The Harbormaster's Daughter

The Harbormaster's Daughter
By Heidi Jon Schmidt (368 pages)
Published by NAL
Bookish reading: 3

Having very much enjoyed Schmidt's The House on Oyster Creek, I looked forward to reading her more recently published The Harbormaster's Daughter, set in the same Cape Cod town.

Overall? Meh. The book is well written, the characters adequately complex, but the novel never took off for me. In a town split between blue-collar locals and non-blue-collar outsiders, Vita--a 3-year-old girl--gets dropped off at LaRee's house when her mother is murdered. Vita, the embodiment of the local vs. outsider divide, grows up and has to come to terms with her identity, her town, and so on.

I think part of what I struggled with was the idea that in a small town, Vita had no clue who killed her mother---when absolutely everybody else did. As someone who also lives in a small town, a dog owner can't fail to pick up his or her dog's poop without the whole town freaking out about it via Facebook, listservs, town hall meetings, and general chit chat in the line at the pharmacy. So, I didn't buy Vita's naive ignorance.

Also, although the book was ultimately nicely written, I sense Schmidt really working to make the novel WORK. It didn't feel as effortless as The House on Oyster Creek.

Anyway, not my favorite.

A Year of Biblical Womanhood

A Year of Biblical Womanhood
By Rachel Held Evans (308 pages)
Published by Thomas Nelson
Bookish rating: 4

I actually finished this book last year and it is the final, lingering book review I need to complete before posting my 2013 book list (oh, shush, so the list is 10 months late). See, I wanted to write a really stellar, witty, enlightening review of this gem of a book, but that was going to require thought and careful writing. And, like, time.

So, here we are, 10 months (actually more) later. Ack. Procrastination: never a good idea.

So, in A Year of Biblical Womanhood, Evans takes on the idea of "biblical womanhood" all we conservatively raised girls had shoved down our throats and literally enacts its biblical edicts  for a year. So, she dwells in a tent in the yard during her monthly visit from Aunt Flo, refers to her husband as master, becomes uber domestic, and so on.

Evans is a good writer and witty, which makes her criticism of how we've effed up what a Good Woman is a freaking delight to read. She's not mean-spirited at all--she genuinely tries to reconcile how we've constructed (yes, CONSTRUCTED) our modern notion of "biblical womanhood" with a serious faith. What do you do when you don't fit the mold of such a woman? What happens when the church tells you to check all your talents and idiosyncrasies at the door, because you lack a particular male organ?

Why, it's a recipe for deciding to major in women's studies at a super liberal college, that's what it is.

Now, like Evans, I was raised in a church where a girl's greatest virtue was her virginity, her highest callings = wife and mother (not that there's anything wrong in CHOOSING this). She should exhibit sweetness of temper and love of the domestic arts, recognize the husband as the head and the wife's role as "complementary," absolutely not lead in the church (note: speaking at women's events is okay), and so on. I exaggerate a bit--because goodness knows there were some feisty, funny, eye-rolling, deeply faithful women in said church. They sort of worked around the inconveniences of sheer sexism, and greatly benefited the girls in the congregation, bless their hearts

But I remember a youth retreat where girls were instructed to learn from their mothers how to cook and clean, so as to be ready to make good a wife to a good little christian boy (who we better not sleep with  until we married).

It's one thing to have this BS forced on you at a mandatory "retreat" (we had to go---I hated them. To this day, I refuse to sit in room with a power point-led praise songs and a "praise band"--to each their own, if this is how you roll, but I do NOT go backward in time to those days. Seriously. Emotionally, I just can't do it. At my parents' church, if I happen to be there, I pretend Charlotte has to pee and I leave until the music is done. I'm sure many people feel the same way about traditional hymns. It's probably a reason why contemporary vs. traditional music is one of the most divisive topics in churches).

So, it's one thing to be told you're a "stumbling block" for boys because you have boobies, or your life's calling is to be--because you are female--an obedient, hardworking, sweet-tempered wife and mother--and that's it. It's another thing when you're a girl living at home, seeing the flaws of patriarchal crap play out in front of you in day-to-day life. And then on Sunday, you're told again that this is as good as humankind is gonna get. It's preordained. God-sanctioned. Sweeten up, girl. Accept it. Try harder. QUIT QUESTIONING IT!

Ugh. There's a reason I stalled so long in doing this post. Hello, demons from the past. Welcome to my present.

Anyhoo, the book. I loved how Evans handled the housekeeping chapter, showing how fabulously wonderful homemaking can be. I love homemaking. I really do. I love aprons, baking, decorating, scented candles, throw pillows, creating the right ambiance,and having a clean and tidy home. I get very proud when I sense my home is a haven for my family (and dog), nestled on the earth, cozy and well-ordered. Evans develops a new appreciation for the art of homemaking, but she warns against suggesting this is IT. Or if you don't love it, something is wrong with you. And that's a relief, because I don't sew, I forgot how to crochet, I can knit a total of two stitches, and I pay people to clean (like, really clean) my house. Why? Because I have other things I'd rather do! Evans argues that not every woman can--or should--fit the domestic goddess role, just because she's female. AND THAT'S OKAY.

