Bunheads

Bunheads

By Sophie Flack (294 pages)

Published by Hachette

Bookish rating: 4

Bunheads is precisely the type of book I would have loved to read in middle school. Or high school. Or, well, I actually loved reading it now, in my (ack!) thirties.

Hannah is a 19-year-old corps member of the Manhattan Ballet, which is, of course, really the New York City Ballet. Flack actually was a member of NYCB’s corps for several years and did the whole leaving home, School of American Ballet thing as a young dancer, so her portrayal of the dance world—in America’s best dance company—rings very true. I mean, I believe her when she says the snow in the snow scene—everyone’s favorite Nutcracker scene (mine included) is swept up and reused each performance and includes dirt and lost earrings and gets in dancers’ mouths and tastes like poo.

The plot? Hannah, totally dedicated to her dance career, starts to waver as she gets an inkling that there’s an entire world outside the theater. This, of course, coincides with a love interest, Jacob.

The novel is neatly and well constructed and the pacing is right. The writing, a little on the bland side, doesn’t give Hannah much of a voice, but Flack makes up for this by including little details that take Bunheads to the next level: the billowy rush of cool air on stage as the curtain rises, concentrated heat of the spotlight, and so on. The other thing I loved? Hannah—and, Flack I suspect—genuinely loves ballet. Sure, she’s destroying her body in the pursuit of a promotion, but she adores being on stage and the sensation of her body doing what she wills of it.

Hannah quotes Rimbaud (slightly awkwardly, but we’ll let that pass): “ ‘I have stretched ropes from steeple to steeple; garlands from window to window; golden chains from star to star, and I dance.’ . . . I’ve always like the image. It makes dance sound like something that exists in the larger world and not just in a dark theater” (p. 171).

Nothing profound there, but I liked that Hannah finishes the novel still in love with dance, its special-ness still preserved. Recommended, for dance fans and young adult lit fans alike.

The Crimson Petal and the White

The Crimson Petal and the White
By Michel Faber (894 pages)
Published by Canongate Books
Bookish rating: 4

The best word to describe Crimson Petal is bawdy. The novel consists 894 pages of crude, icky, arguably perverse sex. And yet . . .  it's insanely well written.

Set in Victorian London, we meet a prostitute named Sugar. Pushed into the trade as a child by her appalling mother, she's our heroine. We root for her, even as she uses her feminine talents to seduce a thoroughly unlikable, thoroughly selfish wealthy man, William. After all, doing so is a matter of survival.

Though she cares nil for her, um, benefactor, she outsmarts him, ensuring things like clean linens and firewood by essentially playing to his ego. And so it goes for just under a thousand pages.

The narrating point of view is omniscient, entering each character's mind as the narrator wills it, even addressing the reader in a delightfully condescending tone. It works. The narration is wry, often ironic, and hopelessly crude. The end result is disturbing, heartbreaking, and often weirdly amusing. Mostly, the novel takes the reader deep into the trenches of Victorian whoredom, exposing it as nothing short of sex trafficking, child abuse, and horrifying exploitation. Voluntary in a way, yes, but every case Faber shows us stems from the hooker's powerlessness.

I read this book via Kindle during many, many, MANY 2:00 a.m. feedings of my baby girl---perhaps not the most wholesome literature for the wee hours of the morning. You know, when only those awake include whores and sleepy eyed mothers. At any rate, the novel is good. Recommended.

How to Talk So Kids Will Listen

How to Talk So Kids Will Listen and Listen So Kids Will Talk
By Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish (304 pages)
Published by Harper Perennial
Bookish rating: 3.5

As you may know, Washington Post columnist Caroyln Hax has the power to affect what I say, do, and read. She's quite powerful. This book--a parenting classic, which I'm certain MY parents never read (but that's neither here nor there)--is one of those parenting books Hax repeatedly recommends during her chats and whatnot. And because almighty Hax rarely leads me astray, I decided to read How to Talk in hopes of gleaning some communication kernels of wisdom to apply to my child who often seems to just not listen to me.

Lesson #1: Charlotte may not listen to me, but do I listen to her? Ruh-roh.

This is one of those books you read that causes an unsettling ick in the pit of your tummy as you realize that you're doing everything all wrong. While I don't agree with everything Faber and Mazlish suggest---for example, some conversation examples are far too wordy for young children--the overall premise is a good one: shut up for a second and LISTEN to your kid.

