I found this song on Pandora a while ago. Catchy, and even though the band means "unputdownable" in something other than a book sense, I couldn't help thinking it's a great little theme song for book reviewers. It's catchy, references one of my favorite book reviewer cliche words (with a tip of the hat to Books Examiner Michelle Kerns, and her reviewer cliche awards), and is a contender for Theme Song for Book Reviewers Everywhere.
My Baby Loves a Bunch of Authors, by Moxy Fruvous, could also be a theme song.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Friendship Bread, a tasty, friendly read
Friendship Bread
Darien Gee
Ballantine Books April 5, 2011 400 pages
Thanks to Sara Wahlberg of Ballantine Publicity for sending me a copy!
Before you start reading this... make sure you have some kind of baked goods handy. Maybe even an Amish Bread starter of your own. If you get a starter or make a starter, you have to wait 10 days and punch it and prep it before you get baked goods. Or, make, or buy whatever other baked goods you like best. Make sure they are on hand. Then start reading. This book should come with an Amish bread starter. But that would be complex and very weird to manage.
As the book begins, Julia is still reeling, grieving the accidental death of her son Josh. When it happened a few years ago, she withdrew from the life of the town. Which, in a small, interconnected town like Avalon, was an impressive feat. She focuses inward, and on her husband and daughter Gracie.
When someone leaves a starter and a gift of a loaf on her doorstep, Julia bakes it just to humor her daughter. But you can't bake friendship bread without having some to give away, and reaching out to people. Gradually, she forges a friendship with Madeleine Davis, an older woman who runs a tea shop in town; and Hannah, a talented concert cellist whose marriage is falling apart. All three need friendship. And recipes for all the friendship bread starters they keep having to use, or give away. Soon, almost everyone in town has a friendship bread starter going.
I liked this novel much better once it started to open up into an ensemble. Much of the start of the book is tightly focused on Julia, slowly revealing the source of her misery, while she's isolated with the depth of her sadness. I was looking for a little bit more levity (leavening?) some gentleness, or reasons to smile. I was happiest as Julia began to reach out, to form friendships. Also, shifting focus to Hannah or Madeleine... Honestly, the devastating grief of losing a son was more than I could get my head around. I could latch onto, maybe even understand Hannah's loneliness, mourning her marriage and surviving her grief through learning to bake, herself. She began to carry The Joy of Cooking around as the book in her purse, loving every word.
Calling this chick lit sounds too disparaging. It does obey some of the conventions of the genre. It's centered on well crafted women characters and their friendships, and it puts at least one of them through an emotional wringer of family tragedy that's endemic to the genre. I enjoy how the bread brings people together. And I love the short vignettes of peripheral town characters-I wanted to know much more about the motorcycle repairman who loved to bake almost as much as he loved to ride his bike.
Now- back to the baked goods... Between the descriptions of all the tasty Amish bread variations, and the sheer stress-comfort-cookie-eating potential of Julia's sorrow, you really do want to have baked goods on hand while you're reading this book. If you're not a yeasty-bread baking kind of person, I'm a big fan of quick breads. Or try these muffins!
Even reviewing this book makes me hungry for baked goods. Mmm chocolate chip cookies... mmm pumpkin bread. Mmm, off to read something less stomach driven.
Darien Gee
Ballantine Books April 5, 2011 400 pages
Thanks to Sara Wahlberg of Ballantine Publicity for sending me a copy!
Before you start reading this... make sure you have some kind of baked goods handy. Maybe even an Amish Bread starter of your own. If you get a starter or make a starter, you have to wait 10 days and punch it and prep it before you get baked goods. Or, make, or buy whatever other baked goods you like best. Make sure they are on hand. Then start reading. This book should come with an Amish bread starter. But that would be complex and very weird to manage.
As the book begins, Julia is still reeling, grieving the accidental death of her son Josh. When it happened a few years ago, she withdrew from the life of the town. Which, in a small, interconnected town like Avalon, was an impressive feat. She focuses inward, and on her husband and daughter Gracie.
When someone leaves a starter and a gift of a loaf on her doorstep, Julia bakes it just to humor her daughter. But you can't bake friendship bread without having some to give away, and reaching out to people. Gradually, she forges a friendship with Madeleine Davis, an older woman who runs a tea shop in town; and Hannah, a talented concert cellist whose marriage is falling apart. All three need friendship. And recipes for all the friendship bread starters they keep having to use, or give away. Soon, almost everyone in town has a friendship bread starter going.
I liked this novel much better once it started to open up into an ensemble. Much of the start of the book is tightly focused on Julia, slowly revealing the source of her misery, while she's isolated with the depth of her sadness. I was looking for a little bit more levity (leavening?) some gentleness, or reasons to smile. I was happiest as Julia began to reach out, to form friendships. Also, shifting focus to Hannah or Madeleine... Honestly, the devastating grief of losing a son was more than I could get my head around. I could latch onto, maybe even understand Hannah's loneliness, mourning her marriage and surviving her grief through learning to bake, herself. She began to carry The Joy of Cooking around as the book in her purse, loving every word.
Calling this chick lit sounds too disparaging. It does obey some of the conventions of the genre. It's centered on well crafted women characters and their friendships, and it puts at least one of them through an emotional wringer of family tragedy that's endemic to the genre. I enjoy how the bread brings people together. And I love the short vignettes of peripheral town characters-I wanted to know much more about the motorcycle repairman who loved to bake almost as much as he loved to ride his bike.
Now- back to the baked goods... Between the descriptions of all the tasty Amish bread variations, and the sheer stress-comfort-cookie-eating potential of Julia's sorrow, you really do want to have baked goods on hand while you're reading this book. If you're not a yeasty-bread baking kind of person, I'm a big fan of quick breads. Or try these muffins!
Even reviewing this book makes me hungry for baked goods. Mmm chocolate chip cookies... mmm pumpkin bread. Mmm, off to read something less stomach driven.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
A question of timing
Something I've been noticing- my sequence of choosing books feels skewed. As a reviewer, and someone who orders books to be put on hold at the library, my reading is a lot less randomized than it used to be. It's less about, say, browsing and following whims.
There are whims, of course. I have any amount of review books or library books to choose from. So I can pick something up almost at random from the stack. But... having books arrive, as opposed to spending a while browsing aimlessly on shelves for something to read, has put me a little bit out of phase with my book whims.
And I'm very much a whim driven reader. I'll start a book, shrug, set it back ont he shelf, repeat that process a few times, and then, something shifts and I pick the book up and zoom through it in utterly absorbed delight. No idea what the shift is. The planets realigned.
Being not entirely in the right mood for a book makes a difference in how I think about it. Of course, I've learned to adapt to that, and to question any lurking grumpiness or fidgetiness about a book. I can tell whether it's a mood thing versus something about the book.
All this is just to say that I should really pick up a novel or two and just barrel through them. I think i have more nonfiction on hold at the library though.
And-- there's Dewey's 24 Hour Read-A-Thon to think about, talk about zooming through books. I should start thinking about assembling a reading list. And suitable munchies.
Ticking the library books off my list doesn't exactly feel like reading them for school. But, like I said, just a little out of phase with the initial whim.
There are whims, of course. I have any amount of review books or library books to choose from. So I can pick something up almost at random from the stack. But... having books arrive, as opposed to spending a while browsing aimlessly on shelves for something to read, has put me a little bit out of phase with my book whims.
And I'm very much a whim driven reader. I'll start a book, shrug, set it back ont he shelf, repeat that process a few times, and then, something shifts and I pick the book up and zoom through it in utterly absorbed delight. No idea what the shift is. The planets realigned.
Being not entirely in the right mood for a book makes a difference in how I think about it. Of course, I've learned to adapt to that, and to question any lurking grumpiness or fidgetiness about a book. I can tell whether it's a mood thing versus something about the book.
All this is just to say that I should really pick up a novel or two and just barrel through them. I think i have more nonfiction on hold at the library though.
And-- there's Dewey's 24 Hour Read-A-Thon to think about, talk about zooming through books. I should start thinking about assembling a reading list. And suitable munchies.
Ticking the library books off my list doesn't exactly feel like reading them for school. But, like I said, just a little out of phase with the initial whim.
Short Reviews
I've finished a few books recently.
T-Rex and the Crater of Doom, by Walter Alvarez. 208 pages. I didn't do the book justice. I could tell it was fascinating, well researched, and informative. I just... wasn't paying the close attention I needed, to focus and take it all in, to remember what the KT barrier was, to understand what forams were, though I got the basic idea of studying the earth's layers to figure out what killed the dinosaurs.
After laying the meticulous background, most of which whizzed around me, the book picked up and got specific about the science of proving an impact crater. That worked better for me, sort of like CSI: Dinosaurs. It may be that I have become an undisciplined reader, not doing a great job of focusing on good science writing that tackles the hard sciences rather than the social ones. Or could be that I'm a little burned out from the tech roundup I just finished for the Ledger.
Self-Compassion: Stop Beating Yourself up and Leave Insecurity Behind by Kristin Neff. 272 pages. After reading about it in the New York Times, I decided to write to the author to request a copy. It's an excellent book. Does it work? I haven't decided yet.
Mostly, this was a read through to see if I liked the language. (I do, plainspoken and very common sense, going easy on the New Age or psychological jargon.) I am even cautiously optimistic about actually working through the exercises in the book. Which probably counts as stratospheric high praise from a grumpy, cynical New Yorker with a penchant for gloom, self-criticism and doom, and an inner monologue that might put Eeyore to shame.
T-Rex and the Crater of Doom, by Walter Alvarez. 208 pages. I didn't do the book justice. I could tell it was fascinating, well researched, and informative. I just... wasn't paying the close attention I needed, to focus and take it all in, to remember what the KT barrier was, to understand what forams were, though I got the basic idea of studying the earth's layers to figure out what killed the dinosaurs.
After laying the meticulous background, most of which whizzed around me, the book picked up and got specific about the science of proving an impact crater. That worked better for me, sort of like CSI: Dinosaurs. It may be that I have become an undisciplined reader, not doing a great job of focusing on good science writing that tackles the hard sciences rather than the social ones. Or could be that I'm a little burned out from the tech roundup I just finished for the Ledger.
Self-Compassion: Stop Beating Yourself up and Leave Insecurity Behind by Kristin Neff. 272 pages. After reading about it in the New York Times, I decided to write to the author to request a copy. It's an excellent book. Does it work? I haven't decided yet.
Mostly, this was a read through to see if I liked the language. (I do, plainspoken and very common sense, going easy on the New Age or psychological jargon.) I am even cautiously optimistic about actually working through the exercises in the book. Which probably counts as stratospheric high praise from a grumpy, cynical New Yorker with a penchant for gloom, self-criticism and doom, and an inner monologue that might put Eeyore to shame.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
The Ragged Edge of Silence: Book Review
Previously... Some background on John Francis
All this is to say that I come to this book from already knowing John, his story and his family. Introducing his journey to a new reader on these pages, John sounds wise and well read, a little awe inspiring. It's not just the carefully reasoned way he outlines his own spiritual practice, shoring it up with examples from Lakota myth and Jesuit philosophy. I feel a little envious of the people who joined him as he studied and taught in his classes. While he was making his way across country, deepening his practical and philosophical underpinnings of silence... I was playing with Legos and dollhouses and reading Babysitters' Club books.
But- the book does a good job of capturing that journey, and maybe even making it accessible as something a reader could adapt and do. Each chapter ends with a few ideas for integrating silence into your own practice- keeping a journal, finding a scrap or two of nature. All probably doable ideas to enrich a busy life. The numerous sources John Francis uses to shape the context of silent meditation do more than give his writing a certain scholarly heft. Practicing silence and meditation, and being aware of silence doesn't hinge on any particular religious or spiritual identity.
I keep wondering, though, about silence in the digital age. Part of my morning ritual is coffee while I read the Internet. Typing clackety-clack fast I can have seven conversations at once, while reading something else, and not moving my vocal cords at all.
The silent journey John chronicles, underscored by some banjo music, is a pre-digital, paper letter writing, "snail mail," one. I wonder how you define a silent pilgrimage in the digital age. Would it have to be a digital fast, too, to be what John sometimes calls a "word fast," in his writing? I've been wondering about that, especially as I've been reading a series of books about technology and society, to review for the Ledger.
All this is to say that I come to this book from already knowing John, his story and his family. Introducing his journey to a new reader on these pages, John sounds wise and well read, a little awe inspiring. It's not just the carefully reasoned way he outlines his own spiritual practice, shoring it up with examples from Lakota myth and Jesuit philosophy. I feel a little envious of the people who joined him as he studied and taught in his classes. While he was making his way across country, deepening his practical and philosophical underpinnings of silence... I was playing with Legos and dollhouses and reading Babysitters' Club books.
But- the book does a good job of capturing that journey, and maybe even making it accessible as something a reader could adapt and do. Each chapter ends with a few ideas for integrating silence into your own practice- keeping a journal, finding a scrap or two of nature. All probably doable ideas to enrich a busy life. The numerous sources John Francis uses to shape the context of silent meditation do more than give his writing a certain scholarly heft. Practicing silence and meditation, and being aware of silence doesn't hinge on any particular religious or spiritual identity.
I keep wondering, though, about silence in the digital age. Part of my morning ritual is coffee while I read the Internet. Typing clackety-clack fast I can have seven conversations at once, while reading something else, and not moving my vocal cords at all.
The silent journey John chronicles, underscored by some banjo music, is a pre-digital, paper letter writing, "snail mail," one. I wonder how you define a silent pilgrimage in the digital age. Would it have to be a digital fast, too, to be what John sometimes calls a "word fast," in his writing? I've been wondering about that, especially as I've been reading a series of books about technology and society, to review for the Ledger.
John Francis: Before the Ragged Edge of Silence
The Ragged Edge of Silence
John Francis, Ph.D.
National Geographic Press 272 pages
When I met John Francis, I was about three years old and he was in the middle of a 17 year vow of silence. I didn't know anything about oil spills or meditative practice or not riding in cars. All I knew was that he was playing this tremendous game where he didn't say a word, and I understood him perfectly. I remember handing him my stuffed leopard toy. He skittered his fingertips in a dappled pattern across his face, then pinched lines in the air next to his cheeks. Spotted cat. Perfect sense.
When my parents or other grownups talked to a silent John, they spoke both sides of the conversation, their own words, and a running commentary translating the way John's hands shaped in the air, the way his face and body drove the meaning home. He got his points across, engaged in dialogues, even, as he describes in his book, took classes, and taught them, without speaking. As we kept in touch with his progress across the country, none of his journey seemed strange. Impressive, yes, impossible, no.
Even years after I first understood who John was and why he was walking, the idea of not speaking was still tied to my little kid idea that he was some kind of magician. I remember thinking that John's actual voice, in the Earth Day radio broadcast sounded strange. I'd expected it maybe, to sound deep and big like a tree, or like the kind of not-sound that words on a page make.
John Francis, Ph.D.
National Geographic Press 272 pages
When I met John Francis, I was about three years old and he was in the middle of a 17 year vow of silence. I didn't know anything about oil spills or meditative practice or not riding in cars. All I knew was that he was playing this tremendous game where he didn't say a word, and I understood him perfectly. I remember handing him my stuffed leopard toy. He skittered his fingertips in a dappled pattern across his face, then pinched lines in the air next to his cheeks. Spotted cat. Perfect sense.
When my parents or other grownups talked to a silent John, they spoke both sides of the conversation, their own words, and a running commentary translating the way John's hands shaped in the air, the way his face and body drove the meaning home. He got his points across, engaged in dialogues, even, as he describes in his book, took classes, and taught them, without speaking. As we kept in touch with his progress across the country, none of his journey seemed strange. Impressive, yes, impossible, no.
Even years after I first understood who John was and why he was walking, the idea of not speaking was still tied to my little kid idea that he was some kind of magician. I remember thinking that John's actual voice, in the Earth Day radio broadcast sounded strange. I'd expected it maybe, to sound deep and big like a tree, or like the kind of not-sound that words on a page make.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Becoming a nun, joining the CIA, writing about it
From Silence To Secrecy: a memoir
Martha E. Leiker
103 pages, iUniverse Publishing.
Thanks to Renee Kenner of Smith Publicity for sending a copy
A woman becomes a nun because she has wanted to go to Africa since she was a kid. She leaves her holy order to join the C.I.A. The concept of this book drew me in. I'm used to the idea of fierce, independent and intellectually driven nuns. My dad's cousin Maureen was a nun before going to medical school to be a gerontologist in Las Vegas. I went to a Catholic high school, where Sister Clevie threw a heck of a fast ball coaching the softball team.
I was ready to love the idea of some kind of Sister Secret Agent, doing the Lord's work and the government's work. I read this expecting revealing, confessional tales of adventure, all the details that would help me imagine two life experiences of bravery I can't even fathom. I was a little bit shocked at how slim the book was. At just about a hundred or so pages, it covers everything from Leiker's early childhood to her retirement after a career that spanned 17 years in the sisterhood and 20 more working for the government, bouncing between African countries and Washington D.C.
Yes, it touches on her doubts, on her hardships of living far from anything she grew up with, the whole story felt entirely too restrained. Although there are a few stories here and there- the basement of her childhood house getting flooded; singing on the Ed Sullivan Show with her fellow sisters; going to a Game Reserve with members of her order; the bulk of the book feels remote, sketched in at best. This slim volume feels like journal entries and notes, just glimpses at a story that, if more specific scenes were developed, could be fascinating.
I'm not sure what's going on to make Leiker's writing feel so cautious, so disconnected from her own, surely fascinating story. Her struggles with rebelliousness and faith as her service in the Sisterhood turned out different than she imagined ring honest and true, and have an emotional backbone. The rest of the narrative, though, feels entirely too well-behaved in its prose I want more scenes, more immediacy of detail.
The only way I can account for the remote, stilted language Leiker returns to, is that years of writing for and about the CIA got under her skin. Sentences and word choices, relying on the passive voice, read as though Leiker hasn't quite shaken off years of writing government reports.
I'm left feeling that there's more to this story, more specifics to flesh out the narrative. And I'm wondering why Martha Leiker kept her distance so primly from her own story. I wonder whether sitting down with a ghost writer wouldn't get Leiker, and the story to open up more.
For every book I read in 2011, I'm donating $1 to the New York Public Library.
Martha E. Leiker
103 pages, iUniverse Publishing.
Thanks to Renee Kenner of Smith Publicity for sending a copy
A woman becomes a nun because she has wanted to go to Africa since she was a kid. She leaves her holy order to join the C.I.A. The concept of this book drew me in. I'm used to the idea of fierce, independent and intellectually driven nuns. My dad's cousin Maureen was a nun before going to medical school to be a gerontologist in Las Vegas. I went to a Catholic high school, where Sister Clevie threw a heck of a fast ball coaching the softball team.