Evans rushed through the motherhood chapter a bit, using a robotic baby to simulate the hassle of children. I didn't think it got anywhere close to the heart of the stress these creatures generate, from the overwhelming responsibility for their little lives and futures, the physical demands (postpartum everything, breastfeeding, sleep deprivation), or the expense they require. However, I found it HILARIOUS that a woman commented on Evans blog that she was disappointed Evans bottle-fed--instead of breastfed--her ROBOTIC BABY.

 Evans is very critical of the idea of the perpetually self-sacrificing Good Woman. She questions the girls at her (christian, I think) college, who prayed to be able to become the quintessential Proverbs 31 woman. Frankly, I had always read that chapter to reflect the different facets a woman contains, but I am very aware of it being used to describe an impossibly high bar of endless (quiet) toil in servitude to one's family so that some day, if she married a good head of the household and birthed and properly raised her children, they'd give her a thumbs-up and call her "blessed" and valuable. You know, um, validating her. Funny that they prayed for this. Me? I prayed to avoid it.

Obviously, Evans's somewhat snarky but ultimately VERY sincere critique of the idea of biblical womanhood resonated with me. I absolutely recommend this book. For reals. Read it. READ IT!

The Fault in Our Stars

 

The Fault in Our Stars
By John Green (318 pages)
Published by Dutton
Bookish rating: 4

I tend to dread to reviewing books that gazillions of people have already read. I prefer to unearth something under-appreciated that deserves some exposure and do my part for literacy. But hey. The Fault in Our Stars was begging to be read, mainly because it's a mind-bogglingly huge success in the YA market that has confirmed that younger readers are veering away from zombies, vampires, and end-of-the-world-slash-futuristic tales. As someone who is toiling on her own YA novel that contains nothing supernatural, this bodes well.

In case you've been living under a rock or only read news articles or 140-character remarks on your phone (ahem, Chris), The Fault in Our Stars is about two star-crossed lovers with cancer. Hazel's is terminal, and she's our teen narrator who, despite being written by a GUY, is adequately intelligent, irreverent, insecure, and believably GIRL. The parents are both lame (as parents are, amirite?) and remarkably sweet and complex. In fact, I thought Hazel's back-and-forth (I need you! Wait, no! Get away!) relationship with her folks very impressively got at their grief and love without being saccharine or sentimental or whatever. All while firmly in Hazel's point of view.

Of course, as a mum, I totally agreed with the line of "the only thing worse than having cancer is having a kid who has cancer."

The story was engrossing, the characters genuinely endearing and funny, and the writing sharp and perceptive--not at all heavy-handed. I found myself choked up here and there, which I suppose isn't surprising given the topic, but I really did feel attached to these kiddos by the end.

The novel was better than I expected it to be and it contains lots that lovers of YA can enjoy (and learn from). Recommended!

The Orchardist

The Orchardist
By Amanda Coplin (426 pages)
Published by Harper
Bookish rating: 4

Set in Washington (state!) at the turn of the century, near the Cascades, The Orchardist is one of those novels deeply tied to the sense of PLACE. Which I tend to like.

In fact, hanging out in South Dakota with my kin this past week, my horse-riding uncle asked me if I had read The Orchardist. I had! Aside from reminding me that I needed to generate a Bookish post about it, we were able chat about the novel. Ain't that something? Awwww, books.

So, the book: Talmudge is our aging orchardist hero who takes in two girls on the run from a very, very bad man. A family gets cobbled together among Talmudge, the girls, a baby, and the town's spinster midwife/herb lady.

The first half of the book, possibly because it contains greater drama, is stronger than the second half, and I found myself getting antsy for some forward movement plot-wise. And I'm usually not a reader who needs a lot of plot to be satisfied. Maybe my reading attention span is waning. Ruh-roh.

Overall, this book is beautifully written with extraordinarily complicated, interesting, and genuinely unique characters. Recommended, especially for those who dwell in the Pacific Northwest.

Winner of the National Book Award

 
Winner of the National Book Award
By Jincy Willett (336 pages)
Published by Picador
Bookish rating: 4

My friend Molly suggested the wryly titled Winner of the National Book Award to me. And I'm glad she did. I don't think I've read anything like it.

This is a completely weird novel in which a cranky old broad, Dorcas, who lives entirely within the mind holes herself up in the library she manages as a hurricane approaches. With her is the just-released book of her twin sister's sordid saga of killing her husband.