Doing so, they argue, will bring down the tantrum level and increase compliance. So, I tried this with Charlotte. Currently, my first-born is going through a phase in which she doesn't want to wear pants. It's endearing when she's decorating the Christmas tree, especially if she opts for her Elmo slippers, but it's problematic if we actually need to leave the house.

So, instead of all out war to get her to put on pants, as before, I tried the following:

Charlotte: I don't want to wear pants! [starts crying]
Me: [letting her know I hear her] You don't want to wear pants! Charlotte does NOT want to wear pants.
Charlotte: [stops crying, looks at me, nods while snot and tears run down her face]
Me: [calmly] You don't want to wear pants. I wish you didn't have to wear pants. I wish you could wear just undies ALL day.
Charlotte: [listening remarkably intently]
Me: I wish you didn't have to wear pants, but when we go to church, we wear pants. Mommy had to put on pants, too.
Charlotte: [sniffles]
Me: How about the pants with flowers? Lorelei's pants also have flowers on them today, remember?
Charlotte: [nods and starts putting on her pants]

The idea is that you validate your child's feelings. I admit, this sounds really  . . . . loosey goosey touchy feely. The thing is, doing so works. After all, one of the things that ticks me off more than anything is when I feel like Chris isn't hearing what I'm trying to say, either tuning me out or bypassing a gripe of mine. Then I get frustrated. Really, really frustrated. And a little difficult to live with. Why on earth would a young child be different?

Another tidbit I found useful is how to encourage autonomy and good behavior. Charlotte is fiercely independent, and I need to reign in some of that independence, so she uses it for good rather than evil. What to do? Well, Faber and Mazlish argue you should DESCRIBE what your kid does well rather than just label something as fantastic (or crappy). This one is tricky, because we parents have a knee-jerk reaction to describe everything as just great that our kid shows us or does, but we have to be specific in a way that essentially praises their effort.

So, again, I gave it a whirl. During meals, Charlotte's table manners are less than stellar. She would eat soup with her fingers if allowed. Obviously, meal times have been reduced to a back-and-forth arguments of "use your fork" and "no, I use my fingers!"

What could a new approach hurt? What I was doing certainly wasn't working. This time:

Me: Here's a fork for your cheese muffin [cut up English muffin with melted cheddar].
Charlotte: [eyes it suspiciously]
Me: [sitting down next to her] Mommy has a cheese muffin, too.
Charlotte: Like Charlotte?
Me: Yup. I'm going to eat mine with my fork. [I stab a piece of food.]
Charlotte: [uses fork to take a bite]
Me: You just put that bite on your fork like a big girl.
Charlotte: [grins] I'm a big girl!
Me: I like eating next to you when you eat with your fork like a big girl.
Charlotte: Can I have some milk, please?
Me: Yes. Thank you for asking for milk so nicely. It's easy for me to know what you want when you use your words like that. [I get her milk.]
Charlotte: Thank you. [I shit you not.]
Me: You're welcome, sweetie.
[Daddy arrives home.]
Charlotte: Daddy, I'm eating a cheese muffin with Mommy!
Me: [meaningfully, tone aimed at Daddy] Daddy, Charlotte is using her fork, just like a big a girl.
Daddy: [catching on, thankfully] Good!
Charlotte: All done! [She takes her plate and puts it in the sink]
Me: [catching Daddy's eye] Thank you, Charlotte. That's really helpful to me when you put your dishes away by yourself.
Charlotte: [beaming, returns to her spot and starts talking to herself] Where does this go? Oh, right. [Takes her princess placemat and puts it in a drawer on the opposite side of the kitchen. We have never, ever witnessed her do this.]
Me: You also put away your placemat! Now your spot at the table is all clean. Thank you!

Obviously, there's a major cheese factor in talking to your kid like this, but the thing is, describing the specific things you like and why does seem to work and actually does appear to elicit MORE good behavior later on. Huh.

The book has a zillion other dos and don'ts, along with the reasoning behind them that I can't really cover in this review. And although the authors get a bit long-winded at times, and there's a huge gaping hole in what to freaking do if your kid is completely defiant in a situation, despite your newfound communication skills, this is a parenting book that actually can make you a better parent, not just a more paranoid parent. Recommended for those with kids.