I was ready to love the idea of some kind of Sister Secret Agent, doing the Lord's work and the government's work. I read this expecting revealing, confessional tales of adventure, all the details that would help me imagine two life experiences of bravery I can't even fathom. I was a little bit shocked at how slim the book was. At just about a hundred or so pages, it covers everything from Leiker's early childhood to her retirement after a career that spanned 17 years in the sisterhood and 20 more working for the government, bouncing between African countries and Washington D.C.
Yes, it touches on her doubts, on her hardships of living far from anything she grew up with, the whole story felt entirely too restrained. Although there are a few stories here and there- the basement of her childhood house getting flooded; singing on the Ed Sullivan Show with her fellow sisters; going to a Game Reserve with members of her order; the bulk of the book feels remote, sketched in at best. This slim volume feels like journal entries and notes, just glimpses at a story that, if more specific scenes were developed, could be fascinating.
I'm not sure what's going on to make Leiker's writing feel so cautious, so disconnected from her own, surely fascinating story. Her struggles with rebelliousness and faith as her service in the Sisterhood turned out different than she imagined ring honest and true, and have an emotional backbone. The rest of the narrative, though, feels entirely too well-behaved in its prose I want more scenes, more immediacy of detail.
The only way I can account for the remote, stilted language Leiker returns to, is that years of writing for and about the CIA got under her skin. Sentences and word choices, relying on the passive voice, read as though Leiker hasn't quite shaken off years of writing government reports.
I'm left feeling that there's more to this story, more specifics to flesh out the narrative. And I'm wondering why Martha Leiker kept her distance so primly from her own story. I wonder whether sitting down with a ghost writer wouldn't get Leiker, and the story to open up more.
For every book I read in 2011, I'm donating $1 to the New York Public Library.
Monday, March 14, 2011
The Mozart Conspiracy: Shock Me, Amadeus
The Mozart Conspiracy
Scott Mariani
$24.99 337 pages
Thanks to Ashley Hewlett at Touchstone for sending me a copy
The action, and more action, of The Mozart Conspiracy goes pelting along, loosely tied together around the idea of Mozart's papers, which Somebody Sinister wants to find, and will stop at nothing to get. Leigh Llewellyn's father, and brother, were the last to have these papers. And as she begins to research Mozart's life and death, she becomes a target.
Fortunately, she has her old friend Ben, ex SAS and general heroic badass, watching her back. Because the action heats up around them very quickly. They zoom across Europe, pursued and pinpointed every time they make a phone call. The action, and ensuing violence, are relentless, so much so that the conspiracy feels only sketched in.
Who's going to attack the fleeing pair next, and how, is more of a puzzle than the secrets tied into Mozart's papers, or the ancient symbolism evoked by The Magic Flute. Which is fine. Pure action makes for a speedy, fun read. Although the violence gets to be a bit much. There's a chase, or an explosion, or a gunshot, every few pages. (So much so that I wonder if it was the author's antidote to writer's block.)
The jacket copy and publicity buzz surrounding this book reference The DaVinci Code. I can see it. I liked The Mozart Conspiracy much better. Maybe because the conspiracy involved less torturing Catholic symbolism into a menacing shape. Maybe because at least one of the characters involved definitely belongs in a world of adrenaline-fueled chasing.
Maybe because the writing is better. The prose is definitely better in The Mozart Conspiracy, as are the ensemble of peripheral characters. From Eve, the woman crushed under the thumb of the villain, to Clara and Max, the young girl and her dog kidnapped to use as blackmail; it's easy to worry whether these characters will survive the unrelenting violence.
Maybe more development of the mystery itself, how Mozart's papers connect to a secret society still practicing ritual sacrifice; would have made this a more nuanced read. But sometimes, action packed and zooming adrenaline makes a perfectly fine book you can read in a weekend.
Scott Mariani
$24.99 337 pages
Thanks to Ashley Hewlett at Touchstone for sending me a copy
The action, and more action, of The Mozart Conspiracy goes pelting along, loosely tied together around the idea of Mozart's papers, which Somebody Sinister wants to find, and will stop at nothing to get. Leigh Llewellyn's father, and brother, were the last to have these papers. And as she begins to research Mozart's life and death, she becomes a target.
Fortunately, she has her old friend Ben, ex SAS and general heroic badass, watching her back. Because the action heats up around them very quickly. They zoom across Europe, pursued and pinpointed every time they make a phone call. The action, and ensuing violence, are relentless, so much so that the conspiracy feels only sketched in.
Who's going to attack the fleeing pair next, and how, is more of a puzzle than the secrets tied into Mozart's papers, or the ancient symbolism evoked by The Magic Flute. Which is fine. Pure action makes for a speedy, fun read. Although the violence gets to be a bit much. There's a chase, or an explosion, or a gunshot, every few pages. (So much so that I wonder if it was the author's antidote to writer's block.)
The jacket copy and publicity buzz surrounding this book reference The DaVinci Code. I can see it. I liked The Mozart Conspiracy much better. Maybe because the conspiracy involved less torturing Catholic symbolism into a menacing shape. Maybe because at least one of the characters involved definitely belongs in a world of adrenaline-fueled chasing.
Maybe because the writing is better. The prose is definitely better in The Mozart Conspiracy, as are the ensemble of peripheral characters. From Eve, the woman crushed under the thumb of the villain, to Clara and Max, the young girl and her dog kidnapped to use as blackmail; it's easy to worry whether these characters will survive the unrelenting violence.
Maybe more development of the mystery itself, how Mozart's papers connect to a secret society still practicing ritual sacrifice; would have made this a more nuanced read. But sometimes, action packed and zooming adrenaline makes a perfectly fine book you can read in a weekend.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Cleaning Nabokov's House
Cleaning Nabokov's House
Leslie Daniels
Touchstone March 2010 $24.00 336 pages
Thanks to Jessica from Touchstone for sending me a review copy.
To say that the plot twists of Cleaning Nabokov's House got delightfully goofy after the protagonist, Barb, found a manuscript Vladimir Nabokov may or may not have written about baseball, tells you what kind of fun read this turns into. The transformation isn't immediate, however. As the book begins, lonely Barb missing her kids, recovering from her divorce, spies a gorgeous blue pot floating near the shore of the lake. In an attentively described scene, laden with thoughtfulness, she rescues the pot from the water, and takes it back to her hotel room and her maudlin musings.
Initially, Barb's slow reconstruction of her life, her precious weekends with her kids, feels like a reconstruction of an often-seen women's novel character. The kind with lots of sighing and looking out of windows. But hilariously odd little touches rescue the story from being pensive, even at Barb's most heartbroken moments. Barb's self-deprecating narration is both deadpan and hilarious. She works and lives alone, with a shabby, reduced wardrobe, including "the Pants," her only good pair left, in an odd shade of purple. Gradually, an ensemble of characters builds around Barb as she emerges from her abject misery. Her kids are magnificent. Darcy, Barb's purse-collecting, fashion judging kindergarten daughter, makes me wonder if Leslie Daniels ever read dooce's blog. (She reminds me of Leta, for those in the know.) Shy, quiet Sam, loves to cook and wishes his father wouldn't get on his case about low carb diets.
Margie, the literary agent Barb finds to help her publish the Nabokov manuscript, thinks Barb should try writing midlife romances instead. Margie emerges as excellent, warmly eccentric girlfriend material, giving Barb the courage to do things like meet with publishers, and go on dates in her dreary small town.
Barb's project of writing a romance novel for midlife readers gave the story the setup for a pickup line I've always wanted to use: "I'm writing a romance novel. Could you help me with the research?" The novel says it better, in scenes that were awkward but still humorous. But I was thrilled.
And that is, as I said, before things got delightfully zany. Sure, the plot twists that really pick things up are improbable, verging on wish-fulfillment, maybe. But they're perfectly fun, described with detail and humor. I read some chapters on the subway and giggled.