Dorcas reads while editorializing to us, the actual real-life readers. It's effing hilarious. HILARIOUS. And smart! So, so smart! And ironic!

But it's also sort of tender. Her twin lives in the body, sleeping with anyone, enjoying food, denying herself never. So, when she falls in love with a douche canoe who is emotionally abusive, she begins to lose herself. The douche in question makes his move on Dorcas, who obsesses over what his sadistic little plan is.

This is a complex novel.

Alas, I finished it more than a week ago and have a trillion things on my mind, so my review is not as thoughtful as this book deserves it to be. Recommended, though. Just read it.

The End of the Point

The End of the Point

By Elizabeth Graver (335 pages)

Published by Harper

Bookish rating: 5

Earlier this year, I read Elizabeth Graver’s fantastic Unravelling, and I was excited to try another Graver novel.

I just freaking love her writing.

The End of the Point is, I think, even better than Unravelling. It’s more complex, gets into the heads of more characters, covers more time.

Like many, many coastal novels, this one follows a blue-blooded family as they summer at their beach house(s), having Complex Lives, possibly because they have entire summers to ponder their Complex Lives without, like, work. Even the nannies and household help tag along.

Ah, but don’t chalk this novel up to a bunch of spoiled rich people in polo shirts or lounging on fainting couches. Graver treats each character like a prism, showing utterly different sides of a person from different points of view. It’s incredible, the way she juxtaposes (I hate that word, juxtapose—it’s so English Lit 101) how one person sees himself or herself vs. how others see him or her.

Anyway, we start in the 1940s and end in 1999, and the minute dramas of family life play out, wills go against each other, but everyone pretty much loves everyone else—deeply. 

As time has passed since I finished this book--a few days, not THAT much time--I find myself nostalgic for the reading joy this novel brought, which is unfortunate for everything else I'm currently reading. 

Thus, The End of the Point earns a 5 from this girl.

Graver gives us top-notch writing, story, complicated characters, and a beach. What’s not to love?

The Artist's Way

The Artist’s Way

By Julia Cameron (237 pages)

Published by Tarcher/Putnam

Bookish rating: 3

Artist’s Way is part book, part writing program, part New Age drivel. And, well, I’m not the biggest New Age fan. The puritan in me finds it fluffy, self-absorbed, and cheesy.

However, a writing instructor suggested the book, and the A student in me had to make sure I left no stone unturned in my efforts to Suck Less at Writing.

So. For 12 long weeks, I rose at 5:00 a.m., stumbled into the kitchen, poured my coffee, and did “morning pages,” which mostly consisted of me trying not to doze off or wondering what I’d wear that day. To their credit, sometimes the morning pages jostled out a new idea or phrase, or cleared something out in my head. Writing can do that. Sometimes you just have to turn on the faucet to see if anything feels like coming out, you know? Other times, a child (Lorelei) would wake and need me, and that was that. Morning pages = done for the day.

Fact: This book was NOT written for people with children. A lot of it just didn’t apply, because you can not INSIST on your writing time if your child is sick or needs you or whatever. That’s what makes kids so maddening—they’re so intrusive. (Cute, but intrusive.) Cameron champions putting the creative process above all else—work, relationships, etc. I can see that to a point—avoid a soul-sucking job, make sure your partner doesn’t hold a grudge if you write instead of watching football with him (wait—bad example. Go Hawks!). But children are DEPENDENT on you. And incredibly unpredictable. I think this is part of why Cameron avoids any real discussion of them.

I tried to do the “assignments.” Some were useful. Some were LAME. Some I refused to do. (For example, anything with the phrase “affirmation” in it—barf.) Many were repetitive.

Some good, useful stuff came through, though, in spite of my self-righteous eye rolling. I realized that in my fiction writing, I have a mythological, censoring audience JUDGING. Not just your typical “that’s a sloppy sentence” or “this story is total crap” judging, but more of a “how dare you portray this person this way,” “don’t talk about THAT,” “your character SHOULDN’T DO x, y, or z because I don” don’t write about this place in that way,” and so on.

These voices are POWERFUL.

And once you identify them, they make you feel sort of schizophrenic. Of course, once you identify them, you can then tell them to SHUT UP. You can also employ more wisdom in who you let read what, especially when you’re feeling like a scene or story is on the cusp of going in the right direction—but one wave of you-shouldn’t-have criticism from one of your sore-spots people could derail everything. I admit, I had a big blind spot here.

I’ve always been aware of the “audience” when I blog. I self-censor ALL THE TIME. I don’t want something to get misconstrued, I don’t what to offend, I don’t want to reveal too much. But the censors with fiction are sneakier.

So, the book was worth the time spent reading and the immense amount of time spent working on it. Recommended, but prepare for a major cheese fest.