tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66432333968617595732024-03-12T17:31:39.690-07:00The Black Sheep DancesLiterary fiction, global poetry, translated literature, book reviews, reading challengesUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger624125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643233396861759573.post-53120185478790294532022-05-03T08:35:00.001-07:002022-05-03T08:35:17.735-07:00Treepedia by Joan Maloof (botany)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYrJBjDGlrpF21Rld71BEjlErtyGGJKqBcRkxwvabrkId2uuRz9opT1I_6Dv8Xf9rdaT50crdUhX_VFF_QHHb_hBlpF92Q9eDP-53KabMbSOJdLFaeL5WdOcGTdml_uPHHnfKyeOvb5VK9ruD0mhR1oTCs-ipysGMbdX1HDCnqOh3vgzs5hLKPnyjL/s499/tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="330" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYrJBjDGlrpF21Rld71BEjlErtyGGJKqBcRkxwvabrkId2uuRz9opT1I_6Dv8Xf9rdaT50crdUhX_VFF_QHHb_hBlpF92Q9eDP-53KabMbSOJdLFaeL5WdOcGTdml_uPHHnfKyeOvb5VK9ruD0mhR1oTCs-ipysGMbdX1HDCnqOh3vgzs5hLKPnyjL/s320/tree.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>"every tree has its own stories to tell"--Joan Maloof</p><p>This is a lovely, cozy book with a simplicity that is disarming and deceiving. It's a smallish book which initially made me think it was going to only cover surface matters and not dig deep. I was wrong. It is a small book but it is full of details that are largely unknown, with anecdotes that are fascinating.</p><p>For example, Johnny Appleseed. Folk hero who planted apple trees. But do we know who he really was and why he planted? That information is found in the book, and he was quite clever because the planting had to do with claiming property rights.</p><p>It must be mentioned that the illustrations are gorgeous and subtle. Realistic.</p><p>I initially got this for my son who is a botanist but I enjoyed it myself very much. Informative in a way that makes you feel content, much like The Sound of the Wild Snail Eating. </p><p>Of the trees mentioned and drawn, the Baobab is my favorite. It's unexpected qualities and strange appearance begged to be loved.</p><p>A lovely book that would make a great gift or just a peaceful present for yourself in an ugly time of history.</p><p>Special thanks to Princeton University Press for the review copy.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643233396861759573.post-52372882711201533102019-10-01T11:05:00.005-07:002019-10-01T11:05:50.659-07:00Horsemen of the Sands, by Leonid Yuzefovich (translated literature, Archipelago Books)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrIRLp2FgVEM28SM9ymQOyciLTog5qaL4YXmjVhAkpIEb0j0TpFF9HgECdRhqauC5IPqbtZf9Nwk_7_QjtuxOOXCOP1PLIMqyJojaUer9L6_J_G_mjmvElxEHiQbfQMNpZiT-rPsFDGkI/s1600/leonid.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrIRLp2FgVEM28SM9ymQOyciLTog5qaL4YXmjVhAkpIEb0j0TpFF9HgECdRhqauC5IPqbtZf9Nwk_7_QjtuxOOXCOP1PLIMqyJojaUer9L6_J_G_mjmvElxEHiQbfQMNpZiT-rPsFDGkI/s320/leonid.jpg" width="270" /></a>T<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Translated from the Russian by Marian Schwartz.</b><br />
<br />
This translated fiction novel combines two stories by Russian writer Yuzefovich. Both are compelling, but "The Storm" is absolutely riveting and electric in its storytelling. <br />
<br />
What begins as a simple premise ends with a nightmarish scene of emotional pain and torture, with the author echoing in fiction the actual truth of the lives of many Russian children.<br />
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The Storm begins with a teacher relinquishing her class of fifth-graders to the expertise of a guest speaker, a man who ostensibly is there to teach the children about traffic safety. Surely, a dry and uninspiring prospect for the children. However, as he begins he realizes to gain their attention he must create anecdotal events to push his message about safety. And, as any predator does, he seems to be able to suss out the weakest and most emotionally fragile students to use in his teaching.<br />
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These students are mystified and frantic as they try and figure out how he seems to know their weaknesses: one, a daughter of a drunkard, the other, a recent accident victim himself. While he smiles and gesticulates, he is actually stabbing them with many pains. Both try to flee the classroom. <br />
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While this goes on, their teacher gets a needed break and leaves campus temporarily. Her outing goes poorly as she is faced with her own hypocrisy. Her sense of privilege is attacked. A principal too lets his mind wander into dangerous territory. Even the school janitor experiences an epiphany of sorts while the children are suffering back in the classroom.<br />
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The weather becomes the driving force, as lightning and storm clouds gather figuratively and literally in the city. Everything becomes off-kilter, yet the traffic instructor continues his attack. He is clever: nothing he says is really wrong or could be construed as emotional abuse. But it's beyond his speech that his evil pathology lies. Like a crocodile, he contently observes the children, eager to prey on someone weaker.<br />
<br />
This story could stand alone in the novel. However, the second story was far less compelling for me. It is different in tone and style from The Storm. <br />
<br />
Horsemen of the Sands is complicated and wearying. While it is of a Russian who invades Mongolia, and who uses Korean men as his guards, the narrative switches frequently leading to much confusion. The landscape is described in artistic ways, but the interaction between characters leaves many questions and frustration. I've read much in the way of Russian literature and this simply did not entice me. I felt like I needed to know more history and crave less action. Yet, the premise itself seems like it would be action-packed. I could not follow the story enough to comment on it further.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643233396861759573.post-34670390027605783652019-10-01T10:43:00.002-07:002019-10-01T10:43:38.466-07:00A Change of Time by Ida Jessen (translated literature, Archipelago Books)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVNlNyio94v_gbA2hLy1YlK6io-RWTcrd1sLNJNOoCk1ackTROgApCzYr6dofKwrqIvinpU51dtPPeMqtzsK7WLOCXIJMwQxBlNx4vc7cMmx0jzQD8Tlil30HqcNg2RJqMy_EEw8S2Xm0/s1600/ida.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVNlNyio94v_gbA2hLy1YlK6io-RWTcrd1sLNJNOoCk1ackTROgApCzYr6dofKwrqIvinpU51dtPPeMqtzsK7WLOCXIJMwQxBlNx4vc7cMmx0jzQD8Tlil30HqcNg2RJqMy_EEw8S2Xm0/s320/ida.jpg" width="270" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>Translated from the Danish</b><br />
<b>by Martin Aitken</b><br />
<br />
This novel seems spare at first, with dry journal entries from a recently widowed woman. However, about midway through, you see a shift and realize that "spare" is the last thing this book is. Instead, very subtle depth is created with the minimal expressions she uses to write about both her marriage and her newfound single life.<br />
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At first, I thought it was a character study of a marriage: an arrogant and aloof husband and his somewhat plain wife. I learned about both of them through cautious comments and descriptions. However, it changes when Halloween approaches. On that date, the woman creates a story for the holiday (at first, the story is confusing out of context). The story she tells is mysterious with suspense and confusion. But after I read the Halloween story, I realized, she wrote it to be read. She wrote it for a reader. Thus, if the story was for a reader, was everything else intended for a potential reader as well? And if so, does that mean her journal was less about chronicling her marriage and loss, or more about creating a narrative? Enter here the unreliable narrator: what exactly is true or false about what she is saying?<br />
<br />
With that perspective, I started the book over. This time I focused on what was her opinion and what was fact, which can vary significantly. This made it even more complex and layered in depth.<br />
<br />
It's important to watch the dates of the journal entries. They are significant. Additionally, after the Halloween story she shares more details about her life before marriage. And these details complicate the narrative further. The reader is bound to ask, why exactly did they get married? What did she see in him? What did he see in her? Neither of these questions are explicitly answered. Instead, we learn of another man who appears before and after her marriage. Two other men, actually. Who is she, really?<br />
<br />
In other aspects, her descriptions of small-town life and neighbors and the nature of a schoolteacher are equally charming and yet mysterious. Why is she not 'one of them'? Do the townspeople know more about her than we do, as readers? Perhaps, as her story suggests that she's not telling us everything. And that omission becomes a fascinating focal point.<br />
<br />
I loved the minimalism of the story. It forced me to pay attention and use my imagination to fill in the gaps. I highly recommend this elegant story of love, loss, and keeping secrets.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643233396861759573.post-60618709866600157822019-07-25T13:38:00.002-07:002019-07-25T13:48:52.765-07:00Paris has lost a bright light. George Hodgman, author of Bettyville, diesIt's with tremendous sadness that I relate that George Hodgman, author of Bettyville and a lovely friend, has passed away. After reviewing his book, we started corresponding and eventually he was helping me house hunt. He knew just what houses I would like. Ultimately, I didn't move to his state.<br />
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However, he was always around with a wry observation, a book recommendation, a bit of comfort when I was sad. Which was quite often, in the past. When my Dad was ailing he had suggestions and affirmations and, helpfully, explained the concept of "sun-downers" with dementia patients in a way I hadn't understood through other means.<br />
<br />
I'm terribly saddened by this news. He has done other great work for Vanity Fair, but Bettyville was artful and moving and graceful.<br />
<br />
Here's the review again. He leaves a lovely lab named Raj.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.theblacksheepdances.com/2015/04/bettyville-by-george-hodgman.html">http://www.theblacksheepdances.com/2015/04/bettyville-by-george-hodgman.html</a><br />
<br />Washington Post obituary:<br />
<a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/local/obituaries/george-hodgman-best-selling-author-of-bettyville-dies-at-60/2019/07/24/7f91fff8-ad67-11e9-bc5c-e73b603e7f38_story.html?utm_term=.93bad5ea3689">https://www.washingtonpost.com/local/obituaries/george-hodgman-best-selling-author-of-bettyville-dies-at-60/2019/07/24/7f91fff8-ad67-11e9-bc5c-e73b603e7f38_story.html?utm_term=.93bad5ea3689</a><br />
<br />
And for the record, Graydon Carter can go to hell.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643233396861759573.post-45162303319063566542019-03-08T17:27:00.001-08:002019-03-08T17:27:05.673-08:00Spring: Karl Ove Knausgaard (memoir)<span style="color: #888888; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span><span style="color: #363636; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;">Survival mode, a day at a time</span></b></div>
<span style="color: white; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 3.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span><span style="color: #363636; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #363636; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">{Disclosure: Depression is the major theme of this book and one that
should never been minimized, stigmatized, or joked about. My review is not
intended to make light of the subject, I suffer from PTSD and GAD myself.
However, I've found humor, even the dark dry stuff one seldom owns up to, is
THE survival skill. So hearing him describe the crises (many) without hearing
sarcasm, self-pity, or a simple "piss off" feels unreal. Surviving decades
of depression defies review, but the most vital key for me has been some form
of humor. Read his book for his personal and painful explorations of family
ties amid disaster, the pain suffered by loved ones of the depressed, and the
adoration of a father for his children.]<br />
<br />Things I learned in <u>Spring</u>.<br />
1. Karl is a very careful driver.<br />
2. He is a very keen parent.<br />
3. Karl makes up part of the 1%.<br />
4. Karl's children are perfect.<br />
5. Karl backs up his vehicle carefully at all times.<br />
6. His family eats out often.<br />
7. Despite his claim to writing, he appears to hang out at Gymboree, as he's
obsessed with cute baby clothes.<br />
8. If you ever have a secret to tell, <u>do not tell Karl.</u><br />
9. Karl likes to ruminate on countless subjects.<br />
10. He ruminates when he drives carefully.<br />
11. Karl pretends his children only watch 1 hour of tv per night.<br />
12. Karl frequently washes dishes.<br />
13. Karl doesn't give a damn what anyone thinks of him, except for his children
and the assumption he is not tidy.<br />
14. Karl folds laundry into piles and sorts them. Dry laundry.<br />
15. Karl dries the laundry first, after he does the dishes.<br />
16. Karl dislikes pants.<br />
17. Slobs (not him) can be stylish if endowed with a scarf tied properly, he
feels.<br />
18. Karl spends time in gardens, by plants, wherever he is. Looking at flowers.
Feels things.<br />
19. He likely would prop an azalea in the front seat, with seat belt, if it
wouldn't cause a fuss.<br />
20. Karl's face gets him money at foreign banks.<br />
21. Karl's perfect children rarely argue.<br />
22. Karl's family has all the pieces and the instructions sheet for a badminton
set.<br />
23. They play badminton. Often.<br />
24. Karl is washing up the dishes again.<br />
25. The wanker still smokes. It's when he feels.<br />
26. The careful drive to Molma is lovely. Lots of feelings here.<br />
27. Karl loves his family.<br />
28. Karl's children are charming in a surreal way.<br />
29. Karl seems tireless; is acknowledging a nap a crime?<br />
30. Karl is loyal.<br />
31. Karl wants you to know he's listening to Queens of the Stone Age.<br />
32. Karl uses a radio. Still. Useful when drying up.<br />
33. Karl drives so carefully he claims to see around corners in the villages.<br />
34. Karl is not likely to adhere to HIPPA guidelines.<br />
35. Karl would be interesting to eat a meal with. He'd either say nothing or
talk the entire time. There is no in-between. It would be interesting either
way.</span><br />
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<br />
See, at first I was taken aback of how he discloses subject matter so personal
to another. Yet, I recall <u>My Struggle</u> (the series of them) did that very same
thing. So after the shock, I was then sort of mentally dissing him because he
cleans up good, too good, in his descriptions. He seems patient, reasonable,
indefatigable, cheerful, a healthy eater (despite the smokes), and pretty much
A-Ok. He actually doesn't describe anyone in less than affectionate terms. That
bugged me. The Realist in me was muttering, "or so you say," over and
over.<br />
<br />
But then it clicked. It was a gift to his daughter, a memoir of a time, a day,
that cannot be easily explained. It was a recreation of history. Why muss it up
with tantrums, impatient driving (he's careful, you know), the ugly moods of
kids, the self-loathing and constant analysis of past misfortune and current
fame? Why NOT make it really lovely, like a postcard from a trip that was
terrible but that you wished was better? Does it matter? Given the subject
matter, I totally realize the brilliance of this move by Karl. Because he's not
writing for the world, he's writing for her. This so that she doesn't have to
grow up to only go back to long careful drives with the music on while ruminating
on her origin story. She will anyway, but this should soften the blow. Because
the pure parental love is there, not just by caregiving but by genuine
affection. Like, he's choosing this life and that it wasn't bad luck.<br />
<br />
One thing I really liked was how he relays to the reader how much time he
spends talking to that voice in his head, and that he was in his teens before
he figured out everyone had that begrudging, nasty, repulsive voice in their
heads. I immediately thought of how I was quite old before I realized it too,
like in my 30s. I just felt like I had a helpful but bad angel on one shoulder
constantly crapping on my life. Then I read Diego da Silva's novel, <u>I Hadn't
Understood</u>, and his fictional character (one of the most beloved of my reading
life) is constantly arguing with that voice. And it was freedom. Now I could
tell that voice to bugger off (or try to) because it was universal. How did I
get so old without knowing the universal truth that we are all wondering about
something and it's never, "how could I do that less well, next time?"
Da Silva's novel, FYI, is amazing. Totally different vibe than this; this is
far more serious and da Silva's guy was just a lovely idiot.<br />
<br />
In all, I can't say I enjoyed the book. I would recommend it, but reading each
page was more suspenseful than Hitchcock and all that suspense is tiring, and I
felt it was somewhat manipulative on Karl's part. I will likely read <u>Summer</u>.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643233396861759573.post-36409789312153279752019-01-07T17:24:00.001-08:002019-01-07T17:28:18.844-08:00Impossibly Small Spaces by Lisa C. Taylor (Arlen House)<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“...it isn’t fair
that one species can exploit another and that sometimes even when I want to, I
can’t protect those who need it most”.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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A universal sentiment to be sure, but the angle Lisa C.
Taylor takes in this collection of short stories is defining who most needs
that protection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stepping back from a
more traditional world view, Taylor demonstrates in <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>Impossibly Small Spaces</u></b> that it is a tiny corner of our most
private self that is most at risk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How
that secret self gets protected, and what defines safety, is the core of the
stories that take a fresh perspective on what we do when the unpredictable
occurs.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I had read her previous book, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>Growing a New Tail</u></b>, a few years ago. I was knocked out by
how she painted characters in absolutely ordinary situations who dealt with
both the mundane and the ugly in their own unique way. The flip side to this
new collection is that it is the situations that are nothing ordinary, and the
character reactions are complicated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Self-preservation by denial and running from grief is a tactic these
characters find necessary. They aren’t making grand gestures of expansive good
works to society. Rather, they are in survival mode, which can take many forms,
some of which are no good at all.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
In one story, two strangers awaiting a plane arrival
briefly acknowledge each other before the worst news crashes in on them. They
don’t react as if in a Hallmark happy-ending movie plot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their next actions are spontaneous, slightly
insane, poorly thought out, and terribly real.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s that kick of the reality of what they do that drives many of the
stories:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>no one prepares us for crisis,
so no one can say we are doing it wrong.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Many of the stories have the basis of strangers in pairs
trying to navigate a crisis. One woman needs a date for a wedding, but finds
that getting one means revealing her most fragile secret. Another character
creates secrets to hide his own reality, but loses himself so deeply in
falsehoods that nothing is real for him anymore.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
In a moment of self-reflection, he considers a fish tank<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">: “Did [the fish] have the consciousness to
know he was in a prison or did every body of water feel the same?”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The reader senses that the alternate reality
he’s created is probably more prison than safety, even though he has no
intention of escape.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Throughout the stories, which stand alone and are not
linked, Taylor’s insightful character studies mean they are not easily
forgotten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Weeks after I first read it,
I remembered certain characters with a sort of wistful, “what if” thought as to
their survival skill. It was as if I’d read a newspaper article about real
people.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“A life with this
much colour requires a mute button.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>That
mute button is the key to finding the impossibly small spaces that let us
survive whatever happens. Taylor’s<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>stories
are rich and complex, and entirely unforgettable.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<i>Review copy provided by Arlen House Press.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Review by L. R.</i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643233396861759573.post-29380551136146335982016-06-18T23:17:00.002-07:002016-06-18T23:17:49.998-07:00Break Every String -- Poetry by Joshua Michael Stewart<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggRBEBJv2qRPJC7rFVkGTnaKPUGODuE3sa9P_4la0EslIYyKcex_ApFVcgLqH8vz200XICHOgDhIYCTYcbVo4qRaEAopibob0h9AR4eu84Me9GT7Lpfs0YenD74dhki57AqYbqLO927K4/s1600/string.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggRBEBJv2qRPJC7rFVkGTnaKPUGODuE3sa9P_4la0EslIYyKcex_ApFVcgLqH8vz200XICHOgDhIYCTYcbVo4qRaEAopibob0h9AR4eu84Me9GT7Lpfs0YenD74dhki57AqYbqLO927K4/s320/string.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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In his new book, <b><u>Break
Every String</u></b>, Joshua Michael Stewart rides shotgun on a trip through
the back roads of a small town called Everywhere. Imagine him sitting there, unfolding an old,
worn map of the region—so old that it feels like chamois—and featuring all the
tired places encompassed there. He may
point to a lake, a school, abandoned wells, and homes stuffed with
stories. In his own measured pace, he’ll
tell you about those places and why their significance goes far beyond the map
could ever show. This isn’t topography
or simple street intersections, this map is a history of a person, a family,
and pain.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Stewart doesn’t overshare. He’s subtle with his
explanations, and doesn’t quite tell you the whole story. He leaves you with
more questions than answers. But the
search, the listening, is the treasure of these poems. Epic stories are told,
spanning several poems. And then there are simple phrases, stunning in what
they reveal.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><i>A blackbird in crosshairs, singing.<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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For example, the women of this town, this history. They are tender, murderous, hateful, or
simply invisible. A brother is alluded
to many times, Frank, and his story is told in broken shards that perfectly
represents his jagged life. Frank fights
addiction, a broken family, a stint in jail—all working as parallels with the
life of the man Stewart describes. It’s
not necessarily autobiographical, but rather a complex amalgamation of
character studies. You never quite know
the whole story.<o:p></o:p></div>
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A large part of Stewart’s poems feature letters from mother
to son, keeping him posted about the “other” brother. The inference is clear:
the other son occupies her thoughts; the broken bird getting more attention
than the one in flight with wings aloft.
The pain this inflicts is never mentioned only surmised. And one that finds our narrator at a loss
with his own worth.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><i>You
haven’t had the blues<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><i> Until
your mother drunk-dials<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><i> Your
number at two o’clock<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><i> In
the afternoon and leaves<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><i> A
message for your brother<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><i> Who’s
been dead since 2007</i></b>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Coltrane and Brubeck serve as tonics in this town that maybe
should be called Nowhere. A place where
Stewart asks, <b><i>“What’s the narrative in a still life or a landscape?”<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
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Some moments are universal but no less profound:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><i>When
someone leaves<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><i> Your
life, you’re left with a story<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
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<b><i> You’ll
fetch from your minds library<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><i> When
sleep eludes you and you sit<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
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<b><i> In
the quiet of the kitchen, surrounded<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
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<b><i> By
the dark and empty rooms of self</i></b>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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And at times, the contemplation takes a troubled,
introspective turn:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><i>I’m
not interested in last words,<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><i> But
in final thoughts. Do you love<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><i> The
most the one you think of last?<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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The most intense poem of the collection hits me hard each
time I read it. I actually have it pinned to a wall<b>. <u>I Wanted to Be a Blue Jay or
Wear a Flowered Apron</u></b> tears me up.
It’s almost the perfect poem, except that I don’t want to accept that
the perfect poem has already been written. Much like Ginsberg’s <b><u>Supermarket in California</u></b>, it has so
much dimension and depth that one could get lost in all the allusions and
meanings, as well as get smacked by the simple reality of the words. Take it straight or read something into it:
in either case, it’s brilliant.<o:p></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid_-2oy4rtG61OMQVFMFQB_Np7CwdMhm1DDgZ0OsVMXk5fDNEAKxxKPP8NY4FyUiyp6tamzxwQeRjNAwy1BCUkBfyrA9TArvvEKZ2lhCijfQXTmj7oJ0YC_owkSWheWeD0WJ5lpUiLdLU/s1600/josh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid_-2oy4rtG61OMQVFMFQB_Np7CwdMhm1DDgZ0OsVMXk5fDNEAKxxKPP8NY4FyUiyp6tamzxwQeRjNAwy1BCUkBfyrA9TArvvEKZ2lhCijfQXTmj7oJ0YC_owkSWheWeD0WJ5lpUiLdLU/s1600/josh.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">poet Joshua Michael Stewart</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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In it, the unknown narrator reflects on a previous
suicide attempt, many years before. He
finds himself in the woods near his home,</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><i>Blue
jays flew in and out of the pines.<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><i> I
delighted at their squawking—thought of tenement </i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><i> women</i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><i> Airing
laundry on fire escapes. <o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><i> I
wanted to climb the branches for the same reason.<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
But then, he remembers his father, the things that the
flawed man did for the flawed son that were absolutely perfect. And he waits to be found by that same man.
One who he now shares a meal with, realizing what it must have been like for
his father to set out the long-ago morning, looking for a son and not knowing
what he would find.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><i>…he
takes us back<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><i> To
that morning behind the shed, looking at me<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><i> As
if I’m a jig-saw puzzle and he’s lost the picture.<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><i> I
didn’t take into account that he’d blame himself,<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><i> That,
with or without death, guilt would haunt him.<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><i> …nothing
rests between us except for our folded </i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><i> hands</i></b>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Stewart’s poems reference jazz as a poultice to
old-fashioned heartbreak. Springsteen
gets a nod as does many cultural references unique to rural places that time
has left behind. Is it Everywhere? Is it Nowhere? That part of the map is
rubbed out. No matter, the reality is it's Anytown.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<b><u>Special thanks to Hedgerow Books for the Review Copy.</u></b></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643233396861759573.post-85161280413558671372016-03-24T18:34:00.003-07:002019-09-19T17:40:36.657-07:00GUILTY OF GENOCIDE: Radovan Karadžić, The Butcher's Trail by Julian BorgerAfter five years of legal fighting, the<b> International Criminal Tribunal in The Hague</b> has convicted Radovan Karadžić of 10 of the 11 war crimes he was charged with. He got a 40 year sentence.<br />
<br />
Wait. What? Forty years? For the massacre of somewhere between 6,000 to 8,000 men and boys in his efforts to ethnically cleanse the Balkans? Sure, he'll die in prison. But even a token sentencing of 6,000 years of prison would feel more appropriate.<br />
<br />
You won't find this on CNN today, or much of anywhere. The Guardian carried the article below, but it was one of the few outlets that did. The media has a short-term memory problem.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.theguardian.com/world/2016/mar/24/radovan-karadzic-criminally-responsible-for-genocide-at-srebenica">The Guardian's article on Radovan Karadzic today</a> (link)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOHG4Hhlmd_qDxeNGqUwc0bCe0R96neQIExVsiq89kU4__GIt0WiusnqK3TkZQw4ETjzRwGQwoVI43mFGe10SfaK0cCANNKGy1FpJj_uAKfbtJSCyRJwwAdK2l8Arn0yDIxr6eoi7eq5Q/s1600/yugo2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOHG4Hhlmd_qDxeNGqUwc0bCe0R96neQIExVsiq89kU4__GIt0WiusnqK3TkZQw4ETjzRwGQwoVI43mFGe10SfaK0cCANNKGy1FpJj_uAKfbtJSCyRJwwAdK2l8Arn0yDIxr6eoi7eq5Q/s400/yugo2.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Today is hugely significant, as it took five years and the research of thousands and testimony of hundreds to both catch him and convict him. People who knew better than to forget the horrors he imposed on humankind kept the investigation moving forward.<br />
<br />
The story of his manhunt is found in Julian Borger's new book, <u><b>The Butcher's Trail: The Secret History of the Balkan Manhunt for Europe's Most-Wanted War Criminals.</b></u> Borger works for the Guardian as well, and lends his gravitas to the novel-like story of the investigation of three of the worst war criminals in our time. Ratko Mladic, Slobodan Milosevic, and Karadzic all participated in the brutality unforgotten by citizens of the the region.<br />
<br />
Milosevic's lawyer was quoted in the book, <b>"I thought [to] myself that Milosevic, Karadzic, and Mladic should all have committed suicide. They would have gone into history. Thousands of people died for them, and if you are sending people's children to their death, you should know how to leave yourself"</b> (Borger 223).<br />
<b><br /></b>
A startling fact was relayed in the foreword<b>: "Two civilians were killed for every three soldiers who died in battle. The whole conflict was characterized by random brutality. Psychopaths were made masters of the life and death or their former neighbors"</b> (Borger xxv).<br />
<br />
From the Guardian, source beneath:----------------------------------<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<header style="color: #767676; font-family: 'Guardian Text Sans Web', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><div style="color: black; font-family: 'Guardian Egyptian Web', Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: 600; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 12px;">
Number of dead or disappeared by ethnicity in the 1992-95 Bosnian war</div>
<div style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 12px;">
</div>
<div class="js-keys" style="line-height: 18px; margin-left: 105px;">
Dead or disappeared, thousands</div>
</header><br />
<div style="color: #767676; font-family: 'Guardian Text Sans Web', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; height: auto; position: relative;">
<div style="padding-top: 24px; width: 620px;">
<div style="min-height: 24px;">
<div class="js-text" style="color: #333333; display: inline-block; line-height: 18px; vertical-align: top; width: 105px;">
Bosniaks</div>
<div class="js-bars" style="display: inline-block; height: auto; position: relative; width: calc(100% - 105px);">
<div style="background-color: #4dc6dd; height: 16px; margin-bottom: 2px; margin-left: 0px; width: 515px;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.498039); height: 16px; left: 83.0469px; position: absolute; top: 0px; width: 1px;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.498039); height: 16px; left: 166.094px; position: absolute; top: 0px; width: 1px;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.498039); height: 16px; left: 249.141px; position: absolute; top: 0px; width: 1px;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.498039); height: 16px; left: 332.188px; position: absolute; top: 0px; width: 1px;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.498039); height: 16px; left: 415.234px; position: absolute; top: 0px; width: 1px;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.498039); height: 16px; left: 498.281px; position: absolute; top: 0px; width: 1px;">
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="min-height: 24px;">
<div class="js-text" style="color: #333333; display: inline-block; line-height: 18px; vertical-align: top; width: 105px;">
Serbs</div>
<div class="js-bars" style="display: inline-block; height: auto; position: relative; width: calc(100% - 105px);">
<div style="background-color: #4dc6dd; height: 16px; margin-bottom: 2px; margin-left: 0px; width: 207.234px;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.498039); height: 16px; left: 83.0469px; position: absolute; top: 0px; width: 1px;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.498039); height: 16px; left: 166.094px; position: absolute; top: 0px; width: 1px;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.498039); height: 16px; left: 249.141px; position: absolute; top: 0px; width: 1px;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.498039); height: 16px; left: 332.188px; position: absolute; top: 0px; width: 1px;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.498039); height: 16px; left: 415.234px; position: absolute; top: 0px; width: 1px;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.498039); height: 16px; left: 498.281px; position: absolute; top: 0px; width: 1px;">
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="min-height: 24px;">
<div class="js-text" style="color: #333333; display: inline-block; line-height: 18px; vertical-align: top; width: 105px;">
Croats</div>
<div class="js-bars" style="display: inline-block; height: auto; position: relative; width: calc(100% - 105px);">
<div style="background-color: #4dc6dd; height: 16px; margin-bottom: 2px; margin-left: 0px; width: 69.7813px;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.498039); height: 16px; left: 83.0469px; position: absolute; top: 0px; width: 1px;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.498039); height: 16px; left: 166.094px; position: absolute; top: 0px; width: 1px;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.498039); height: 16px; left: 249.141px; position: absolute; top: 0px; width: 1px;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.498039); height: 16px; left: 332.188px; position: absolute; top: 0px; width: 1px;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.498039); height: 16px; left: 415.234px; position: absolute; top: 0px; width: 1px;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.498039); height: 16px; left: 498.281px; position: absolute; top: 0px; width: 1px;">
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="min-height: 24px;">
<div class="js-text" style="color: #333333; display: inline-block; line-height: 18px; vertical-align: top; width: 105px;">
Other ethnicities</div>
<div class="js-bars" style="display: inline-block; height: auto; position: relative; width: calc(100% - 105px);">
<div style="background-color: #4dc6dd; height: 16px; margin-bottom: 2px; margin-left: 0px; width: 4.73438px;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.498039); height: 16px; left: 83.0469px; position: absolute; top: 0px; width: 1px;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.498039); height: 16px; left: 166.094px; position: absolute; top: 0px; width: 1px;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.498039); height: 16px; left: 249.141px; position: absolute; top: 0px; width: 1px;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.498039); height: 16px; left: 332.188px; position: absolute; top: 0px; width: 1px;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.498039); height: 16px; left: 415.234px; position: absolute; top: 0px; width: 1px;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.498039); height: 16px; left: 498.281px; position: absolute; top: 0px; width: 1px;">
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="js-axis" style="height: 24px; position: absolute; right: 0px; top: 0px; width: calc(100% - 105px);">
<div style="background-color: #bdbdbd; height: 4px; left: 0px; position: absolute; top: 19px; width: 1px;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: #bdbdbd; height: 4px; left: 83.0469px; position: absolute; top: 19px; width: 1px;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: #bdbdbd; height: 4px; left: 166.094px; position: absolute; top: 19px; width: 1px;">
</div>
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Guardian graphic | Source: Research and Documentation Center in Sarajevo------------------------------</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Milosevic died in his cell during the proceedings, and Mladic is yet to be tried. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Borger's book is imminently readable, but the horrors it contains are hard to take. Most of the time he focuses not on the actual violent acts but instead the spy chase to catch these men, the secret intelligence gathering, and the operatives who put themselves at risk to try and right the wrongs of Yugoslavia's past. It might make a good film were it not so horrifyingly true.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGAnI_uswxQXuuW8Et_LNa2dcEOvqyOFqZBcAJSi7bl9A-YhAA2e2PI2JxE16hJfZwz4A-6NrG7qfGRWzgyAkvN2GOPlwMHv3lQUuPSgqSnlo-p_5f7dxoVL8bc7R9FyWJ0p0isfBmOpM/s1600/yugo3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGAnI_uswxQXuuW8Et_LNa2dcEOvqyOFqZBcAJSi7bl9A-YhAA2e2PI2JxE16hJfZwz4A-6NrG7qfGRWzgyAkvN2GOPlwMHv3lQUuPSgqSnlo-p_5f7dxoVL8bc7R9FyWJ0p0isfBmOpM/s1600/yugo3.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">author Julian Borger</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I remember one account (not from this book): these brutal men would order a family executed because one of their men had gone missing. Everyone was buried up to their necks in the ground in a small grouping, still alive. The dirt and mud were pressed around them: there was no escape. How long they lived is unknown before their defenseless heads were attacked by animals and vermin. What kind of conversation does one have with their child in that situation, when death is imminent? How would they look into each other's eyes as the time passed? Can a worse death be imagined?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Borger's book was just released in January and is one way to honor victims by not forgetting what happened these not-so-many years past. So while CNN is talking Trump or Kardashian, the real news is the conviction of this hideous man. I didn't want to show his picture but it's the only one I could find where he looks scared. Scared is good. This was when he was actually sentenced today. </span></div>
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<b><i>Special thanks to Jessica Greer of Other Press for the Advance Review Copy.</i></b></div>
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<b><i>Those who follow my blog know that my heart is somewhat attached to this area of Europe. An excellent book about the history of Croatia was written by </i></b><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i>Tony Fabijancic in his book, </i>Croatia: Travels in an Undiscovered Country<i>. Fabijancic also wrote </i>Bosnia: In the Footsteps of Gavrilo Princip<i>. Both shed enlightenment on the loveliness of most ofthe people alternating with the horror of genocide committed by others.</i></b></span></span></div>
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</footer>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643233396861759573.post-18441282390706375712015-12-11T21:33:00.000-08:002016-06-08T16:58:51.316-07:00Best of 2015: my little list<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><u>BEST OF 2015;</u></i></b></div>
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This year was tough. I was reading a wider variety of books related to school and work and less fiction. But the books I chose for this list were ones that I didn't just like, but that knocked me out entirely. Beyond great fiction, they have the added element of making one think. Like a self-help book wrapped up in a great story.<br />
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My best books of 2015: Outside of <b><u>Eyrie </u></b>and <b><u>Bettyville</u></b>, my absolute favorites, the rest are in no particular order.<br />
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<span class=""><b><u><span class="">Bettyville by George Hodgman:</span></u></b></span><br />
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This memoir speaks to so many levels of my life. Maybe it's a personal connection, or just a great memoir inspired by an amazing woman. When she died earlier this year, I wept. She was badass and tender in a subtle way. George Hodgman manages to bring out all her dimensions in a funny and emotional life story. It is not just a picture of her and her history, but of community and friendship and the perils of caregiving. Hodgman combines heart with brutal honesty. This is the book I recommend to everyone.<br />
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<b><u>Eyrie by Tim Winton:</u></b><br />
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It's weird to fall in love with a fictional character. But this angst-filled and lost man is read as someone you just want to care for and love. He's lost in a world determined to shut him out because of an industrial cover-up. His relationships with family and old friends determine the man he has become. He's awful, selfish, sweet, and totally lost. Endearing is an understatement.<br />
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<b><u>This is Your Life, Harriet Chance by Jonathan Evison:</u></b><br />
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Evison writes about an intriguing woman, and leaves you a little lost when you realize how he plays with your emotions so simply by his fantastic writing. She's sad. Lonely. She's evil. Intolerable. Tortured. Sweet again. The push and pull between one's hopes and one's realities makes this hard to put down, especially as nothing is predictable. And despite her often-strange and sometimes irritating persona, he doesn't take the cheap shot to simply make her a joke. <br />
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http://www.theblacksheepdances.com/2015/09/this-is-your-life-harriet-chance-by.html<br />
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<b><u>Burning Down George Orwell's House by Andrew Ervin:</u></b><br />
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A literary fiction title filled with humor and wisdom: an intriguing combination. Seeing the production of whisky with all its varieties as a metaphor for one's life is brilliant. Especially great if you are into Orwell himself, as the research and anecdotes are fascinating.<br />
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http://www.theblacksheepdances.com/2015/05/burning-down-george-orwells-house-by.html<br />
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<b><u>The Point of Vanishing by Howard Axelrod:</u></b><br />
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Perhaps it is a personal dream of mine, but Axelrod takes a personal tragedy and chooses to embrace a life alone to rediscover his own identity and to create a life outside the boundaries of his upwardly-mobile path to success. Painful, honest, brilliant. Review forthcoming.<br />
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<b><u><span class="goog-text-highlight">Growing a New Tail by Lisa . Taylor</span></u></b><br />
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This collection of short stories paints pictures of women, men, children and neighborhoods in a way that is brutally honest and entirely sympathetic. The characters she paints are the invisible members of society that face momentous battles all alone, with no fanfare for their successes nor tears for their losses. Review forthcoming.<br />
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<b><u>The Long Goodbye by Meghan O'Rourke:</u></b><br />
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This memoir details O'Rourke's last year with her mother who died of cancer. Rather than focus on the pain and ugliness, O'Rourke's book is a celebration of an amazing woman and also a portrait of a family in loss and confusion. It made me cry as I read it with thoughts of my own mother. It is honest without a saccharine sweet ending.</div>
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<b><u>Shader by Daniel Nester:</u></b></div>
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This memoir hit me like a rock. All of my teenage years distilled into one book. Memories of songs, trends, and the confusion of adolescence all boiled down into one honest portrayal of a suburban family facing divorce, poverty, and New Jersey. Certain scenes are like snapshots of teenage memories that are apparently universal. One winces as they remember.</div>
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<b><u>All the Birds Singing, by Evie Wyld:</u></b></div>
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Suspenseful is the only way to describe this non-linear fictional title that is frightening on so many levels. Childhood pain and abuse coupled with the aftereffects of a life chosen to be lived alone. The protagonist is a tough woman with secrets that are never fully revealed. You will not put this down.</div>
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http://www.theblacksheepdances.com/2015/01/all-birds-singing-by-evie-wyld.html</div>
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<b><u>Watch Me Go by Mark Wisniewski:</u></b></div>
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Horse racing in Saratoga Springs takes on a sinister air as winners and losers are not defined by winning. At the same time, an urban black man has to make a difficult decision based on the bad judgment of others. Wisniewski combines both storylines together for a fast-paced and intriguing examination of greed and betrayal.</div>
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http://www.theblacksheepdances.com/2015/01/watch-me-go-new-fiction-from-mark.html</div>
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<b><u><span style="font-size: large;">POETRY:</span></u></b></div>
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Ada Limon's <b><u>Bright Dead Things</u></b> is poetry for anyone with heart. Her pictures translated into verse are as easy to envision as a photograph. Brilliant, subtle, simple. Review forthcoming.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEmTYeQGcOUkpfgZR6yFKWssED_y5Rd7OHlq5sFR7jERuBCadANuMCjtiPGXS0z5vY-MxHdgpAJG65M3ir1vSXzl6qUKJHT6AhJ-iu_I4LNc5vzFevITvNjoxUDGAB-XL_WRsjG92Zq0c/s1600/bright.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEmTYeQGcOUkpfgZR6yFKWssED_y5Rd7OHlq5sFR7jERuBCadANuMCjtiPGXS0z5vY-MxHdgpAJG65M3ir1vSXzl6qUKJHT6AhJ-iu_I4LNc5vzFevITvNjoxUDGAB-XL_WRsjG92Zq0c/s320/bright.jpg" width="207" /></a></div>
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<b><u><span style="font-size: large;">New discoveries for 2015: </span></u></b></div>
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Patrick Modiano's work was given to me by means of three novels. All are fantastic, moody and deep. I didn't pick a favorite as they are too complex to distill that way. Discomfiting is a bitter description. </div>
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For television, check out the BBC's crime show, <u><b>River</b></u>, as well as <b><u>Peaky Blinders</u></b> and <b><u>Call the Midwife.</u></b></div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643233396861759573.post-12039127962932988482015-11-30T17:04:00.000-08:002016-06-08T17:13:30.611-07:00After the Circus by Patrick Modiano -fiction in translation-Mark Polizzotti translator<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>Previously published in the New York Journal of Books, November 30, 2015</b></div>
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<b>http://www.nyjournalofbooks.com/book-review/after-circus</b></div>
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<b>Review by Amy Henry</b></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">With age usually comes wisdom, and when waxing nostalgic, one usually sees the significance of youthful events in a new and understanding light. However, for our protagonist in Patrick Modiano’s new novel, <em style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">After the Circus</em>, it appears that even the passage of time has left him confused about the time when he was just reaching adulthood, alone in Paris.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">author Patrick Modiano</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Modiano’s writing is minimal in the extreme: He doesn’t share pages of descriptions of landscape or weather or clothing styles or significant architecture of the city of lights. Even night and day are hardly distinguished. The main character Jean is hardly described at all in terms of appearance or mannerisms. His new companion, Gisele, is noted tangibly only by the mention of her raincoat and skirt and sweater. Beyond that, nearly every supporting character is without distinguishing marks.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Perhaps the minimalism is to focus on the story’s plot, which also is quite minimal. A tight story arc gives the novel its focus, and it’s entirely intentional. Modiano’s lack of specificity creates a fog or haze over the city of Paris as its characters move and act below. And writing as he does from the viewpoint of an older man looking back, the lapses in memory (from choice or age) are entirely appropriate.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">While lacking much description, he does give the novel a mood. A sense of foreboding that is at odds with the simplicity of many early scenes. The mood pervades, however, as day and night and meal after meal in nameless restaurants demonstrates the couple’s idle and unfocused path. Dark streets are traversed repeatedly, lending a sort of symbolism to their future.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipkokN6bPc2LPKAqKImvemGRQHy8jS3qoDEVJPhwasfpZW2iU2VvyiF1RHjjot4sbash4j00km1zWsPbX5VVKZP5thle2JHkcD8c4nHy8w6NCghLc1_LRxygh0S4ZMEb8rtvMOFmei9PY/s1600/Polizzotti_Mark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipkokN6bPc2LPKAqKImvemGRQHy8jS3qoDEVJPhwasfpZW2iU2VvyiF1RHjjot4sbash4j00km1zWsPbX5VVKZP5thle2JHkcD8c4nHy8w6NCghLc1_LRxygh0S4ZMEb8rtvMOFmei9PY/s1600/Polizzotti_Mark.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">translator Mark Polizzotti</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Of note is Modiano’s little trick for springing unexpected revelations on the reader. For example, on their first night together, Jean roles over in the bed they were sleeping in. At first the reader is led to believe they shared it platonically. But he notes that she is nude beneath her raincoat. And the story proceeds. As a reader, the reaction is, “Wait! What was that? Were they intimate and thus she was nude? Did she remove her clothes to sleep? Or, (more significantly) had she been nude underneath her raincoat all day long? During the police questioning?” It’s a small detail that impacts the story a great deal, and Modiano doesn’t feel obligated to explain. As the novel progresses, you begin to wonder if Jean even knows that answer.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">The plot itself is simple: a young man, newly freed from parental control is living temporarily on his own (with an oft-missing caretaker) after his parents move to Switzerland. He’s under age and bored. We first meet him being questioned by the police because his name was found in a suspicious address book. He has no answers for their ambiguous questions. After he leaves, a woman enters and is similarly questioned, but out of his earshot. When she leaves, he meets up with her at a café, and after she asks the dangerous question, “Will you do me a favor?” they somehow become inseparable, based on their shared police experience and nothing more.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">She’s slightly older but appears years wiser and often takes notice of his naiveté with merely a look or a long pause. Silent mostly, they spend the next few days sharing his old apartment, walking the dog, and eating out quietly. Their conversations are minimal and one can’t help but wonder where their attraction lies. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Soon, she introduces him to some friends, older businessmen, and Jean admires the attention they show him. He feels they are benevolent and ready to assist his exciting new future. Jean’s sense of self-absorption is noticeable, perhaps from his sheltered youth, convincing him everyone is looking out for his best interests. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Again, the reader feels exasperation, wanting him to realize more has to be going on around him. Older Jean, looking back, expresses this: “If I could go back in time and return to that room, I would change the bulb. But in brighter light, the whole thing might well dissolve.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Gisele shields him from any ugliness (often leaving him in the car with the dog), and now in love, they decide to move to Rome after one last favor for her friends. So kind her friends are! They’ve provided them with cash for the move and even that car! Again, just for a brief favor. Jean only begins to sense, as they pack for Rome, that something may be amiss. It’d be a good time for his parents to advise him, yet they’re gone. The question then jars the reader: Why exactly did his parents move in the first place? </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Time is a tricky player in this novel: Jean lives and makes decisions in present time, his older self is observing backward in memory, and then older Jean actually returns to the places and haunts that clouded his mind so many years ago. Clarity is never fully attained, lost in that same fog and mist that romanticized Paris and served to confuse young Jean years before.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "dsr" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28px;"><b>Published by Yale University Press</b></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643233396861759573.post-13472563335526792312015-10-18T22:41:00.000-07:002015-10-18T22:43:33.363-07:00All the Things We Never Knew by Sheila Hamilton (memoir, mental health)<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">First published in the NY Journal of Books</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">October 18, 2015</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Chasing the Chaos of Mental Illness</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Review by Amy Henry</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fce5cd;">Sheila Hamilton and her daughter Sophie suffered unimaginably and yet found their way to wholeness again. Both were entirely upended by the behavior and suicide of their husband and father, David. What they endured is unspeakable. Not having a safe base for living in an already conflicted world truly tests the human spirit.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fce5cd;">Not only did David commit suicide, there was a protracted hunt for his body after he left the city behind with his intentions fairly clear to those who knew him. It was winter, and his family couldn’t help but imagine him out in the cold, alone. Eventually he was found, and it was said he finally discovered his peace after he killed himself; however, that peace wasn’t extant for his wife and daughter: Not only did he not leave a note, but he left them heavily in debt.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fce5cd;">This family deserves empathy and understanding, but parts of this memoir are very difficult to understand. Not to underestimate someone’s pain, but questions arise as to the premise of the book and the idea that he was dead “within six weeks of a formal diagnosis of bipolar disorder.” <em style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Formal</em> is the key word here, because it’s clear from the onset that David was suffering from a mental disorder for a very long time.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fce5cd;">It’s important to note that Sheila Hamilton is a noted radio and TV personality in the Portland area, highly successful in a cutthroat business. From childhood to the height of her career, she was successful precisely because she knew people and reflected a sweet and happy personality that her fans found relatable. She is a smart cookie.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fce5cd;">Therefore, reading her describe her courtship and early marriage to David is terribly confusing. From their initial meeting at a coffee shop, David seemed too good to be true. He had some quirks, which is something all of us have to own up to. But their relationship was fraught with periods of unusual behavior on his part. Long disappearances, secretiveness, and constant personal disorganization despite a successful business were troubling events. Interactions with his own father were not of the warm and fuzzy nature.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fce5cd;">It wasn’t long before he was cheating on her (she found out) and even taking his child on his rendezvous with women. Asking one of the child-care providers on a date was less than shocking. He had a penchant for escapism. At times, as well, he would become extremely irate and irrational over the noise of cars on a distant street. It’s clear he was troubled, and reading it makes you wonder why his family did not seek help sooner. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fce5cd;">This is why the premise of his sickness being discovered “only six weeks” before his death is inaccurate: His family was enduring his pain <em style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">along</em> with him for much longer. Years. This presentation adds a certain scare tactic to the memoir, as it asks readers to consider mental issues as something that can come on rapidly, without warning. Yet the details shared are themselves revealing as to how long he suffered and how some forms of intervention may have helped. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fce5cd;">Hamilton is from a large family in Utah, and has no doubt spent time with hundreds of friends, coworkers, and acquaintances in her life. She had to know what rational behavior was and what wasn’t. How could Hamilton, given her knowledge of people, not see it? She cannot be blamed in any way, of course, as David was the one who was sick and put her through countless incidents of infidelity and pain. Was it the stigma of mental health problems that made it difficult to broach the subject or was she in denial, given his tremendous talent and charm?<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sheila Hamilton -Portland's pride</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #fce5cd;">She clearly had a close relationship with her daughter and was able to provide stability and certain life luxuries that may have made it easier for Sophie to endure what may have seemed odd in her young mind. Perhaps focusing on Sophie helped Hamilton avoid the more painful thoughts of David and her helplessness in dealing with him.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fce5cd;">In any case, Hamilton ends most of the chapters with an informative page on mental health statistics and traits so that readers may see what she didn’t. One of them, entitled “The Escape Theory of Suicide” is especially interesting. In it, one psychologist noted that “most people who kill themselves actually lived better-than-average lives” but created “unreasonable standards for happiness.” This statistic is prefaced with the shocking detail that men commit four out of every five suicides in the U.S.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fce5cd;">The memoir ends with numerous resources for those with questions to investigate. The array of organizations designed to help different sorts of people with varying sorts of mental health issues is a positive step in helping to decrease the horrific statistics. Hamilton is a brave woman to come forward with her story and potentially help other families.</span></div>
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<b><u>Special thanks to Seal Press for the Review Copy. </u></b></div>
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If someone you know is suffering from behavior you may think is troubling, contact your local mental health resources or MentalHealth.gov, NAMI.org, or SAMHSA.gov. Each provides an easy anonymous means to get help and have questions answered. Also, never forget the power of meeting with a regular family physician to rule out medical problems. Pursue any means to get help for your loved ones before it is too late. Don't let the stigma or embarrassment hold you back.</div>
<span style="background-color: #fce5cd; font-family: dsr, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28px;">-</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643233396861759573.post-37413457157441711762015-10-12T20:18:00.000-07:002015-10-12T20:18:08.280-07:00Quicksand by Steve Toltz (fiction)<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">First Published in the New York Journal of Books</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">October 12, 2015</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg79qmIP098OAHMsvCkJsxoFafrmgJuhXWr-16boICdaeDR6Wxtx1yGwQ693MOo-ZCRnLHfZLIfRGiGI0sPe3pCcyCTrOFAzyxWDBoiOBsd6FLUWj6acQMpFju6xfkASf-EPyDYjcyiTIU/s1600/quicksand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg79qmIP098OAHMsvCkJsxoFafrmgJuhXWr-16boICdaeDR6Wxtx1yGwQ693MOo-ZCRnLHfZLIfRGiGI0sPe3pCcyCTrOFAzyxWDBoiOBsd6FLUWj6acQMpFju6xfkASf-EPyDYjcyiTIU/s1600/quicksand.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">He’s the
last person you’d want to sit by on a bus. As a brother-in-law, he’d probably
make you poke forks in your eyes at the family picnic. Probably the most
self-absorbed and offensive character you’ll meet…so, why is he so appealing?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">This is
Aldo and he’s the gyre this novel seems to revolve around, dizzy and disjointed
in a way filled with seriously witty lines and repellent acts. Aldo and Liam
are long-time friends who’ve grown into adults left with little to take pride
in, and a history of disappointment. Having both lost sisters to early deaths,
they share a bond that makes you think that you’re headed for a poignant tale
of friendship. Poignant, yes. Wildly
unpredictable? That too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">At times
it appears that the purpose of Aldo is a mirror to discover the nature of Liam,
a fascinating character on his own. Liam is a writer who is so interested in
authenticity for his characters that he attends the police academy to research
police procedure. When his novel dies soon after, he ends up becoming a
policeman to make his living. The irony of painful reality versus dreams.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWky-nRHqlw2j9ojaGk3sTva1DAQXGmr81ancEDzxBzJBs76xQ4Xr9mxxG-cx71M5l3htk6vICEZa3ONMRNAZtWm2jY6bulPJNaNVpwUbJb294_LSj7MooaM3dmC6ekUy690c2TgwnGYw/s1600/liam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWky-nRHqlw2j9ojaGk3sTva1DAQXGmr81ancEDzxBzJBs76xQ4Xr9mxxG-cx71M5l3htk6vICEZa3ONMRNAZtWm2jY6bulPJNaNVpwUbJb294_LSj7MooaM3dmC6ekUy690c2TgwnGYw/s1600/liam.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">research can be dangerous</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">When the
story begins Aldo is in a wheelchair, and the two are bored in a bar in Australia.
Regret swarms them. Liam’s police uniform chafes him mentally, and Aldo is bent
on offending everyone. Liam decides that Aldo is his lost muse, and decides to
return to writing: “to write about you is to troubleshoot the human spirit.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">For Aldo,
a middle-class kid who is not graced with any advantages, life is a brutal game
of catch-as-catch-can. Early in his teens he’s falsely accused of rape, and it
alters his personality forever. “Always
democratic in his alliances, now he became friends with everybody…It was as if
by surrounding himself with people, he was building airtight alibis for every
minute he passed on earth.” His personality becomes a jarring combination of
moral superiority and immoral and illegal business practices. Fond of himself,
he assumes others loathe him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Schemes
abound, such as his idea to start a B&B&B (Brothel, Bed &
Breakfast), as well as developing restaurants and films. Without much
forethought, he reels in investors but delivers nothing. He becomes a legend in
their region, a loser that seems to have a group of successful acquaintances
who help bail him out, enabling him to continue to delude himself, when they
aren’t beating him up. And there’s always Liam to come to the rescue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">But in his
misery and joblessness, he has all the great lines. Of a stiff-mannered sketch
artist, he said “he looked like he would have to be loved intravenously”. Of
himself, he says he is “a sleeper angel waiting to be activated”. His acerbic presence
in the first half of the novel is delightful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Here’s
where the narrative gets complicated. In a completely non-linear way, tossing
most conventions aside, Toltz gets experimental. We are forced into leaving the
storytelling for a long-winded section about Aldo’s fate. He’s facing trial and
we have yet to understand what caused his disability. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">When he
was a wise-ass blowhard with intriguing thoughts and observations, he was a
sympathetic character. We liked him more than he liked himself (which was a
lot!). His efforts to get the upper hand on his body are epic: he attempts
surfing even if it means dragging his paralyzed body across the sand. But once
the trial begins, and he’s given free rein to explain his life in his own voice
(up to now we’ve had Liam narrating), he is simply a blowhard. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYYfOSe2SfXza9Efc0FjaiOFZCiUxn7nHRtc3RMF6q9Wj5kp6NWuKEBk1InuZwOkYvsEqVfRY2i0gFx2IVVGjhmykTQV_NwzDhZ1GNrQs0ZAHioQNLx80TqSX1F_6gcFakwhle6gABfvs/s1600/aldo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYYfOSe2SfXza9Efc0FjaiOFZCiUxn7nHRtc3RMF6q9Wj5kp6NWuKEBk1InuZwOkYvsEqVfRY2i0gFx2IVVGjhmykTQV_NwzDhZ1GNrQs0ZAHioQNLx80TqSX1F_6gcFakwhle6gABfvs/s1600/aldo.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aldo's secret beach?</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">He tells
astonishing stories and it’s clear that madness is a factor weighing into the
outcome. Scenes in court seem like hallucinations. His reality is one of a
hypnotic attraction to desperate women, suicidal (yet considerate) people, and
a host of other repellent and obnoxious images. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Awkward dialogue
take the place of much needed exposition and it becomes a confusing tangle of
allegations, and the introspective ravings of a bore. This section, “The
Madness of the Muse”, lives up to its title.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">All said,
the novel features tremendous wit and a juicy repartee with the two men. Liam is
intriguing as a foil to Aldo: a straight man to his comedy. By the conclusion, seeing that Aldo’s
long-term influence on Liam actually makes Liam a better man is an irresistible
concept.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrNvCkW8b93fleGDWw7eCp67_h4ujO4_ofh8PiDWDKGjuieVVc71UO9N4CiRK1XZzIWtKWY8ix4A1D35rtd3IR5ho4cghvEKCxtt1XCxo70HGqlYVYFbHXQBRjqdhqNuZNuTMos0AdIu0/s1600/totlz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrNvCkW8b93fleGDWw7eCp67_h4ujO4_ofh8PiDWDKGjuieVVc71UO9N4CiRK1XZzIWtKWY8ix4A1D35rtd3IR5ho4cghvEKCxtt1XCxo70HGqlYVYFbHXQBRjqdhqNuZNuTMos0AdIu0/s1600/totlz.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is not Aldo. It's author Steve Toltz.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">In the
final pages, Aldo asks Liam about that book he was writing. Liam’s response:
“It’s been hard...Really hard. I mean, I’ve been working around the clock to
get down an accurate cross-section of your traumas, but it’s difficult to make
an underdeveloped person into a well-rounded character. I think I’ve accurately
depicted how you’re critical of others yet despairing of your own unceasing
self-regard, and how you don’t <i>think</i>
so much as <i>secrete</i> thought…The thing
is, I want to make you real. Tangible.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Review copy courtesy of Simon and Schuster. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Released 9/15/15.</span></div>
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<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643233396861759573.post-46081802982064797792015-09-24T11:06:00.001-07:002016-06-08T17:07:08.055-07:00Pretty Girls by Karin Slaughter (fiction)<div class="MsoNormal">
Years ago I was obsessed with more general titles of mass fiction, particularly crime and detective novels. I didn't realize there was better reading to be found. I admit that Jeffrey Deaver and Patricia Cornwell were favorites. And while there is nothing wrong with mass market fiction, it quickly felt stale. Most of these authors also tried to up the shock value within each book in what inevitably was made into a series. With life being hard, I realized I didn’t want to read such depressing and at times depraved reading. That’s when I focused on lesser known authors and titles, with a draw towards translated fiction.<o:p></o:p></div>
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However, recently I was sent an ARC of Pretty Girls, a book that promised a deep mystery about a serial killer. I don’t know why, but I fell for it. One lazy afternoon, I curled up with it. At first, the premise was intriguing. A father of a missing daughter is writing a long letter to her, to let her know what she missed while absent. Not knowing whether she was dead or alive, he persisted. From that we see the rest of the family and how they reacted to the loss. Two remaining daughters go in different directions, forever marked from the loss and the constant wondering about her whereabouts.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The sisters, Claire and Lydia, are as different as possible. One tough and able, moving forward despite addiction issues and violence. The other, simply checking out of life to let her amazing husband make all decisions for her and spending her time as a socialite. Both women still seethe with rage but keep it hidden.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Now, stop if you are wary of spoilers. I won’t be too specific, but I will try and explain why this is one of the most appalling books I’ve ever read. Instead of giving up, I had to continue reading to see if it was truly as awful as I imagined. It was.<o:p></o:p></div>
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After Claire’s husband dies, her life unravels quickly, and it’s discovered that her husband was not as he seemed. She handles this by falling apart, finally reaching out to her distant sister Lydia (found urinating on his grave) to help her figure out what to do. From here the novel dissolves into a violence-soaked whodunit wherein both sisters fight and argue while at the same time trying to solve the problem and see if they can find their lost sister too. Improbability becomes the underlying theme.</div>
