving the poaching liquid in a container. Leave in the fridge overnight.
2. The next day heat the ale and salt liquor in a pan, and add the vinegar, mace, cloves, peppercorns, long pepper or chili flakes, and ginger slices. Bring to a boil and simmer for 5 minutes. Put the salmon in a glass dish, and pour the hot liquid over, making sure the fish is fully covered.
3. Once it has cooled, put an airtight lid or plastic wrap over the dish, and keep in the fridge. It can be eaten after 3 days, and will keep for a week or more. Mrs. Raffald put hers in earthenware pots covered with strong brown paper, and says it will keep a whole year (but I wouldn't like to risk it).

 

 

 

Broken River

Well, this was a wild ride. Broken River opens with a crime in process, one that ends violently, and two people are killed. (That's not a spoiler, it happens right away.) The murders happen at a home outside the small town of Broken River in upstate New York, and the house remains vacant for years. Well--vacant except for an increasingly sentient invisible being. Then an artist from New York City buys the house and renovates it, moving into it with his wife and daughter in an attempt to rebuild his marriage after a long history of infidelity on his part.

The killers were never found. And they haven't left town, but are still part of the community. As the new family adjusts to life in a small town, both the wife and the young daughter become obsessed with what happened to the previous occupants, including another young daughter who escaped murder, but has seemingly vanished otherwise. As all these players manage their secrets and lies, the web surrounding them begins to tighten. Meanwhile, the invisible sentient being, the Observer, watches them and ponders the meaning of life, or specifically, their lives.

This is certainly an odd book, and hard to describe. It's part murder mystery, part true crime, part supernatural, part family dynamics. I've read a lot of comments about the Observer being superfluous, but I liked it; for me, it raised the book out of a straightforward genre reading and opened the door to lots of interpretations. 

I haven't read anything else by J. Robert Lennon, but he's a darned fine writer. He developed characters who are terribly flawed and--not a problem for me, but I know it's a sticking point for others--unlikable, but always interesting and real. I wanted to see what would happen to them. And I'll definitely look for his next book.

History of Wolves

It took me a bit to sort out my feelings about this book once I'd finished reading it. This debut novel has some truly beautiful writing; there are some nature scenes that are just blissfully real and tangible, and some emotional scenes that are wrenching. 

It's the story of Linda, a teenage girl who grew up in a failed commune where she now lives alone with her ex-hippie parents. It's fairly clear that her nontraditional upbringing didn't give her a strong sense of family and security, and she's viewed as a bit of a freak by the locals she attends school with. So it's not a surprise that she's attracted to the young mother and son who arrive to live in a cabin across the lake from her home.

Patra and Paul, who is four, are having some mother-son time alone while they wait for Daddy (Leo) to return from a research trip. Patra appears to be a loving mother, but as any mother of a young child knows, 24/7 alone with them can get to be a bit much, no matter how wonderful they are. So Patra (short for Cleopatra) hires Linda to do some babysitting.

It becomes clear fairly soon that all is not right with Paul. But Linda, unfamiliar with young children, works around what she senses and gives Paul a deep nature education that he's never had. She also begins to form a relationship with Patra, something combining a female friendship with a mother/daughter relationship. The three of them are almost forming their own family unit when Leo finally returns, and things take a turn for the worse.

All in all, this storyline is enough to build a book. There's a lot here worth exploring--parent/child relationships, what happens when those are damaged/damaging, the effects of loneliness and exclusion, etc. But Fridlund added some additional subplots, one involving a potentially pedophile teacher and another involving adult Linda's boyfriend, that I think are meant to parallel what's happening to teenage Linda, but instead they distract from and dilute the main story. 

The other problem is that, as beautiful as the nature writing here is (and accurate--she's set the book in the part of northern Minnesota I grew up in), there's...well...too much of it. It's all very evocative and metaphoric, but periodically I'd feel, geez, not more nature, just get on with the story!

All that said, the writing is strong enough that I'll look for her next book.

My Depression

Treating the topic of depression via a picture book may seem like an odd choice, but it works. Author and illustrator Elizabeth Swados has battled the black dog (now, I have a literal black dog, and she doesn't depress me at all, but I get the metaphor) long enough to understand its forms and what it takes to deal with it. Her illustrations are rough and crazy:

But, at least in my experience, illustrate very well what it's like to sink into a depression. She also details her journey to control it, a journey that anyone who's suffered from depression will recognize, even though everyone's path is different in that regard. 

I think this would be a great gift for anyone who's just beginning to understand that they are depressed and feeling helpless and alone. My one quibble is that the book kind of rushes through its ending--I wish she would have slowed that part down a bit and explored a little more. Still, in terms of explaining the ins and outs of depression, and how it can affect people (including those around the depressed person), this is a great primer.

You Don't Have to Say You Love Me

Wow. How to describe this memoir by Sherman Alexie? He takes the traditional memoir format and turns it upside down. This is in no way a linear book, and it's told in bits and pieces. Sometimes there are complete chapters, sometimes just a paragraph, and many times, poems that carry the story along, poems that are stories in and of themselves. It's about Alexie and his difficult, formidable mother, who died shortly before he wrote this book. But it's also about Alexie and his life growing up on the reservation and how he got off the reservation; how he was bullied when he attended a reservation school, but became much more popular and successful when he opted to go to a neighboring white school; how he survived a brain tumor, but what it did to him; how Indians on the reservation treat each other and how they treat Indians who leave; how whites treat Indians; alcoholism; family ties; and so much more.

And yet, Alexie reminds the reader several times that his memories are, like all memories, a bit suspect:

"On our first date, my future wife said she'd once broken up with a boyfriend because his favorite song was the Eagles' 'Desperado.'

"Well, I remembered that my wife had revealed that goofy bit of information to me. But she always insisted that she'd never said it and that it wasn't true. She'd never dated a man like that. And I insisted just as strongly that she had told me about her Eagles-loving former beau and was just retroactively embarrassed by that particular romantic partner.

"We argued about it for years.

"Then, one evening, my wife and I watched a Seinfeld rerun.

"'Hey, Elaine,' Jerry said. 'What happened to that guy?'

"'Ah,' Elaine said. 'I dumped him.'

"'Why?'

"'Because his favorite song is "Desperado."'

"I kept staring at the television as my wife stared at me. I had confused my real life with an episode of a classic situation comedy. So, yeah, I think you know by now that I am definitely going to conflate shit."

The lines between truth and lies, and how memory plays into it, is a recurring theme, especially involving his mother, who had a very loose interpretation of what constitutes truth. And that's especially complicated in her case, because of a story she repeatedly tells about her past--with varying, conflicting versions.

This book is heartbreaking, thoughtful, funny, and bawdy. Its patchwork frame is absolutely appropriate for reasons I won't spoil. My only complaint is that I wish there had been photos. There's a cover photo of Alexie's mother--she was beautiful--and the cover design is pretty much perfect. The book would have been even stronger with more photos. But, I'm guessing, that was a deliberate choice. In any case, highly recommended unless you don't like authors playing with traditional memoir formats.

And as long as we're talking about this title, let's go to the source: