Diary of a Book Nerd

Things I’ve Learned While Unemployed

2012-07-10T18:01:00.000-07:00

Some of you might know, or have figured it out from the decreased mentions of work around here and the increased amount of reading happening, that I have been out of work for a few months. Without getting into too much detail, since I know nobody wants to hear my sob story, this past February I became one of millions of jobless Americans.

It’s been an interesting few months to say the least. And I am super excited that I am headed back to work Monday. I’m lucky that I found a job that (fingers-crossed) is going to be a fun new challenge and hopefully lead to a lot of big things.

Given all that, I’ve been doing some reflecting. I like to believe that things happen for a reason. Even bad depressing annoying super frustrating things that piss you off and make you feel like crap. So I have to believe that all this was part of some bigger plan. And that there are some big life lessons I’m supposed to take from all this.

So here, in no particular order, are the things I’ve learned while unemployed:

I Am Not a Morning Person – This is not really a new lesson. I’ve never liked mornings. I am the person that hits snooze a million times (sorry fiancé!) and would rather skip breakfast and run out the door at the last minute than get up with enough time to enjoy a bowl of Cheerios. When left to my own devices and with no reason to get up in the morning, my natural rhythms are on the nocturnal side. It’s much more normal for me to be up til 1am than to spring up from the covers at 6am. Next week is going to be brutal.

· Recruiters Suck – I say this as a former recruiter. Someone who has spent years calling candidates and scheduling interviews - the whole shebang. Over the last few months I have received phone calls from a lot of recruiters. It was pretty obvious that most of them had not read my resume, at least not enough to know that I had no experience related to the jobs they were looking to fill. The most annoying thing though, are the recruiters that don’t call you back. More than once, hell, more than 3 or 4 times, I got voice mails from recruiters about jobs I had applied for. And despite my calling them back within half an hour, usually less, I never heard from them again. I get that recruiting is fast paced and that most recruiters go with the first person who answers the phone. But to not return a call in that short a time frame is just rude.

· Pride is a Bitch – It was not my idea to leave my last job. Having to explain that to people is awkward. Not just in interviews, where you can creatively weave and flub your way around it, but in real life too. Having to tell friends and family that I was out of work was a very humbling experience. People are friendly and nice and supportive and do that whole, “Screw them!” thing, but it’s still humiliating. It took me longer than it should have to reach out to people, to network like you are supposed to, cause I didn’t want to have that conversation over and over.

· Employed People Don’t Get It – They try. They want to help you and offer all sorts of job leads and other connections. But for the most part, they have no idea what it’s like. More than once I heard some version of “Oh but you must be enjoying all that time off!” And while yes, it is sort of nice (see the morning person thing above); the truth is that unemployment is not a vacation. There is no end date. And even with Unemployment Insurance, you are still broke. You spend your days slogging through job boards, wading through the labyrinth that is LinkedIn, and sending out more resumes than you can count. Even if you get to do all that in sweatpants, it’s still no picnic.

· Having Time Off Rocks – I know, I know, I just said the opposite. But it’s still true. You can’t spend all day online. You’ll make yourself crazy if you don’t get your head away from the search for a while. So you have to find ways to fill your time. Preferably with things that don’t cost you money. For me, this meant a lot of reading. A lot of lying out in the sun. A lot of spending time with my family. A lot of time at the gym (I like working out –who knew?!) And a lot of movies and mid-afternoon weekday dates with the fiancé – who happens to have a non-normal schedule.

· I Have the Best Family and Friends – I know, totally cheesy, but it’s true. These last few months have been crazy. I have had a lot of down moments; lots of times where I wanted to curl up into a ball and cry with frustration and panic. I’ve also had a lot of amazing moments too. – a new niece! I’m engaged! And through them all, I have had a close circle of the best people on the planet by my side. They fielded tear soaked phone calls and panicked freak outs. They distracted me with drinks, cookies, and hugs. They say you learn who your true friends are during hard times. Well, I’ve always known, and they did not disappoint this time around.