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Claire is an especially bizarre character: smart but without a shred of emotion (except tennis-invoked rage). She’s benign and boring, and her existence is pinned to her outrageous beauty. She’s unsympathetic and spoiled. Her beauty is mentioned endlessly, as Lydia's chubby body is as well. I'll get back to this, it's important!<o:p></o:p></div>
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What ensues next is an urgently-paced effort to find the killer, one who rapes women with machetes and uses waterboarding with his own urine as torture. Yes, you read that right. Branding, dismembering, burning skin: ho hum. It becomes so common, in nearly every page, that one stops being shocked. And that’s what disturbed me the most. I felt sick, like I was contributing to such violence just by reading this. Was it giving potential serial killers ideas? Was this misogyny intended to make us reflect on the 'wonderfu'l sisterhood that tries to rid the planet of the monster? Or reflect simply on horrifying images?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Did the female author find it necessary to use this to fuel our interest? To show that women are most often the victims of violent crime? Maybe she had a message, but it’s lost in the violence itself.<o:p></o:p></div>
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One thing especially stood out: nearly all the women in the story face such brutality. They are graphically described by their body parts, what happens to them, and inventive ways to torture them. They are literally in <u>pieces</u>. Unlike anything you think you’ve seen on Forensic Files or any number of horror films. And they are categorized with generic labels: either beautiful, or fat, or well-dressed, or frumpy, or rich, or poor. No further explanation or revelation. Labels. From a female author, that was a surprise.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And yet, the men. The men in the story remain fully functional. Their bodies are not chipped away at. They are not described in such helpless positions with no way of escape. They remain <u>whole</u>, despite a literally countless women hanging from cattle hooks, disemboweled, and violated. In fact, the only real comment the author makes about the men in the novel is her strange obsession with their mustaches, commenting significantly on every single one. The men are also not given superficial labels.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Of course, this “mystery” is of the “no one can be trusted” variety and yet very little makes it where you care. As it appears, beyond the suspension of disbelief, everyone is a criminal. It’s too vast a conspiracy with little explanation for how it began. Events in the first part are never tied to latter parts. Motive is what appears to be lacking.<o:p></o:p><br />
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The author then tries to solve it and tie it up in a few last improbable chapters that are actually laughable. The sisters try and save each in other in a last ditch effort at unity but are so dazzlingly naïve that you want to smack them yourself. It was a tiny bit refreshing that the problem is solved by two women rather than the inevitable bored male detective who usually comes in to save the day. But that's not enough to salvage this gory mess.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And of course, everyone lives happily ever after.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m off mystery novels like this now for a good long time, if not forever. A violent world surrounds us, so sinking into this sewer of ugliness is not going to make anyone feel good. Except perhaps a serial killer who is bored and looking to up his game (for which this may serve as a "how to" manual). It’s that awful. I don’t know how popular this author is, probably very, but in my small little voice I have to say what she’s written is as disturbing and hateful and as misogynistic as anyone could be accused of being. She’s not done a service for women by creating characters that solve crime and empowering them. Instead,, she’s created women that are eternal victims, who even in their victory are disappointing and weak. That itself is a crime. </div>
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The author's last name? Slaughter. Go figure that one out. If it's a pseudonym, I can't imagine a more apt one.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Thanks, but no thanks, to Century Publishers for the Review Copy.</b></div>
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<b>This novel releases September 29, 2015.</b></div>
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<b>If you are in fact desirous of some good suspense novels that aren't this gory, I'd recommend a look at <u>The Devotion of Suspect X</u> by Higashino, any of the Benjamin Black "Quirke" series, <u>Klausen</u> by Maier, <u>The News Where You Are</u> by O'Flynn, or any of the other titles listed under the Fiction tab above, or leave a comment if you wish.</b></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643233396861759573.post-58084383058697716672015-09-14T17:18:00.000-07:002015-09-14T17:30:25.249-07:00Super Better by Jane McGonigal (game theory, games for mental and physical improvement)<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Originally published in the New York Journal of Books, September 14, 2015. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"> Releases September 15, 2015.</span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZZp2irYvjIqEzNeW807mPlr9pB6dIOgfqLy8bhAlsV0j7X4GBV3IrKWaemnUiMuGKh2qLBJej8JXW1H86veAFIeSKi2n5zbVnN-t7Z7m8j7wJH5twVFvyfT4Smbk8g-IpBgUhecdSLCw/s1600/super.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZZp2irYvjIqEzNeW807mPlr9pB6dIOgfqLy8bhAlsV0j7X4GBV3IrKWaemnUiMuGKh2qLBJej8JXW1H86veAFIeSKi2n5zbVnN-t7Z7m8j7wJH5twVFvyfT4Smbk8g-IpBgUhecdSLCw/s320/super.jpg" width="210" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Super
Better:</span></i><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> <i>A Revolutionary
Approach to Getting Stronger, Happier, Braver and More Resilient—Powered by the
Science of Games </i>by Jane McGonigal<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">By Amy Henry<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Jane McGonigal has been acclaimed for decades for her
theories in gaming and the value of games in relation to positive psychology and
problem solving; however, it wasn’t until 2009, when she suffered a traumatic
brain injury (TBI) that she created the concept of<i> Super Better. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Super
Better</span></i><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> is a very personal method of transforming the depression
and anxiety related to injury into a successful mode for coping and actually
getting better.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">She goes from plain Jane to “Jane the Concussion Slayer,” a
new identity used as “a way to start feeling heroic and determined instead of
hopeless.” Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is examined in detail throughout the
book, as she shows that there is a positive component, an alternative, called
post-traumatic growth. In this she seeks to show how one can not only recover
from TBI but also become better than ever before for the experience.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Her core strategy, or the rules of the SuperBetter game, are
seven touchstones for each player to achieve. They are achieved simultaneously,
not as individual steps. She does encourage one to start with the simplest, but
ultimately wants her readers to focus on interacting with all seven features of
the program. The first is “Challenge yourself,” and this is the most dramatic
of the set: many injured or depressed people don’t feel up to another challenge
than the one they are already battling. Instead, she shows how challenge is
possible, necessary, and rewarding.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">She starts with quests, some so simple as to seem silly; however,
willingness to try these simple tasks is a way of opening up the mind to new
achievements. And it’s the mind that controls much of the pain experiences and
anxiety issues that trouble the entire person.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The book is filled with anecdotal evidence as well as
serious scholarly references. For example, she discusses burn patients, who
suffer excruciating pain when their wounds are cleansed. Yet a virtual reality
game, set in a snow filled environment, was given to some patients to play
during the process. Their focus on the game and the impression of the snow
enabled a reduction in pain so great that some didn’t realize their wounds were
being cleaned while they played. Why does it work? The mind was intensely
distracted, and the benefits were enormous:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“In order to prevent pain signals from turning into a
conscious awareness of pain, patients need to swing their spotlight of
attention somewhere else—and keep it there.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">In this, it’s cognitive focus that provides the needed
distraction to focus pain somewhere else. And much of this is as simple as
playing a game of Tetris. Tetris, the old-school video game, employs a simple
but fast paced strategy of matching tiles in specific ways. Created in 1984, it
still commands huge benefits when one is discussing cognitive focus. More
traditional games like Scrabble, crosswords, or puzzles simply don’t offer the
speed and required attention to become sufficiently distracted. So McGonigal
encourages readers to focus on digital games with color and speed to divert
attention.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Some of the applications of such gaming benefits are still
evolving to be used for maximum benefit. In one case, Oxford scientists found
that people exposed to a horrific situation that would likely result in them
suffering PTSD could alter that eventuality by playing Tetris within six hours
of seeing or being involved in the triggering situation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Fascinating, yes. But in real life how does one predict a
situation of such staggering proportions? And then, how would one possibly be
able to ensure a Tetris game would be on hand? Further, would a victim even be
willing (or able) to dispel their shock and pick up a video game? The benefits
are intriguing, but the application is still impractical.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">McGonigal also addresses the many stories in the media about
how bad video games are and how they distance people from real life. She
clarifies this by asking why people are playing these games for hours: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“If you typically play games to escape your real life—that
is, to ignore your problems, to block unpleasant emotions, or to avoid confronting
stressful situations—you will have a very difficult time translating your game
skills to real life.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Yes, gaming to escape is not beneficial. But if one is
choosing to “play with purpose” as a form of quality family time, or to learn a
new skill, or to relax after a rough day, then gaming can be a positive force.
Viable applications are discussed throughout, mostly in cases of pain
management. And specific Challenges, such as the Ninja Challenge, can aid any
person in altering their minds, bodies, and relationships. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">While McGonigal starts with her personal recovery story, she
completes the book with a positive scope that widens out the possibility of
anyone becoming SuperBetter via her tactics.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"><b>Special thanks to Penguin Press</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"><b> and Elizabeth Calamari for the Advance Review Copy.</b></span></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643233396861759573.post-43809855457242247272015-09-10T12:33:00.000-07:002015-09-10T12:33:22.913-07:00This is Your Life, Harriet Chance! by Jonathan Evison (fiction)<b><u><span style="font-size: large;">Originally posted in the New York Journal of Books, September 10, 2015</span></u></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp1OVCMgYV2KW3aa6IuZ9sN-27yvXbAeS4Sx1TS6V4I64OJO3O70WLy9EbeW_HhwPX0VTSgjXzeSXCnOGVEbCcv0TGta1sOvtjHfkouWsVmqK-dd71wolZfs9sfiEb6CeX7czZTsw2dvY/s1600/evison.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp1OVCMgYV2KW3aa6IuZ9sN-27yvXbAeS4Sx1TS6V4I64OJO3O70WLy9EbeW_HhwPX0VTSgjXzeSXCnOGVEbCcv0TGta1sOvtjHfkouWsVmqK-dd71wolZfs9sfiEb6CeX7czZTsw2dvY/s1600/evison.jpg" /></a></div>
<b><u><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></u></b>
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<em style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">This is Your Life </em>was a popular television show in the 1960s and 1970s, an early reality show that delighted many audiences. Each episode introduced an unsuspecting guest to their past through previous friends, coworkers, and acquaintances. But who is it who decided which people were important or at least significant in our lives?</div>
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It’s with this format that Jonathan Evison examines the life story of an elderly widow in <em style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">This is Your Life, Harriet Chance</em>. Starting at age zero up to seventy-eight, we see the truth and consequences of Harriet’s tumultuous life. As Evison speaks to his protagonist directly, he reminds her that life is like “a pinball, pitching and careening, rebounding off anything it makes contact with.” Harriet is going to be forced to examine past choices that make up her identity and discover what she thought was an option was never even a choice.</div>
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As the story begins, Harriet is ambivalent about taking an unexpected cruise to Alaska, a gift from her late husband. His ghost visits her, making her children believe she’s losing her mind. They try to ban her from taking the trip, but she’s determined to go, even if it means going alone. While the random appearances of her late husband continues onboard, as if he’s trying to tell her something, all she’s getting are memories of how unpleasant he was, leaving her to wonder why she misses him so much in the first place.</div>
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Bernard is a blue-collar worker who catches Harriet’s eye, despite her being a society girl. It seems muscles can say more than trust funds. They marry quickly, and soon two children join them. The years slip by with Harriet increasingly conscious of how much she gave up for that idealized nuclear family. Then there’s the fact that after the initial thrill of Bernard’s manly persona fades, she’s left with a cranky old man:</div>
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“Conversing with Bernard reminds you of talking to your golden retriever. . . . A tilt of the head, a wag of a tail, a snarl—it’s about all you can reasonably expect.”</div>
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With these details, Evison takes Harriet back and forth through flashbacks that reveal how modern she was for her time, and how events from the past shape her beyond what she’s willing to admit. At age twenty-five, he asks her:</div>
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“Have you released your independence at long last? Have you finally stopped tracking the progress of that other incarnation of yourself. . . . Or have you simply lowered your standards?”</div>
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Ouch. Is that what is troubling her, that other self that may have taken a different and better course? One that wouldn’t involve changing her husband’s diapers or watching her daughter steal from her purse? Was there ever a choice?</div>
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Before the ship has left the dock, Harriet gets the shock of her life, and it’s not just her dead husband climbing over the railing. She’s shaken by a sudden revelation that knocks her flat, and coping with that can only involve a great deal of wine. Suddenly, Harriet isn’t exactly who she seemed just pages earlier.</div>
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Evison teases out the details by flashbacks, reminding Harriet directly that maybe she is not the only one with disappointments. This changeup sets the tone for her cruise off kilter, and she finds it difficult to recover. It doesn’t help that a sudden visitor joins her for the remainder of the trip. The pinball flippers are snapping wildly now. Her future has become a game of chance, and one can only hope Harriet doesn’t end up down the drain or tilting out.</div>
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The novel itself is intriguing. Of the frequent flashbacks, Evison handles these well, portraying a lifetime in relatively few chapters. And he shines at describing the awkward moments of life, the minutiae that can trouble us—fat ankles, visits to rest homes, the nature of boxed wine—and shows how these reveal more about us than any autobiography. He suggests our identity isn’t made of grand gestures but how we handle the irritating little things in our life when no one is looking.</div>
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The way Evison (the author) handles the direct observations and questioning of Harriet (his character) at the beginning seems fresh and innovative, but becomes a bit tiresome after many chapters. Sometimes the way he speaks to her is annoying:</div>
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“Ring-a-ding-ding, it’s your thirtieth birthday, Harriet Chance, let the party begin!” </div>
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“So c’mon, birthday girl, turn that frown upside down, and start counting your blessings!”</div>
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Another troublesome part of the novel is Bernard’s visits to his after-life handler. Is this heaven? Hell? Maybe it’s purgatory. In any case, Bernard is in trouble for contacting Harriet. But the purpose of these interruptions are never really clear.</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc0yuuQFhjj7bK2uqh3Nc_FawrG7SJ7R7OOC1YpE5lhB-juqkAP7MdbKVzvCP2WzDzrD26S4tH_mAQkXp54WiZzfsg3mEfuvaC6l-GP1EfT5Qkxwd_shqVm9bKA3IYktfw8a8P8tAhruA/s1600/evison2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc0yuuQFhjj7bK2uqh3Nc_FawrG7SJ7R7OOC1YpE5lhB-juqkAP7MdbKVzvCP2WzDzrD26S4tH_mAQkXp54WiZzfsg3mEfuvaC6l-GP1EfT5Qkxwd_shqVm9bKA3IYktfw8a8P8tAhruA/s1600/evison2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">author Jonathan Evison<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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That said, the questions Harriet faces are universal and all the more compelling for this reason. Would knowing the outcome of our potential life choices make life happier? Or would we be immobilized with hesitation? Do choices really exist? As in his previous novel<em style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">, The Revised Fundamentals of Caregiving</em>, Evison demonstrates a gift for dissecting past and present, and revealing the hope we all have not just to win, but to stay in the game.</div>
<span style="background-color: #594a41; font-family: dsr, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28px;">- See more at: http://www.nyjournalofbooks.com/book-review/your-life#sthash.M2rIERMJ.dpuf</span><br />
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<b>Released 9/8/15 from Algonquin Books.</b></div>
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<b>Review copy provided by the New York Journal of Books.</b></div>
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<b>Special thanks to Brooke Czuka at Algonquin Books.</b></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643233396861759573.post-8063405113789932512015-08-15T11:42:00.002-07:002015-08-15T11:42:55.175-07:00In the Language of Miracles by Rajia Hassib<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoPxmUQQ_gOqJH1ste67CaKdEjolN0WUp3nkIQk2X0doaP78dBhFMelB9rCdA6F_KmhgmYy5QS0gySf-qZC2SerNwVxgHjZgcBwljkilx2SrQ8a8l6N-3rVQDKvC6SaYGdG52qaNFth28/s1600/miracles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoPxmUQQ_gOqJH1ste67CaKdEjolN0WUp3nkIQk2X0doaP78dBhFMelB9rCdA6F_KmhgmYy5QS0gySf-qZC2SerNwVxgHjZgcBwljkilx2SrQ8a8l6N-3rVQDKvC6SaYGdG52qaNFth28/s320/miracles.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">The writing in this is so subtle. While it's a family drama, it reads like a mystery because the author holds her cards to her chest and doesn't reveal everything all at once. We know that two teenagers have died but the circumstances are shrouded in mystery.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">Add to that the cultural differences: an Egyptian family living in suburbia that is essentially exiled after the deaths. Their Muslim faith is in tatters because their new country and the hostility from the deaths has made them outcasts. I doubt many Americans realize the harsh treatment and degree of extra scrutiny a Muslim family has to deal with everyday, much less after a tragedy. I enjoyed hearing about their traditions regarding faith and hope.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">What I find most intriguing was the grandmother who comes from Alexandria to visit. I want one of her at my house. She's so comforting, wise, and calm. I think every house should have one! At one point she makes an Egyptian pastry --shoreik -- that is traditional to eat in remembrance of the lost. Others find it annoying that she makes a huge amount to take to the cemetery and then shares with everyone she meets. That was kindness and loveliness combined...true comfort food.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQvhxQiuBBvs5A3clrSd7v3xlKVCNi1t45NXiBr_vz4N1XNEIErNFTdHthF_udpnZi8AQLsI_Be1tb6p7dr7JI0x2aRvtvnRGCz_VwMs2G6C9fEvST42Egj4VjUXSxh3bEwudKfQy0tqE/s1600/shoreik.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQvhxQiuBBvs5A3clrSd7v3xlKVCNi1t45NXiBr_vz4N1XNEIErNFTdHthF_udpnZi8AQLsI_Be1tb6p7dr7JI0x2aRvtvnRGCz_VwMs2G6C9fEvST42Egj4VjUXSxh3bEwudKfQy0tqE/s320/shoreik.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">shoreik or shoreek</td></tr>
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</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">The father, Samir, annoyed me to no end. I know his type of man and he's so insecure that he feels he must impress people but ends up embarrassing his family. He cannot see his flaws. To me he was the antagonist in the story, even though the real antagonist seems to be mental illness. Nagla, the mother, seemed most real to me as she grasped with the loss of a child and the loss of her comfort in the US.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">Yes, mental illness is an issue but it is brought into the story later. Hidden, like it is in many families. And that is the key to the story. The author never goes off on a tangent to become a psychologist to explain it away, she just explains how others are affected. I hate when authors try and psycho-babble their way through the plot as if to enlighten the reader. Most readers are well aware. Instead, hearing how day after day the other family members coped was far more intriguing.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;" /><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;"><i>Newly released August 11, 2015.</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 16px;"><i>Advance Review Copy provided by Viking via Amazon Vine.</i></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643233396861759573.post-84983385281186997912015-06-29T23:00:00.000-07:002015-06-29T23:00:04.102-07:00The Good Shufu: Finding Love, Self, and Home on the Far Side of the World by Tracy Slater (memoir)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv8dkKHpsJkaFrWv9BgFwkcDhss6UNbU5dxNXQco6UCZl53opHkFli0ICnX3YYVVrH8ylfJxL1ZQq7S96esReK5QNeaC_VDlpx8KtgEn0m-_Yxq5Edi0SgzLB380veUducJPTYJEY4GQo/s1600/shufu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv8dkKHpsJkaFrWv9BgFwkcDhss6UNbU5dxNXQco6UCZl53opHkFli0ICnX3YYVVrH8ylfJxL1ZQq7S96esReK5QNeaC_VDlpx8KtgEn0m-_Yxq5Edi0SgzLB380veUducJPTYJEY4GQo/s320/shufu.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
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This memoir took me awhile to get interested in. Reviewing a memoir is always tough, as you really don't want to appear to say, "I didn't like the book, your life is dull". So I tend to be a bit more forgiving in reading one because they are putting themselves out there for all to see (and review!).<br />
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As it begins, Tracy has an ideal Boston life, surviving her family drama but in style: writing, teaching, shoe purchasing. She has friends, a home, and all is well. At this point, in her descriptions I found her a little annoying, condescending almost, just in her tone. I'm not sure what set off that alarm in me but I hit a point where I thought, "Should I bother continuing?"<br />
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Yes, I needed to. Because in an impeccable work of writing, she manages to show us how she changes once she starts her new job. This job involves working as a sort of business liaison/etiquette expert for Asian businessmen on the brink of going global. They already know English, but the particular social cues and protocols still need some working out. In a dull classroom, she tries to explain the differences in conversational approaches and other things that are so different in the US from Asia. <br />
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She immediately falls for Toru, a Japanese businessman, and he is similarly smitten with her. Their relationship starts fast and grows exponentially. The art of this is we see her transform in her words: just simple word choices and phrases are different from the pre-trip Tracy. So instead of her describing herself as having changed, we see it evolving already without being told. I was really impressed with this: usually you have the memoir writer explaining their transition verbally. She doesn't. The explanation is visible as she simply talks about who she and Toru have become.<br />
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The biggest problem to meet them isn't their affection, but the division of society's lifestyles between her home place and his. Knowing they are in this for the long haul, she has to imagine if she can leave her beloved Boston or if he should move with her. It's not as simple as thinking "love conquers all". There is more than geographical change: the culture change is much greater. Japanese society often (not always) features women that are more passive and submissive than the upper-class, college-educated independent academic that Tracy is. They are well-educated too, but the social niceties are more subtle- less forthrightness, less group activities, and even a way of keeping their eyes downcast in submission. I could see how huge this variance would be for me, and I'm a mild person. Many women I know would be about as welcome as Godzilla with their American manners and abrupt and forceful personalities. <br />
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Fortunately, Tracy and Toru are willing to try and work it out. Give and take. All those self-help book advice mantras are suddenly put in play. Can they find a way to honor his family and retain her love of American culture? All or nothing?<br />
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As I read this, I wish it had pictures. Toru sounds so handsome, and Tracy (I saw her picture) is lovely. I'd like to see them together. So few memoirs feature pictures! In any case, I really enjoyed exploring the ups and downs of their relationship. At one point, as they're sleeping, she realizes for once she can relax and simply "be". That's something hard to find, that everyone wants. Someone with whom they can "be".<br />
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And for emphasis, I have to repeat that the way she writes is so compelling regarding the personal transformation in her beliefs and attitudes. I can't wait to see if she writes more: I'd like to see her do this with a character and show us (not tell) how they change and grow. It's a beautiful skill and one I don't notice often in a memoir. The last few I've read were overbearing in their author's explaining themselves, as if they were defensive and being interviewed on Dr. Phil. This one flows much more naturally and more intensely simply by her use of events and actions rather than exposition.<br />
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<b><i>Review copy provided to Amazon Vine</i></b></div>
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<b><i>by GP Putnam's Sons, and releases today, June 30, 2015.</i></b></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643233396861759573.post-88948019365044199612015-06-15T21:20:00.002-07:002015-06-16T18:06:08.903-07:00Bastards by Mary Anna King (memoir)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXfI-tenD53FWrL6a8tXsujT8zxJT2aPcn-mXPwU5XpQr8pAi7x88IyA4rx-Djjh_swMIiSdeM2FPqYK9nOSu96xS9nNYRpOemqpHTIxt8_Bt_EfKPYOZqqEM_KUcyXd_stYOo8ogRCDw/s1600/bastards.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXfI-tenD53FWrL6a8tXsujT8zxJT2aPcn-mXPwU5XpQr8pAi7x88IyA4rx-Djjh_swMIiSdeM2FPqYK9nOSu96xS9nNYRpOemqpHTIxt8_Bt_EfKPYOZqqEM_KUcyXd_stYOo8ogRCDw/s1600/bastards.jpg" /></a></div>
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This is the year of the memoir. Really. I've never noticed so many. A few I started to get bored with, as they seemed like a lot of navel gazing. <i> (Except <u><b>Bettyville</b></u> by George Hodgman. <u><b>GO READ BETTYVILLE!!!!!)</b></u></i><br />
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Now I knew from the back blurb this wasn't a happy story (the title was a clue too). What I didn't know was how a memoir could take such a breathtaking pace from sadness to tragedy and back without feeling overwrought. Mary Anna King tells her story with no pity: she just tells it like it happened, and there was a great deal that happened. From a child's perspective, and without a child's knowledge of how things are supposed to be (only perhaps an intuition), her and her siblings deal with loss after loss. Indignity, shame, addiction, and loneliness. In the world they live in, pretty much the bad side of various towns in what would be considered the projects, most of the neighbor kids shared similar lives. Mothers with feathered hair and Journey playing solidly placed this in the 1980s.<br />
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But the kids: That they went on to play and forge loyalties and simply exist is a testament to how tough these kids were. I hate it when people say children are resilient, as it seems a cop-out to excuse unforgivable actions, and because my studies in childhood trauma disagree with that notion. But these children truly are, even if their lives are forever marked. They will deal with this childhood forever, no matter how much therapy or blocking out they can attain.<br />
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I had tremendous pain for the mother, a foster youth who ended up marrying early and having too many kids way too soon. She was still a child and had no role model to teach her how to live. I had no such feeling for Mary's father, a man who seemed devoid of compassion and responsibility. But Mary, Jacob, and Rebecca earned my admiration for how they existed dependent on each other as there was no one else. They intuitively knew that they could be taken into the juvenile protection system at any time, and so were cautious and watched each other's back. At the same time, they resisted any charity thrown their way as they still were trying to develop self-respect.<br />
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The writing is crisp and spare: nothing embellished to enhance the horror. Simple details reveal far more. There's even a mini-script for an imagined play that Mary imagines between her parents, and she casts Michael Keaton and Sally Field in the three page script. An unusual little bit, but a creative offshoot that was not pretentious or overdone. It's also very fast: I couldn't put it down because so much was happening on every page.<br />
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The themes of family and poverty run throughout, as in many memoirs, but the finding of lost siblings is a different dimension. No spoilers, but these children had a bigger family than imagined. <br />
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And then there's Mimi, stepmother supreme. I would hope that I would be Mimi if in such a situation. A composed classy woman who survived the Depression and knew what struggle was. Sure, she had some big flaws, but the first part of the book I found her to be possibly the one thing that kept these kids going. Until they moved to Oklahoma with her. I didn't want to be Mimi anymore.<br />
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There's so much to say, and so much to admire, but as this author becomes known, I can't wait to read something fictional from her to see if that pace and spare style continues.<br />
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<i>Special thanks to Amazon for sending this Review Copy.</i></div>
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<i>Review by Amy Henry.</i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643233396861759573.post-55777468264939727722015-06-04T15:13:00.000-07:002015-06-18T21:37:21.570-07:00The Oliver de la Paz Reading Challenge 2015: here's my list<br />
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<i><b>His idea, his rules. Sounds like a good kick to start reading this summer. His website is oliverdelapaz.com.</b></i><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The Oliver De La Paz</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><u>Summer Reading Challenge Rules:</u></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">1) Pick 15 books that you would like to finish this summer--any genre, any size. This list doesn't have to be at 15 right from the start. It will grow as the summer continues.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">2) Of the 15 books, designate 3 that you recommend to co-participants. (After you've read them, of course).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">3) Of the 15 books, 3 of the books must be from recommendations by other participants.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">4) Post your 15 book list somewhere with a link so that co-participants can link you on their webpages, tumblr pages, or blogs.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">5) Hold yourself accountable by posting commentary about a book you've just read. Commentary can also take the form of something creative or artistic.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">6) The Challenge Ends August 31st. Have fun.</span></div>
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<b><u>My list of 12 (with the intention of picking three from other lists):</u></b></div>
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Master and the Margarita-Bulgakov (for an online salon)</div>
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Zombie Wars - Hemon</div>
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Fishbowl - Somer</div>
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Kitchens of the Great Midwest - Stradal ****disappointing, a bit unrealistic for me to relate to</div>
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The Good Shufu - Slater**** really good memoir<br />
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The Eye Stone - Tiraboschi</div>
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Blackbird - Tom Wright</div>
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Imperium - Kracht</div>
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Bright Dead Things - Limon</div>
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Watchmen - Moore (for a class)</div>
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Bastards - King ****excellent memoir, heartbreaking but worthwhile</div>
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Bootstrapper - Link</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643233396861759573.post-41788600059466600072015-05-04T23:23:00.001-07:002015-05-04T23:41:36.285-07:00Burning Down George Orwell's House by Andrew Ervin<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>Review by Amy Henry</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq2-l8Lc-MxqE6Sr7w1dW5pkG0C_n0GkQtH8LtNLUcXAz0txl9BHhzjqQiZaHG2nirRby-8gQPnABNDnrrobQCdhIzrsQ3SI0rKPAymYtdordTdkaNz82ZlfPxTpjeaMDrtgPmJYf_68U/s1600/cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq2-l8Lc-MxqE6Sr7w1dW5pkG0C_n0GkQtH8LtNLUcXAz0txl9BHhzjqQiZaHG2nirRby-8gQPnABNDnrrobQCdhIzrsQ3SI0rKPAymYtdordTdkaNz82ZlfPxTpjeaMDrtgPmJYf_68U/s320/cover.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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I think everyone has held the “cottage by the sea” dream
aloft in our imagination, thinking at times it to be the ideal solution for
when life gets messy or our decisions turn out to be disasters. I can see my cottage so clearly that I wonder
where I saw it; what gave me the definite image of the white shutters on the
gray siding, the crisp brick chimney placed just so? Climbing roses tumbling
down around a small fence, with the ubiquitous Adirondack chair (painted bright
turquoise) facing a lovely calm bay? Was it described in a book? A dubious Hallmark movie? <o:p></o:p></div>
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Or, maybe… was it in an advertisement? Someone selling paint? Easy-Gro plants? Detergent?
