The Snow Queen

The Snow Queen
By Michael Cunningham (258 pages)
Published by Farrar, Straus and Giroux
Bookish rating: 4.25

One goes in with high expectations for a novel when its author has won the Pulitzer, especially when that novel was The Hours. And you know what? This novel met my expectations.

The Snow Queen is NOT about Elsa (har har). This is a fantastically complex, multi-layered tale of two brothers, Barrett and Tyler. Barrett, getting over yet another break up, lives with his brother, Tyler, and his wife. One night, Barrett witnesses an inexplicable light that seems godlike. Meanwhile, Tyler toils to write a non-shitty song for his super ill wife.

So, what is the novel ABOUT? Hard to say. I think a lot of readers would zoom in on certain parts more than other. I mean, yeah it's annoyingly hip and inevitably set in New York and there are inevitably no children to distract the characters from their super duper Deep Thoughts, but glib it's-so-hipster aside, Cunningham delivers a character-driven, compelling novel that explores artistic ambition, caregiving, identity, death, and God--and other stuff, too. I read it slowly and thoroughly, deeply enjoyed it. The joy of language and story and character. Loved it. Definitely recommended.

The Painted Girls

The Painted Girls
By Cathy Marie Buchanan (357 pages)
Published by Riverhead
Bookish rating: 4

A satisfying historical read set in Paris in 1878. The van Goethem sisters find themselves nearly penniless after their father's death, and their mother spends what little they have on absinthe. Marie is sent to the Paris Opera to make a bit of money getting trained for its ballet company while her sister toils, works in the theater, and falls for a less-than-stellar guy.

As Marie works her way through the classes, she catches the eye of Degas, eventually becoming a model for him. She's none too thrilled with his depictions of dancers in their less pretty, less idealized states, but hey, he pays well. Finally, she becomes the subject for his famous statuette, Little Dancer, which I had the joy of seeing in person once, at the Norton Simon Museum in Pasadena. I believe it's temporarily at the National Gallery now, and the Kennedy Center has staged a musical of the stautette, starring New York City Ballet's beloved Tiler Peck. I was DYING to see the musical, but you know. KIDS.

I loved reading about the inner-workings of the historical ballet company, and the slummy side of 19th-century Paris is very realistically rendered. I also liked the accidental coincidence of reading of Marie's ballet class as I sat in the waiting area of at Charlotte's ballet academy, listening to plunking piano music for the advanced class's barre. A tad trippy, but fun.

My only criticism is that Buchanan devotes waaaaaaay too much story to an actual criminal case that occurred in Paris at this time. I didn't care much about it, and I felt it slowed Marie and her sister's stories down far too much and was overall a distraction.

Still, this is a book worth reading for those who love their historical fiction.

Lottery

Lottery 
By Patricia Wood (320 pages)
Published by Putnam
Bookish rating: 3.25

Set in working-class Everett (Washington State, y'all), Perry--a man with some sort of developmental delay or intellectual disability--wins the lottery. Suddenly, his indifferent family moves in to capitalize on his sudden fortune.

Overall, the book is not bad. All the elements are there, I suppose. And it was reviewed oh so very highly. But I dunno. The voice of Perry is very distinct, which is good, but he has a Forrest Gump-ish quality that reminds me of literature's tendency to idealize a marginalized set of people. Sort of how the early writings of gay and lesbian lit portrayed hyper-romanticized ideals, when same-sex relationships still involve PEOPLE and are therefore also prey to, like, PROBLEMS.

Which is a long-winded way of me saying that I'd rather see a character with an intellectual disability who also has some traits that are BAD. The innocence of children? Well, maybe, but children can also be little shits. Let's see more of that.

The writing registered a tad bland for me, and I was ready for the book to end. Were there aspects I liked? Yes. Exploring the effed up nature of money from the perspective of someone who doesn't give much of a hoot about it is interesting. Lots of well-developed characters . . . but I was just sort of bored. Not really recommended.

Dakota: A Spiritual Geography

Dakota: A Spiritual Geography
By Kathleen Norris (256 pages)
Published by Mariner
Bookish rating: 5

Prepare to love this book. I was so taken in by Norris's language, her ability to GET the weirdness of Dakota AND the excruciatingly small town, the vastness of its prairie, theological-slash-spiritual acumen, her portrayal of the depth and hospitality of the small (super duper small) church, the process of writing---oh yes, this book hit on a ton of relevant areas for me.

Quasi-memoir, quasi-meditation, quasi anthropological essay, this book is unique. I enjoyed it so thoroughly that I deliberately slowed myself down in reading it, stretching it out for eight months. Fortunately, Norris has published other stuff. So, even though this book is done, I'll survive.

Highly, HIGHLY recommended for anyone interested in the Dakotas, the writing process, monks (no, really), parallels between modern and ancient practices of Christianity, small towns, and . . . well, just good writing.

The Rebellion of Jane Clarke

The Rebellion of Jane Clarke
By Sally Gunning (270 pages)
Published by William Morrow/HarperCollins
Bookish rating: 3.5

I was in the mood for some historical fiction, and I'm particularly fond of the colonial era of our fair country. So, The Rebellion of Jane Clarke, set on the eve of the American Revolution in Cape Code and then Boston, held some promise.

