And . . . Scene

Hey, bookish friends. I've decided to let my Bookish blog die out.

Fear not--I do still know how to read and AM still reading. The problem is this: I am way, way, WAY behind on posting my reviews. I have a backlog that's pretty ridiculous. And after finishing the previous few books, I'd think, "Crap. Now I have to review it."

Which is not a way I want to deal with books.

So, the blog was fun while it lasted, but life is busy and I need to pick and choose where I dump my time and efforts. Reading? Yes. Blogging about reading? Letting it go.

However, should I just HAVE TO blog about a book, there's still my main blog at hofmannlife.BlogSpot.com. So, I have options.

Thanks for reading along with me---it's been fun!

A Day at the Beach

A Day at the Beach
By Helen Schulman (224 pages)
Published by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Bookish rating: 4

This novel takes place on 9/11, following a NYC-based, trendy and artsy couple as the day turns to shit and the underlying strengths and weaknesses of their strange, flawed marriage bubble up. Gerhard is German-born and quite the arse, a well-known choreographer and artistic director. Suzannah, much younger, is his former muse--a great dancer-turned-mother. Which he sort of resents her for.

Their apartment is across the street from the World Trade Center, so you can imagine how the morning unfolds. They flee to the Hamptons (as you do), attempting to process and make sense of the attacks, what they've seen, what they fear, and their own reactions to it all.

Gerhard in particular is unlikable, sure, but he's interesting. Self-centered, craving art, bothered by mundane yet unpredictable nature of a difficult toddler. Suzannah tolerates too much of Gerhard's artsy diva-ness, but surely she saw it coming, right? And yet. Both are interesting to read.

Schulman explores many themes, intelligently: art, dance, marriage, love, parenthood, fear, good vs. evil, paradoxes (the German marries the Jew--did Gerhard do this to be purposefully paradoxical, he wonders?)---lots is jammed in here, and it makes for very good reading. On the whole, Schulman dodges 9/11 melodrama---she keeps the attacks raw and believable and (I hesitate to even type this) non-cheesy. But, now and then, she slips in a predictably 9/11-ish phrase or sentiment that reads a tad saccharine.

A very good post-9/11 literary read. Recommended.

Children's Literature: Catching Their Fancy

I remember being read to as a child, snuggled against my mom. Hours and hours and hours she read to us throughout our childhood. Even when I was old enough to read myself, she still would read aloud, often with me cuddled up on one side of her, my brother cuddled up on the other. It was in this way that my brother heard many, many Babysitters Club books and all of the Laura Ingalls books.

And of course, the picture books. Some would strike our fancy for different reasons, and we'd want them read to us over and over and over again.

It's no surprise that I want to mimic this for my girls. I'm certain that my mom patiently reading to us so, so often played a huge part in instilling in me a deep, genuine love of stories and books. Although my brother will declare his favorite books are under 100 pages and contain pictures, something stuck. After all, he's a better writer than most (and I deal with a LOT of writers)--a fact that stunned me when I edited his half-assed college papers. You have to have a lot of exposure to language and sentence structure to pull that off so effortlessly.

Although reading to Charlotte and Lorelei is a no brainer, I had become disenchanted with the drivel Charlotte was selecting. In short, one of the Disney princesses was the main character in practically everything. If I was lucky, maybe Peppa Pig or Strawberry Shortcake. But I really wanted to create worlds for my girl, through books, that were not variations of shit she was watching on TV.

So, we started making extra trips to the local library. She can pick whatever she wants to check out, but I select a few extra books as well. A much larger library is near my work, but connected to the same county system, so sometimes on my lunch hour I go peruse its children's section, which is WAY bigger than the one in our wee town. And I check out a few extra books.

I unveil the books after dinner, removing them from my work bag. Charlotte, surprised and giddy, wants to read them ALL that very night, so she hustles into jammies and we settle on the couch.

We haven't read a princess book in a LONG time, praise the reading gods.