You may find yourself questioning the origin of your dream cottage
(admit it…you have one, if not by the sea, by a lake) when you get submerged in
Andrew Ervin’s new novel, <b><u>Burning
Down George Orwell’s House</u></b>. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXfsG7ieV_-9v0dOf41QKHwgPW_WbbsSWEaWylSOhECVH_eoiBlImeuacg4nze-FhioBv_DbvfOgCJDR4tsQwweNSaWjMd-os15rOS3fXnwP8p88-WDbOoT_MrfZRMOcWsfp7XTDw-q_k/s1600/jura.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXfsG7ieV_-9v0dOf41QKHwgPW_WbbsSWEaWylSOhECVH_eoiBlImeuacg4nze-FhioBv_DbvfOgCJDR4tsQwweNSaWjMd-os15rOS3fXnwP8p88-WDbOoT_MrfZRMOcWsfp7XTDw-q_k/s1600/jura.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Isle of Jura</td></tr>
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Sure, we know that such a fantasy, were it to happen, would
be full of inconveniences. It would be completely worth going without
electricity, internet, and Amazon just to be able to think and get away from
other humans. And this is the plan that
Ray Welter makes a reality when he heads to the island of Jura, just off the
Scottish mainland, fleeing both a failing marriage and a dubious job decision
as an advertising executive at the cutting-edge firm, Logos. Cutting off all
ties to his life, he packs a few books and sets out to find the time and space to
think.</div>
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<i>“Ray wanted to know
again, to be able to delineate right and wrong in an un-deconstructed world of
certainty. He wanted to feel the security of binary opposition. Good and bad.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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To be sure, Ray’s cottage is far different from ours in its
providence: it was once the home of George Orwell, writer of one of the most
readable books on the required reading list of any high school. I studied <b><u>1984</u></b> in 1984, and everyone in
our age bracket immediately understood the significance of Doublespeak and Big
Brother. It seemed extreme, but
possible. In the thirty years since, it isn't inevitable, it simply is.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYA4Qc8jztPkwakQ5WqZn5YSHGlzAro3jqKdtlMBs5gk6T5Xe8Y7WehLtERQ19A6xRooRwHyC5rwr1xBVQLFLdRR_QIh9oj3osr2TPmZWgJhTawfCMF8eyP8OZFPzZ3NiK7bY-l5Ngz1Y/s1600/barnhill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYA4Qc8jztPkwakQ5WqZn5YSHGlzAro3jqKdtlMBs5gk6T5Xe8Y7WehLtERQ19A6xRooRwHyC5rwr1xBVQLFLdRR_QIh9oj3osr2TPmZWgJhTawfCMF8eyP8OZFPzZ3NiK7bY-l5Ngz1Y/s320/barnhill.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Barnhill</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Getting a cold and bumpy start, Welter finds that many
inconveniences are eased by drinking whisky and napping. Lots of whisky. In fact, it appears to be the only thing that
keeps Jura functional, and the good stuff is distilled right on the island. The
rain is endless, and the few residents he meets are an odd and cantankerous
bunch that makes me fear Gerard Butler may be as bizarre and scary as them. That thought alone should garner a dram of
whisky. <o:p></o:p></div>
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While intending to study Orwell and get a sense of what inspired
his most original and frightening vision of the future, Welter offends nearly
everyone in his journey, until he’s finally alone at the cottage (more like a
palace but I've committed myself to a cottage).
And then, with the dream a complete reality, and the nasty world behind
him, and the cottage fire going, Welter is surprised to find himself a bit lost,
maybe even bored. Having time to think
may not be in his best interests:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>“As long as Ray could
remember, since he was a little kid running amok in the endless rows of corn, his
mind had contained partitioned rooms he knew not to enter; in them were
countless self-perceptions better left un-thought about and which generated
moods that later in life –particularly after his career at Logos took off – his
personal safety required him to avoid. But left by himself for days on end,
half-dozing next to a dying fire, with the large amounts of whisky unable to
fight off the constant din of the rain, he couldn't help himself from picking open
those locks and peering inside.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Strange parallels of his life twist into irony that is
Orwellian. The first week there, he
feels watched, as if every movement is being observed by a nefarious
unknown. And while he wanted to observe
that gorgeous and refreshing seascape, the rain blots out any vision: he’s
blind to what he’s looking for. Death pays a visit too, as he’s being gifted
with disemboweled animals on his porch, attributed quite simply to one of the
islander’s being a werewolf. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As werewolves go, this one is pretty wise. He tells Welter, <i>“remember
that the difference between myth and reality isn’t quite as distinct here on
Jura as you might believe.”</i> This dichotomy plays out in both the scenery and
his interactions with the island’s residents in scenes that are often tense but
sometimes very funny. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSMb2DR1er8s_4pS_9gm-tenfdZarvsJDJw1QtoCYfx7EoMYWoA9ADXWTyfB2ovV5RGz1myQoVBbtK7zrU6sA5AH2rJr7hyphenhyphen49jkR2uD07uTUt-eOJyBDkbfop8_jvtwRSZqX10c2Lw00o/s1600/juralead.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSMb2DR1er8s_4pS_9gm-tenfdZarvsJDJw1QtoCYfx7EoMYWoA9ADXWTyfB2ovV5RGz1myQoVBbtK7zrU6sA5AH2rJr7hyphenhyphen49jkR2uD07uTUt-eOJyBDkbfop8_jvtwRSZqX10c2Lw00o/s1600/juralead.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Protagonist</td></tr>
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Welter’s study of Orwell is distracted by an abused young
woman (of the jailbait variety) and her villainous father who hates all
intruders into what he considers the old and traditional life Jura holds (tourists
be damned). Change is feared by all on the island, but Welter comes with the
mindset of an advertiser, where change is encouraged and necessary to remain
profitable, and thus to exist. Strange neighbors, endless sheep, torture by
bagpipe, and the arduous terrain keeps him from ever finding a comfort zone,
and this is probably the point that Ervin is directing us towards. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1_fhJfsY0wOLUxGKG3N9dpkLb3cnf6-evV9aAOl7D7mRvpifbXGGvYjUGqvymJauL8fRol6Zd3MJUKW6fuZf_NFmQI1YstlHH3viqnoL9-wWcfu44pEew3J0CNVa9XtdzXJedAAlw3uo/s1600/ervin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1_fhJfsY0wOLUxGKG3N9dpkLb3cnf6-evV9aAOl7D7mRvpifbXGGvYjUGqvymJauL8fRol6Zd3MJUKW6fuZf_NFmQI1YstlHH3viqnoL9-wWcfu44pEew3J0CNVa9XtdzXJedAAlw3uo/s200/ervin.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Andrew Ervin</td></tr>
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This is most telling in a particularly revelatory tour of
the Jura distillery, where Welter learns that the process of aging whiskey to
perfection has a distinct subtext of living life to the full, in the present:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>“The size of the cask
and the location, that’s how every malt gets its distinct flavors. And from the
geographical location of the distillery and the tiniest variations of coastline
and altitude too.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Whiskey as metaphor.
Of course. The collision between
stasis and change form a battle that goes beyond the novel. It reels in Welter’s reflections from his
time on Jura to his pre-Jura meltdown, even to the times of his childhood where
Ervin sneaks in some tiny details that are revealing later. It extends across economic, geographic, and
family connections and surprises with an unexpected lightness rather than
despondence. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Well-paced, I had a hard time putting it down to attend to real life. It also occurred to me to check my Jura coffee maker to see if there was a whiskey dispenser I hadn't noticed (there isn't). You will get thirsty, and if you can muster up a fire in a fireplace, you'll be set. </div>
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<b>Releases today, May 5, 2015.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<br />
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<b>Special thanks to Soho Books for the Review Copy.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<b>Fun fact: how much is a dram? In other words, how are Ervin's characters able to remain standing with all this whiskey? According to www.dramming.com, it's about 1/8 of a fluid ounce, give or take 8 ounces or so, depending on your location and mood:</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<i><b>"</b><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.0049991607666px;">For personal use, a </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.0049991607666px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">dram</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.0049991607666px;"> is just the right amount of whisky that you feel comfortable with at a given moment. The size of a dram can be further specified with descriptors ranging from </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.0049991607666px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">wee</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.0049991607666px;"> over </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.0049991607666px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">healthy</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.0049991607666px;"> to </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.0049991607666px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">stiff</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.0049991607666px;">. Depending on the disposition, mood of the day as well as level of inebriation of the pourer, these specifications may show a tendency to converge at the </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.0049991607666px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">stiff</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.0049991607666px;"> end of the scale."</span></i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643233396861759573.post-56170608865169042022015-04-19T21:43:00.000-07:002015-07-30T18:18:14.206-07:00Sea of Storms by Stuart B. Schwartz (Hurricanes in Caribbean)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIsLo9xFvfQBfJ0onHEb96Jk-zSqtKFC-tRZE49cqu2D2PoW22_q9xDlo2uBy3aOILZi9RZ1DZLewK0BrltHncUEf4gVh1Zd6efrQy_KsaVCgepdmL2VLIqOHee0BOekyEVh0R3mrnUXg/s1600/sea.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIsLo9xFvfQBfJ0onHEb96Jk-zSqtKFC-tRZE49cqu2D2PoW22_q9xDlo2uBy3aOILZi9RZ1DZLewK0BrltHncUEf4gVh1Zd6efrQy_KsaVCgepdmL2VLIqOHee0BOekyEVh0R3mrnUXg/s1600/sea.gif" width="210" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: start;"><b>A History of Hurricanes in the Greater Caribbean from Columbus to Katrina</b></span></div>
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Hurricanes have the power to fascinate us, as do earthquakes
and tornadoes, in their total power and seeming randomness (and in a small way
to an epically bad final episode of Dexter).
Every hurricane season takes a toll on some region of the US or
elsewhere, and while the news reports can be disturbing and frightening, it’s
in the handling of these natural disasters that political policy, social
attitudes, and scientific ignorance is most seen and least commented upon.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Stuart B. Schwartz has created a history of Hurricanes in
the region that seems them the most…the Caribbean. Scores have occurred that usually stay above
the midline of South America and further up the East Coast of the US, centering
mainly on the Caribbean from Mexico to the Bahamas and other islands. When my
parents lived in Belize, I heard stories of people tying themselves into palm
trees to survive the occasional hurricane. I didn’t believe it, but apparently,
it’s not a rare plan when you are faced with a mighty storm, flooding, and no
shelter.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Schwartz begins with one of the earliest recorded hurricanes
and the written histories available from it, and goes on to explore the
scientific basis for the cause of them.
Sailors often could tell when something was awry, but how that knowledge
was dispersed was unlikely to help many people.
Starting with this hurricane in Veracruz, he weaves together the human
and scientific elements that inevitably alter our history.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The first storm described was one that hit Veracruz in 1552,
one described by the author as a “sixteenth-century Katrina”. The aftermath led
many to conclude it was God’s punishment that led to such devastation: “they
were set in a social, political, and conceptual frame that made an
understanding of this catastrophe a moment for reflection on human sin and
moral failure as the cause of God’s anger” (3). Despite scientific evidence to
the contrary, increasing in every century since, this opinion is still widely
shared and proposed as the reason for modern day hurricanes and similar storms.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Since hurricanes were not well-known meteorological behavior
in many climates, when information about them reached Europe and other Northern
regions, many of the details were converted into object lessons regarding good
and evil. It took a great deal of time
for research into changes in weather, ocean conditions, and even animal
behavior to be undertaken to prevent such disasters.<o:p></o:p></div>
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One chapter discusses early European forays into the
Caribbean, with a somewhat ironic tale of two enemies whose fate was determined
by such weather. Columbus’ enemy
Francisco de Bobadilla was the investigator who chained up Columbus and
returned him to Spain with a very unfavorable report. Years later, they meet again in Santo
Domingo, where Bobadilla is heading out with a fleet of gold. One of those ships held gold that belonged to
Columbus that was being carried to Seville. Columbus warned both him and the
governor that a huge storm was coming, but neither wanted advice from him. He was even refused entry into the port. So
Columbus found a small port to shelter in temporarily, and held out during the
storm, while the others headed out.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Unfortunately for them, the prophecy of Columbus, who used
his experience with observation of weather changes and water behavior, came
true. Only the ship carrying Columbus’ gold survived. The rest, some twenty six
boats, went down in the storm. Sadly, five
hundred plus sailors and the remaining gold sank. Columbus may have felt vindicated, but he
then suffered rumors of being “in concert with the Devil and that he had
actually called down the storm upon his enemy” (11). I’m not a big fan of Columbus, but wow. Major
burn.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When scientists set about trying to predict and prevent
hurricanes, their ideas ranged from ridiculous to somewhat on target, but
always at a cost.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Whatever the scientific value of
such attempts at weather modification, these hurricane projects and those to
increase or decrease rainfall were always politically controversial, since
changing the course of a hurricane or changing areas of rainfall might save one
area from injury, but place another in danger. Fidel Castro claimed the United
States was carrying out environmental warfare by trying to divert rainfall from
Cuba to ruin its agriculture (274).<o:p></o:p></div>
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Interestingly, it was Castro as a leader who was the one
most interested in responding successfully to the next hurricane, Flora, where “all
of the institutions of the regime were mobilized for the relief effort –
militias, the army…the Red Cross and police “(288). He interacted with victims
and played a visible role in the country by seeking out more information about
the storms and relief available. This was in sharp contrast to the nearby
regions of Haiti and the Dominican Republic,hit brutally and where the dictator
Duvalier appeared to care not at all by the damage or his people’s losses. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Throughout the centuries since the hurricane in Veracruz,
the responses are strangely the same.
Not all take advantage of warnings given (which are not always clear),
and when the damage is done, blame is given to the people themselves for
abandoning God or living a lifestyle deserving of such disaster. An example of
this, outrageous as it is, is Hurricane Katrina. The failures on so many levels is sobering
and obscene.<o:p></o:p></div>
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First, despite Hurricane Andrew that hit Florida in 1992,
the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) was gutted after the election of
George W. Bush. Bush’s campaign manager called it “an oversized entitlement
program” and its level of preparedness was diminished (entitlement being the
code word for helping the poor). After
all, after 9/11 there were less funds allotted to it, and then it came under
the direction of Homeland Security with a focus more on “anti-terrorist activities”. Good intentions may have led to very poor
decisions, but it appears there was a more sinister attitude in play. One journalist, Eric Holderman, is quoted in
the book as warning via the Washington Post that “hurricanes, tornadoes,
earthquakes, volcanoes, tsunamis, floods, windstorms, fires and flu were
destined to be a national concern on a weekly or daily basis. They are coming for sure, sooner or later,
even as we are, to an unconscionable degree, weakening our ability to respond
to them” (318).<o:p></o:p></div>
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He makes a valid point.
Reducing protection across the board in case of a natural disaster
weakens the US as a whole, as a terrorist act garners more of a reaction. And
never can this been seen more than in Hurricane Katrina. When it occurred, I was on a rafting trip in
Northern California. Away from news,
even radio, for a week, made coming home to the disaster seem as if Armageddon
had arrived in New Orleans. For many, it
might as well have been.<o:p></o:p></div>
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New Orleans reeling from a hurricane is no surprise. First,
the location. Dangerous levees, a low ground point in comparison to Lake
Ponchartrain, and the levels of the Mississippi all contribute to a region
surrounded by water (so much so that graves are raised on concrete platforms in
the city cemeteries rather than in the ground).
In addition, about a quarter of the city lived below the poverty line,
and was 67% African American. This demographic was not considered politically
valuable and thus efforts to help Louisiana were largely pushed aside, despite
credible warnings.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We can all picture the Superdome and its intense
overcrowding, but less known is the more insidious wrongs that took place:<o:p></o:p></div>
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Doctors were turned away from
aiding victims because they did not have state licenses; buses were not
mobilized [for evacuation] because they lacked air-conditioning or toilets; bus
drivers were not allowed to serve until they had the required sexual harassment
training; the governor’s request for national aid was delayed for five days
because it had not been made in writing (324). <o:p></o:p></div>
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It’s hard not to quote this entire chapter as it is so
shocking. I had no idea that FEMA tried
to suppress photos of the dead or of those trapped on roofs or hanging on to
flimsy floating boards. Were they
worried about bad PR? Food was not provided to Superdome evacuees. While 80% of the city had been evacuated,
those that remained were blamed in the press for not leaving in a timely way,
despite that many of these were the poor and elderly that did not have the
means to escape (remember the lack of buses?).