Refusing to marry the guy her father has selected for her, Jane is sent away to Boston to care for an elderly aunt. There, she hangs out with such folks as John Adams and also happens to witness the Boston Massacre. The first half of the story read better for me, as it was more Jane's story. As politics and historical events took center stage in the second half, though, it felt as though Gunning was struggling to integrate them into the STORY. And the STORY is what I cared about, not the trial (oh, the pages and pages of the trial!), especially because I already knew how the trial of the British soldiers would end. Because, like, it's history and stuff.

So, the reading became tiresome.

To Gunning's credit, I did get surprised by one big twist, and I liked the character of Jane. Historical details, descriptions of the cape, and the sprinkling in of some 18th-century literature, particularly the new concept of a novel (yay for novels!) was a fun addition. At least for nerds.

Mostly recommended.

May B.

May B.
By Caroline Starr Rose (240 pages)
Published by Schwartz and Wade
Bookish rating: 3.75

My friend Lauren recommended May B. to me, even though she wasn't much of a fan. See, she knows I have a penchant for stories taking place in sod houses. No, really.

I liked it more than Lauren did. Written in verse, and aimed at a younger audience, I tested it on an actual younger audience. Reading the novel to Charlotte, it kept her attention . . .  for a bit. But I found myself adding extra words here and there, reading aloud more as prose to help connect the story for my young listener. Though I was pleased that we got through about 75 pages or so together, especially because it exposed her to a different rhythm of story and no pictures helped her along, eventually Charlotte moaned when I picked up the book and suggested reading a chapter or two. It didn't hold her attention.

It did, however, hold mine. I liked the verse aspect, but as Lauren (far more articulately) argued, prose might have better served the story. On one level, the verse felt gimmicky; on another, it reduces the story down to the survival mentality May must take on.

Oh, the premise? Right. Set in the 1870s on the Kansas prairie, May is sent by her parents to a young couple to help them. Her folks need the money. She fosters a believable amount of resentment for this, but this dies out and never adequately resurfaces. Eventually, circumstances leave her stranded and alone in the soddy, with winter approaching and no way to get home. A wolf sniffs at her door. A blizzard brews. This is good stuff.

Oh, and May has dyslexia. Naturally. Actually, snark aside, I kind of liked the watching the process of her struggling to read, and this was an area I thought the verse worked well. Granted, I'm watching my firstborn learn to read, so perhaps I'm over-identifying with the painstaking process. It's so damn hard!

Overall, I enjoyed May B. Is it perfect? No. Is it a worthwhile read? Yes, I think so.

Slow Church

 

Slow Church: Cultivating Community in the Patient Way of Jesus 

By C. Christopher Smith and John Pattison (274 pages)

Published by IVP Books

Bookish rating: 3.5

Slow Church is about . .  . wait for it . .  Slow. Church. In an era of church-going that is so, SO focused on growth, growth, growth,  and attracting people and saving them souls, Slow Church is a crucial, corrective approach that resonated with me. Really, I found it quite revolutionary, the more I thought about it.

Although aspects of this book annoyed me—the authors apply their approach to church to the entire global economy, for example, and everything big or capitalistic is BAD—the overarching message is, in my opinion, one that churches need to hear.

What IS slow church? It’s being nestled in your community, addressing needs of the community, and cultivating depth as people spiritually grow, not Growth In Membership. Cultivating community within a particular church allows greater diversity in ages, mindsets, experience, socioeconomic classes, ethnicities, and so on. Bonds are tighter, grace more easily exhibited, hospitality more sincere, growth more organic (egads, that was an awful final phrase).

In our current, small town, I feel more at home than I ever have in a place. I truly didn’t understand what COMMUNITY was until we moved here. I love our town. Then, joining a wee little church dug those roots down further. I’ve never been part of a church that was ALSO where I lived. A half mile away (if that) and we’re there. Our neighbors LITERALLY attend there, too. The church is part of the town, and the town is part of the church. Totally tangled together, but in a good way.

Growing up in a conservatively evangelical church, big programing and ATTRACTING was The Most Important Thing. Like I said, we had to save them souls. We had to drive 30 minutes to get there. Not ideal. Also? A smidge too much like-mindedness across the congregation.

Whatever. I can’t say I regret my parents’ choice, because some of my best friends in the world are from that place. And many amazing people I’m thrilled to have known. But I wanted something different as an adult, something different for my girls.

Like, treating females as something other than current or future baby producers, for starters. And, like, complete beings, not some dude’s gently “complementing” asset.

But I digress.

When I discussed this book with the good pastor of our wee church, he pointed out the danger of seeing things as too binary—that our way (small, quaint, etc.) as The Right Way and everything else = bad McDonaldization of church and icky (and you KNOW they have contemporary praise songs on Sunday mornings, amirite?). I think he’s right. It’s a pompous way of thinking and good for no one.

Slow Church, while not a perfect book and a bit on the repetitive side, gives a lot to consider. Recommended.