I thought I'd share three fabulous books that have caught Charlotte's fancy.

The first is Grimm's Rumpelstiltskin, retold and illustrated by Paul O. Zelinsky. This book is large, illustrated in a renaissance-like fashion, and the tale is told without sugarcoating: The miller's daughter must spin the straw to gold, or the king will kill her.

Oh, we have read this so many times---and each time, Charlotte is tense, eyes wide, even though she knows how it ends. I was also DELIGHTED that when the king marries the girl after she successfully spins the third room of straw to gold, Charlotte said, "He's only marrying her because she makes gold. That's not a very good reason to get married." Truth, baby girl. TRUTH.

She also added, "The king is not a nice man! She's NOT lucky that she has to marry him, even if she gets to be queen."

Sniff sniff. So. Freaking. Proud.

(Although we both agreed that her wedding dress was quite pretty.)

A second book that has brought Charlotte and me much, much reading joy is The Snow Globe Family. Alas, this book is out of print, which is a pity because I'd love to buy it. We've renewed the one from the library several times. Written by the same Jane O'Connor of Fancy Nancy fame (I love Fancy Nancy books, too), this snowy book is fabulous. It depicts a sweet little Victorian family hoping for a snowstorm as the dad reads stories aloud in the parlor. In that same room, a snow globe on the mantle contains a teeny tiny family that mimics the actions of the "big" family, and they too are hoping for a snow storm--but nobody really remembers to shake the snow globe. Finally, the big family gets their blizzard, and the baby knocks over the snow globe, sending the little family joyfully flying and creating a great hill for sledding.

Charlotte has been utterly delighted with this tale, especially during all the snow we've gotten during the past month. It's such a cozy, charming read, and exquisitely illustrated. We've read it many, many times.

Finally, Charlotte has successfully read her very first book from beginning to end: Dr. Seuss's Hop on Pop. She worked on it at school, and at the library she begged to be able to check out a copy to read at home. Of course I said yes. She proudly read it to Chris, Lorelei, and me, several times, and when I was putting together a pile of books to return to the library, I held that one up. "Can Hop on Pop be returned?" I asked.

Charlotte's eyes widened. "No, no, no, no, no! Not yet!" I had never seen her have such a visceral reaction to the idea of losing a book.

I decided then and there that Charlotte Marie should have her very own copy of the first book she ever learned to read by herself. (My first, around her age, was One Fish, Two Fish.) I bought her a hardback of Hop on Pop. When I gave it to her, she clutched it to her chest. "It's mine? I can keep it FOREVER?" Yes, yes. Your very own, sweetie. We're so proud of how hard you've been working on learning to read.

She bolted to go show it to Daddy.

Hop on Pop is the perfect first reading book for a preschooler. Simple, repetitive words, whimsical illustrations, LOTS of pages that engender a big fat sense of accomplishment. In a way, I feel bad--if I had known how precious this book was to Charlotte, I'd have bought her a copy much sooner.

Tell me, what books have caught the fancy of your little ones? 

Being Mortal

Being Mortal: Medicine and What Matters in the End
By Atul Gawande (282 pages)
Published by Metropolitan
Bookish rating: 4

Despite being the bookish sort who loves herself a good fairy tale, I am weirdly interested in medicine. On the one hand, I hate it---I'm incredibly uncomfortable in hospitals, I dread visits to physicians, and I'm not a big fan of pain (but who is?). On the flip side, I'm fascinated by the inner-workings of health care (good thing, because my job involves publishing on behalf of HEALTH) and how decisions get made---and what those who are deciding actually think and feel.

Which is why I picked up Gawande's recently published book.

Gawande, a surgeon, examines aging, the process of approaching death (which may occur when you're young), and medicine's current trend to extend life while obliterating its quality. Gawande argues that part of this is due to doctors not being super upfront with patients about their prognosis. And as long as there's a chance, most people want to undergo treatments, no matter the side effects. Which is understandable. Death is scary.