The fact that not ALL could escape <i>was
already predicted by expert projection</i> made no difference: no plan was implemented to change that, so
this television visibility “drove home a message of social and racial
inequalities”. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Now, all of this is tragic, and yet many people still feel
that the situation was impossible to prevent and thus impossible to prepare
for. Yet, attitudes of leaders and TV buffoons illuminate a further, racially
biased attitude that had to contribute to the disaster, either in beliefs about
it or towards its victims. While you may
have the TV pundits say dumb things, like Bill O’Reilly, who “suggested that
those who had not evacuated were drug addicts unwilling to leave their
suppliers”, it’s more troubling when the political leadership in the US and
especially that region (people in a position to change and improve policy) also
speak ignorantly of the disaster. Robert
Baker, a Baton Rouge congressman, stated “We finally cleaned up public housing
in New Orleans. We couldn’t do it, but God did.” Rick Santorum (fun to google him), a
Republican candidate for President, felt that those who didn’t evacuate should
be penalized. As if they weren’t already
by the sub-human conditions. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Additionally, many TV outlets emphasized and exaggerated the
occurrences of crime and looting. In fact, many of the looters were taking only
food, milk, toilet paper and bread. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And of course, there were the interpreters, such as many
ministers who suggested, just like in Veracruz centuries before, that an angry
God was in punishment mode. Ray Nagin, the mayor of New Orleans, “said in his
reelection campaign that God had punished New Orleans for the war in Iraq”. Such blame was attributed widely in many
circles, namely Republican and Fundamental.<o:p></o:p></div>
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As Schwartz states so elegantly near the end of the book, “Providentialism
was, as it has usually been, employed to support existing political convictions
rather than as a catalyst for new interpretations or changes of heart (335)”.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The book concludes with an overview of Hurricane Sandy and
the political clout that was banked upon in the aftermath, as well as the
unnecessary damage and suffering to New Jersey residents.<o:p></o:p></div>
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There is no sense of this being a complete downer, but more
an example of how attitudes (religious, secular, and political) often ignore
the scientific basis for how things occur, and even avoid learning more about
what science can tell us about hurricanes and other natural disasters. Much of the science behind hurricanes is
discussed in the book, and knowledge of such is possible, not so much to
prevent but to prepare.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Hurricane season starts June 1, 2015.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><i>Review copy provided by Princeton
University Press.<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643233396861759573.post-6112134833500916392015-04-15T09:00:00.000-07:002015-04-15T09:00:17.188-07:00You Will Never Find Me by Robert Wilson (Europa World Noir)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I was so disappointed with this novel. I normally love Europa Edition's World Noir series, and I've read every single one of Wilson's novels, so I was primed for a great read. Which this was not. I am going to try and explain but it's tough to describe some of the issues with it:<br /><br />1. Mercy and Charles are back, and while both are complicated individuals, they act with a distinct aloofness that even extends to their daughter. When she runs away, they don't seem realistic in their actions.<br /><br />2. All the remaining characters are either all bad or all good: no moral ambiguities. El Osito is evil, yet, but not much more than that. The other cops, the inevitable Russian connections, the drug dealers and the fences are all just one-dimensional and don't change at all during the book. This makes for very little tension.<br /><br />3. The plot is ALL over the place geographically, which is fine, but the connections between places seem tenuous. No one misses a plane, everything runs smoothly, surely Wilson knows that never happens. No one runs out of cash, everyone meets up as planned, there's not a single wrinkle in anyone's plans.<br /><br />4. Besides the Columbian drug dealers and the UK dealers making a deal (with surprisingly financial savvy even for the lower tier sellers), we have a Russian side plot that makes no sense at all. Wilson is trying to drag in the poisoned Russian spy from real life into the novel and it's too much. A side kidnapping serves no purpose to the main story of the daughter running away. Maybe it was to appear complex, but it seems like when a novel has an open spot many authors toss in a Russian and a execution to make it appear topical. Instead, it was a yawn. The entire Russian portion of this did not further the plot at all. Additionally, the behavior of the father of this other kidnapping is just off-the-hook: he truly calls the shots and makes the police look ridiculous. HE was interesting, the rest were laughable.<br /><br />5. Peripheral characters like Esme and Isabel and the Spanish detective were interesting but unexplored. I suspect the Spaniard may appear in his own series in the future.<br /><br />6. Hugely emotional moments regarding life or death matters are treated with an "okay, then"reaction rather than real human behaviors.<br />
<br />7. Without spoilers, I have to say the final scene was completely ridiculous. It made me laugh it was so implausible and yes, corny. To the point of cheesy. It suddenly felt like a Hugh Grant movie ending.<br />
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8. Finally, most people who have watched any crime show on television know the rules: always look behind you, never leave an assumed dead body with a weapon nearby, and never stop to chat while being chased. Yet most of the characters commit these silly mistakes repeatedly. Gah!<br /><br />Aside from this, Wilson's other novels are FAR superior.<br />
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<em>Review copy received from Europa Editions.</em></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643233396861759573.post-84042990525437467742015-04-13T09:00:00.000-07:002015-04-13T09:00:08.717-07:00Adeline by Norah Vincent<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="a-size-base review-text">Norah Vincent is trying to recreate the days leading up to Virginia Woolf's suicide, when she put stones in her pockets and waded into the Thames. To do this Vincent had to get into the mind-set of Woolf, to put herself in her position in relation to her husband, her house, her memories, et al. At first I was intrigued. Woolf never had an easy life, and people were much tougher then.</span><br />
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<span class="a-size-base review-text">What got to me was once in Woolf's mind, I didn't really want to stay there. I'm not sure how much of this is imaginary thought process is based on fact, surely some is. But for the most part, assuming to understand someone's mind, especially someone who clearly has a mental illness, is problematic. The author does reference bits and pieces of Woolf's work (she's clearly done her homework), but much of it felt generic. Generic depression symptoms, when depression really is never generic. To be frank, I got bored. I realize this was fiction, a novel that isn't supposed to be real. Yet the premise has to connect somehow with real life, or why read it? I'm not sure it could stand apart as a novel of any woman, it's clearly tied to Woolf. Yet taking that liberty means we have to assume it's somewhat accurate.</span><br />
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In some scenes, she takes perhaps a five-minute action and extends it into ten or more pages of Woolf's thought processes. Intriguing to consider, but it makes for a very slow read that doesn't feel cohesive because such little actions are expanding upon so greatly. <span class="a-size-base review-text"><br /><br />I did notice that some parts are written much in the same style as Woolf's work, as if her thought process was exactly the same as <u>Mrs. Dalloway</u>, for example. (The flowers, the flowers!) But Dalloway was a character, not Woolf herself. Right? I can't picture all of Woolf's women characters being a version of herself, as they were all so unique. Except that one in <u>To the Lighthouse</u> who annoyed the heck out of me.</span><br />
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I normally quote lines in my reviews that I think are engaging or telling to the style. I found none to mark in the book that struck me as exceptional, except for a few zzzzz's scattered about.<br />
<span class="a-size-base review-text"><br />In any case, for a Woolf devotee, this might be a delicious way to curl up and imagine more. Maybe it's guilt: as a teenager I was forbidden to read Sylvia Plath OR Virginia Woolf by my mom. </span><br />
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<span class="a-size-base review-text"><em>Review copy provided by Amazon Vine.</em></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643233396861759573.post-86741651958976027272015-04-09T22:05:00.001-07:002016-06-08T17:21:28.105-07:00Bettyville by George Hodgman<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="a-size-base review-text"><em>"Nor is she sentimental. Inside a silver locket she has worn for years, a gift from my father, are the stock photographs of the strangers it came with."</em></span><br />
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<span class="a-size-base review-text">Inside those two sentences George Hodgman has created an instant picture of his mother, Elizabeth. A writer, he's returned home to care for Betty as she begins that slow, desperate decline. To say she's eccentric isn't enough, so Hodgwell shows us via the visual. To say she's a spitfire doesn't even begin to describe her....she's a tortured soul who he finds moaning in anxiety in the afternoons but cracking jokes at dawn. The disparity between the humor and loneliness is familiar. But her loneliness is not one to be solved but to be reckoned with...just because he's come to town isn't going to change her nor the course of that lonely path.<br /><br />Hodgman's own life is fascinating; how he interacts with her in her rural Missouri, far from his home in New York, is a testament to family duty combined with family love. Even while that family love may not be of the Hallmark movie-style. Small town life sounds really good in this, described faithfully, even in his loathing of Walmart. I really liked how Hodgman describes events and people, especially in this setting, and especially of his mother:</span><br />
<span class="a-size-base review-text"><br /><em>"By the time my mother realized that she was smart or saw she had the kind of looks that open doors, she had already closed too many to go back."</em></span><br />
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<span class="a-size-base review-text">I loved that line. As a writer and a reader, it's perfect. Many, many like them appear in this book.<br /><br />Between their conversations and recognition of themselves in each other, they find a new closeness different from his early years as an only child. Burnishing that relationship is a landscape many of us can't relate to: rural hills, church suppers, and the existence of "bric a brac". The times they drive together are poignant. On one eventful night, they accidentally hit a deer (whom Hodgman describes as "... <em>deranged. It hated its life)</em> while driving fast in the dark to get her to a bathroom.<em> "This is a woman who can treat the transmission of a common cold as a tragic twist of fate, but crash into a creature who you fear is Bambi's papa and you will encounter a soldier prepared the storms of Normandy</em>."</span><br />
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<span class="a-size-base review-text">And yet, despite her decline, it's not terribly sad.<br /><br />Oh. Actually it is. It is sad. The loneliness she feels that he expresses is piercing. With a parent in the same position (and being a caregiver child myself), I ache at some of the familiar scenes. I read it fairly soon after reading "The Long Goodbye" by Meghan O'Rourke, another gorgeous and thoughtful memoir of the loss of a mother. Both underline the very seed of our lives, the child grieving the parent, occurring often long before their actual death.</span><br />
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But it goes beyond the idea of caregiving for a into a more intimate path of caring for ourselves. Hodgman gives up a great deal to be with her, yet he also gains. He sees the small town life from a different place than when he was a child. Additionally, it touches on his struggles as a gay man whose parents don't really accept his identity. Rather than anger, he reaches another point of acceptance tempered with disappointment. Who he is becomes the subject just as much as who Betty is. The child not wanting to disappoint his parents, those of that older generation who prefer to avoid uncomfortable subjects, remains in the man who loves his mother for exactly who she is. Even if she cannot fully accept who he is. He's there for the long haul, regardless, as he says,<br />
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<em> "I am staying not to cling on, but because sometime, at least once, everyone should see someone through. All the way home."</em><br />
<span class="a-size-base review-text"><br />So, it's heartbreaking. You will need tissue. You will laugh. And you just might hope you get a chance to be there for someone, to be that "other piece" for someone when the puzzle is completely undone. Most of all, you may find yourself marking up the book to highlight special quotes.</span><br />
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<span class="a-size-base review-text">A few of these, just to illustrate his beautiful writing:</span><br />
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<span class="a-size-base review-text"><em>"People forced to live by conventions are always the first to enforce them. I think this applies to my mother. A practical investor, she bought stock in the usual choices because they ordinarily pay off without risk or pain. She never imagined they could betray her or that anyone close would break them. Never a practical investor, I have always gone for the crazy horse."</em></span><br />
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<span class="a-size-base review-text"><em>"I think people who have always felt okay in the world will never understand those of us who haven't."</em></span><br />
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<span class="a-size-base review-text">After I read this, I turned to the beginning to read it again. I've become an evangelizer for this memoir. My mother and husband have read it. My English professor has dibs on it next. I am hoping it wins a National Book Award like Patti Smith did. I hope it becomes as well known as Paul Auster's journals. I hope it gets a PEN award. Anything that will get people to read it and see that throughout love and loyalty is a simple connection to Little Debbies and a casserole left on the front porch.</span><br />
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<span class="a-size-base review-text">If it interests you, the author's website features pictures of Betty, George's father, and some of the other family mentioned extensively in the book. Oh, and pay attention to the cover: it features some little details mentioned in the book.</span><br />
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<span class="a-size-base review-text"><em>Review copy received from the Amazon Vine program.</em></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643233396861759573.post-75332356949209229722015-02-05T19:53:00.001-08:002015-02-05T19:53:43.760-08:00Notes from Underground by Roger Scruton (Czech history, Communism, samizdat)<b><i><br /></i></b>
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<b><i>"...attempts at difference had the opposite effect to the one intended. For they emphasized that, in the midst of this randomness, you saw only the one identical expression: eyes staring into the distance, and lips held firmly shut as though against some pervasive infection Our people had collectively solved their shared problem, which was how to keep the mask in place, while showing that it is only a mask. People collaborated in the great deception, so as not to be deceived."</i></b><br />
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Scruton's book examines Prague life under the unrelenting pressure of communism, and it's desire to create sameness and eradicate personal opinions and choices. Seen most in the world of literature, where writers were commonly arrested and jailed, sometimes executed, the lack of freedom of expression was so controlled as to prevent personal thoughts. Just the idea of waving at someone insinuated a further connection, a nefarious plan under way.<br />
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The police were calculating and cold in their efforts to cool any uprisings by suppressing everything written, even harmless works of literature. In result, much more harmful (to Communism at least) works were perpetrated in secret in opposition to the force of evil. Dissident authors and writers wrote secretly, as their work (or even having it in possession) could land them into jail. But they did not quit, and if anything, while its exposure may have been limited to the literary few, it probably saved them mentally.<br />
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The novel begins with a woman being arrested who was secretly known for copying dissident works into books. Her son involved, she takes all the blame and is jailed. Lost for what to do, he himself a writer as well, wanders the underground (both literally and figuratively) trying to figure out what to do. Soon he meets an attractive woman who leads him on a path to produce his literature but with a theory: become famous in the outside world so much that Czech officials can't touch him without political repercussions.<br />
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But who is she, and what is her intentions?<br />
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<b><i>"A curious thought entered my mind: that she had quite separate lives. The thought no sooner occurred than it became a knife of jealousy. The girl who cultivated dissidents, what was exploring the world of the samizdat, who was in some strange way excited by the opportunity to recreate me as a hero and a martyr, was the holiday version of another being entirely."</i></b><br />
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Filled with beautiful and nuanced sentences, the novel contrasts the barbaric stomping out of words with the subtlety and pleasure of well-written prose. The author contrasts these so clearly that one can't help but feel the tension between the political forces at play and the hearts behind the written word. It's not idealistic, some of the samizdat writers were jerks too, not to be trusted and often arrogant. But their opposition, in whole, to the entire movement to destroy them only makes them more fascinating.<br />
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Scruton's writing is unusual. A narrator who thinks wisely and yet makes naive assumptions, who loves and yet distrusts; a complicated man in every sense.<br />
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Advance review copy provided by Amazon.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0