I'm left wondering, though, what it would be like to read an entire novel by Nabokov about Babe Ruth, instead of the few teases Leslie Daniels feeds us over the course of the story. I haven't read anything by Nabokov. I'd be willing to, especially something other than Lolita.
Leslie Daniels
Touchstone March 2010 $24.00 336 pages
Thanks to Jessica from Touchstone for sending me a review copy.
To say that the plot twists of Cleaning Nabokov's House got delightfully goofy after the protagonist, Barb, found a manuscript Vladimir Nabokov may or may not have written about baseball, tells you what kind of fun read this turns into. The transformation isn't immediate, however. As the book begins, lonely Barb missing her kids, recovering from her divorce, spies a gorgeous blue pot floating near the shore of the lake. In an attentively described scene, laden with thoughtfulness, she rescues the pot from the water, and takes it back to her hotel room and her maudlin musings.
Initially, Barb's slow reconstruction of her life, her precious weekends with her kids, feels like a reconstruction of an often-seen women's novel character. The kind with lots of sighing and looking out of windows. But hilariously odd little touches rescue the story from being pensive, even at Barb's most heartbroken moments. Barb's self-deprecating narration is both deadpan and hilarious. She works and lives alone, with a shabby, reduced wardrobe, including "the Pants," her only good pair left, in an odd shade of purple. Gradually, an ensemble of characters builds around Barb as she emerges from her abject misery. Her kids are magnificent. Darcy, Barb's purse-collecting, fashion judging kindergarten daughter, makes me wonder if Leslie Daniels ever read dooce's blog. (She reminds me of Leta, for those in the know.) Shy, quiet Sam, loves to cook and wishes his father wouldn't get on his case about low carb diets.
Margie, the literary agent Barb finds to help her publish the Nabokov manuscript, thinks Barb should try writing midlife romances instead. Margie emerges as excellent, warmly eccentric girlfriend material, giving Barb the courage to do things like meet with publishers, and go on dates in her dreary small town.
Barb's project of writing a romance novel for midlife readers gave the story the setup for a pickup line I've always wanted to use: "I'm writing a romance novel. Could you help me with the research?" The novel says it better, in scenes that were awkward but still humorous. But I was thrilled.
And that is, as I said, before things got delightfully zany. Sure, the plot twists that really pick things up are improbable, verging on wish-fulfillment, maybe. But they're perfectly fun, described with detail and humor. I read some chapters on the subway and giggled.
I'm left wondering, though, what it would be like to read an entire novel by Nabokov about Babe Ruth, instead of the few teases Leslie Daniels feeds us over the course of the story. I haven't read anything by Nabokov. I'd be willing to, especially something other than Lolita.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Basketball and Healthy Eating: Two WVFC bylines
Women's Voices For Change published two of my pieces this week.
Sneak Preview: "Mighty Macs" on Women, Sports, and Personal Transformation. This might have been my favorite movie at the Athena Film Festival. Uplifting retro basketball with strong female characters... it's like catnip to me. Bonus fun fact: Now both lead actors in Bones have played spouses in retro basketball movies.
Book Review: The Small Change Diet. I enjoyed this diet book by registered dietitian and WVFC contributor Keri Gans. It's upbeat but sympathetic. Some of the ideas aren't new, but the program is presented logically, in a way that would be easier to follow than most.
Sneak Preview: "Mighty Macs" on Women, Sports, and Personal Transformation. This might have been my favorite movie at the Athena Film Festival. Uplifting retro basketball with strong female characters... it's like catnip to me. Bonus fun fact: Now both lead actors in Bones have played spouses in retro basketball movies.
Book Review: The Small Change Diet. I enjoyed this diet book by registered dietitian and WVFC contributor Keri Gans. It's upbeat but sympathetic. Some of the ideas aren't new, but the program is presented logically, in a way that would be easier to follow than most.
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