The more interesting aspect of the book, though, is Gawande's exploration of aging---quite the important topic, as the "gray tsunami" of the retiring baby boomers threatens to ruin our economy (I kid, I kid---sort of.) At first, I feared this would be another judgy-judgy "we cast aside our elders" take, the sort that skewers modern Americans for not taking in every single aging person in their family. Oh, the selfishness! But Gawande points out that historically, even in collectivist societies, people living to really old age and actually NEEDING younger folk to care for them was quite rare. But now people live WAY longer. Moving in with the kids might be a decent option for some, but the stress of trying to raise a young family, take Ma or Pa to all their appointments, work, deal with the grouch who no longer is king of his own castle, the constant too-loud blaring of the news on TV--all of which gets exponentially worse as health fades---well, this is not a viable option for a lot of people.

Chris and I joke that we'd be screwed if we were expected to take in aging parents. Our folks span two generations. "Our house would be a nursing home for 40 years straight!"

However, Gawande exposes the flaws of the current assisted living facilities and nursing homes, and he does this very well. The loss of autonomy--not having a lock on your door, being subject to the facility's schedule, lack of children and animals to play with--these are not small things. Gawande describes different models of living arrangements that have been very successful in increasing quality of life, decreasing illnesses and medication use, AND saving money as a result. One hopes they become the norm.

I too was blinded by the pretty, upscale look of modern assisted living facilities. Where my grandmother lives outside Seattle, her place looks like a hotel. Big stone fireplaces, pretty earth tones, tinkling piano music. When she said she hated it, I blew her off as being her typical crankball self. I thought, it's so NICE! But Gawande points out that these places are marketed toward the younger folk who are helping an aging parent find a place to live. They walk in and think, it's so pretty! What a lovely place to live!

But people--young or old--need to be able to set their own schedules, socialize on their own terms, care for pets, have meaningful things to do (not silly time-fillers), and continue involvement in their communities (churches, clubs, etc.) BEYOND the care facility. A pretty lobby and around-the-clock falls prevention that circumscribes life even further does not make for a joyful existence.

I think young people need to read this book. Assisted living is a relatively new concept, and despite a good effort by our parents' generation, I think we need to make sure we revamp it for OUR aging parents. For example, I know my mom pretty well. There best be a dog wherever she ages.

Next, aging in place. The vast majority of people want to stay in their own homes as they age. A lot can be done to extend the time they live at home, promoting higher quality of life, and Gawande could've discussed this a bit more. I'm only 34 and whatnot and I'm decades out from figuring out how I'll live my last years, but I know even now that I'll want to live at HOME for as long as humanly possible. Most people do, and this is a desire that should be honored. Gawande describes a neighborhood or town whose older adults pay sort of small fee, and a handyman visits all their houses periodically to go up on ladders to change light bulbs or air filters, or fix this or that. I think housekeepers come and do things like mopping. This was organized at the community level and was so popular, it ballooned into hundreds of participants. Accessible homes and grab bars are nice and a good start, but quality of life, independence, and autonomy are crucial. SURELY we can find ways to keep people living in their own homes longer, if that is their desire.

Huh. This post turned out preachier than I intended. Anyway, read the book. Highly recommended.

In the Kingdom of Ice

In the Kingdom of Ice: The Grand and Terrible Polar Voyage of the USS Jeannette
By Hampton Sides (454 pages)
Published by Doubleday
Bookish rating: 4

As I've said before, I have a weird love of survival stories. I love the extremes, the testing of the human spirit, the power of nature. The drama.

This book covers--extensively--the American polar voyage of the the Jeannette in the late 1800s. So far, this was unexplored territory, and it caught the fancy not just explorers (armchair explorers or otherwise) but also the general public. Alas, the crew of the Jeannette based their voyage on a soon-to-be-debunked theory that the North Pole was a warm, freshwater bowl of water, surrounded by ice. It was just a matter of finding the right way in.

So, the Jeannette heads north. She gets stuck in ice and stays put for TWO YEARS. Then sinks. And the 33-person crew must travel over jagged, dangerous ice, aiming for Siberia. And oh, it makes for dramatic reading.

Do not, do not, do NOT google the voyage. I almost did about a dozen times, because I wanted to know would happen to everyone and I couldn't get through the 454 pages fast enough. But I didn't google it and was raptly reading, waaaaaay too late into the night. (The sign of a very good book, methinks.) What would happen to them?

Yes, this is nonfiction that reads like fiction, as good survival stories do. My one criticism is that it took FOREVER for the Jeannette to finally get to sea. I get that such a voyage requires a lot of prep---securing funding, figuring out routes, finding and renovating a ship, accumulating provisions, and so on. But at one point I snapped at my open Kindle, "Set sail already!" Sheesh.

But never you mind about that. This is good, absorbing nonfiction reading. Highly recommended.

Acedia & Me

Acedia & Me: A Marriage, Monks, and a Writer's Life
By Kathleen Norris (334 pages)
Published by Riverhead
Bookish rating: 4

I loooooved Kathleen Norris's Dakota: A Spiritual Geography, so I excitedly checked out this book from the library.

There's something about Norris's way of processing feeling and information, her insight, her self-awareness, her use of language, her honesty---they simply resonate with me. In this book, she tackles the ancient idea of acedia, known as the "noonday demon"---that sense of who cares, I don't want to, it doesn't matter, everything is futile that can sometimes get mixed up or conflated with depression. She traces acedia through its various conceptualizations as she also cares for her husband, who is seriously ill, and continues to write write write. (Or not, depending on acedia.)

Predictably, the book is beautifully written, with lots and lots to glean. However, it does meander and lacks structure. Perhaps this is meant to mimic the way our lives actually function, but I know that Norris had been storing away this book inside her for a long time, so there's a sense of it being cobbled together a bit. I do think the text could've been edited and shortened, and more structure wouldn't have hurt. But these are minor complaints, when the bulk of the book is such good, meaty reading. Recommended.

The Good Daughters

The Good Daughters
By Joyce Maynard (278 pages)
Published by William Marrow & Company
Bookish rating: 3

Maynard is not a bad writer. In fact, she has some interesting turns of phrase, gets at the heart of farming, and covers a lot of ground in a pretty readable way.

Oh, but I have some quibbles. For starters, the Big Fat Secret is so freaking obvious that it gets tiresome waiting 278 pages for the characters to figure it out themselves. And it's SO anticlimactic when they do.

Premise: Two "birthday sisters" are born on the same day in the same hospital in rural New Hampshire and their lives get strangely (or, um, not) linked thereafter. Exactly. Now YOU know what the Big Fat Secret is, don't you?

And so we cross about 60 painful, long years. And 278 pages.

Quibble #2: The story is told in the alternating viewpoints of the girls, Ruth and Dana. I found the constant switching jarring, probably because the author was clearly more interested in Ruth's story than Dana's. And I was, too. I think this affected the plotting, which seemed rushed, direction-less, and never ending, all at once.

Perhaps in an effort to make Dana "interesting," Dana is a lesbian. In one of my big pet peeves of current lit depicting same-sex relationships, Maynard has Dana fall gloriously in love with the very first lesbian she finds, and their relationship IS PERFECT for the rest of the novel. No fights, no tension, sheer love, they feed each other blueberries and clutch each other during storms and have the very best sex all the freaking time. Yawn. Idealized, one dimensional, uninteresting. Because lesbians are PEOPLE, I'm pretty sure they have disagreements, somebody neglects to pick up her socks from the floor, they don't spend allllllll day making out.

Finally, there's a sense that this story is over told. Like, a few sentence go on a bit too long, a point is made less subtly than I wanted. Not overwritten, per se, but over explained. There's really zero trust in the reader not being an idiot.

Now, this is not a BAD book. It just didn't have enough steam to hold my interest.