Rapid Fire Book Reviews

2012-07-10T17:52:00.000-07:00

So in the last week I have read three books. I know, insane right? Who has that much time on their hands? Well, I do. Did. Whatever. The point is, I read so much so fast that I fell behind on my blogging. I thought about skipping it, just moving on to the next one. But somehow that felt like cheating. Instead, I decided to put together a quick one shot deal and cover them all.

So here you go. Rapid Fire Book Reviews:

Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand by Helen Simonson - Crotchety old men can either be super enduring or really annoying. Major Pettigrew is a little of both. Set in a small English town, Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand follows the Major as he deals with life’s little, and big, dramas. The story focuses on his developing relationship with Jasmina Ali, the Pakistani widow who owns a local shop. Needless to say, residents of this small sleepy town are not open to change, especially not the kind of change that allows them to accept this interracial relationship. On top of that, we get a lot of “back in my day” type of flittering about by the Major. Nobody is ever polite enough. Nobody ever follows the correct rules of etiquette or has the right level of respect. It’s frustrating. I wanted so much to like the Major. But he spends most of the book whining and whimpering and standing on the sidelines, never standing up when he should. Despite that though, Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand felt like watching a fun BBC mini-series. If that’s your idea of a good time, then pick this book up.

There’s a (Slight) Chance I Might Be Going to Hell by Laurie Notaro - I’ve said it before, I Love Laurie Notaro. She’s hilarious. She cracks me up. And she has a distinct voice that makes you feel like you’re chatting with a friend over a drink swapping stories about your crazy family. There’s a (Slight) Chance I Might Be Going to Hell is an odd little nugget of a novel. When her husband lands a job at a small college in Washington state, Maye finds herself a grown woman in a new town struggling to make friends. I have thought a lot about this actually. As an adult, how do you make friends? It’s not like when you are a kid and you could just play with random kids on the playground or have a whole classroom full of kids to choose from. But as an adult, especially one who works from home like Maye does, how are you supposed to meet new people? The town of Spaulding is a quirky place and almost a character on its own. And as Maye finds her place in it, we get to meet the bazar people and things that surround her.

Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? by Mindy Kaling- I always love a funny chick. And any women that can parlay her sense of humor into a career gets my vote. Mindy Kaling is up there with Kristin Wigg and Tina Fey as one of the funniest women working in comedy today. Her book is a collection of essays that range from autobiographical stories from her childhood to hilarious lists of what it means to be a good girlfriend. This is one of those books that I think every young woman should read. Because when you look beyond the silly stories, this is a book about a woman who followed her ambition and made a successful career for herself. And she did it without having to resort to sex tapes or fake boobs. She’s not really trying to give people advice, but I think that any girl with big dreams can learn from her example. It’s refreshing to hear from someone who had a normal childhood. That likes dating but not one night stands. And that likes her parents and enjoys hanging out with them. You always hear stories about people who overcame a traumatic childhood to make it big. But I dig that Mindy is just a regular girl who got what she wanted. Gives all is other regular girls hope.

A Discovery of Witches - Deborah Harkness

2012-07-03T13:12:00.000-07:00

I admit that I am easily influenced. Especially by people and things that I trust. I mean, if Entertainment Weekly tells me a book is good, chances are I’m gonna read it. That’s why A Discovery of Witches by Deborah Harkness has been sitting on my “To Read” Goodreads shelf for so long.

Having read some reviews, and the dust jacket, I knew the story centered on a witch and a vampire. But somehow, I was not really ready for the amount of supernatural stuff going on. Not that I am complaining. It’s just odd when you expect one thing and get another. Like when you think Magic Mike is going to be a fluffy fun movie about male strippers and it turns out to be a (pretty good) movie about the dirty reality of life as a male stripper. Again, not complaining. I’ll take any chance I can get to watch Channing Tatum, Joe Manganiello, and Adam Rodriguez strut around in their underpants.

Anyway…

Basically, A Discovery of Witches is what would happen if The Da Vinci Code and True Blood had babies. And I mean that in the best way possible. The story centers on Diana Bishop, noted historian with a specialty in alchemy. She’s also the last in a long line of powerful witches, even though she refuses to use her gifts. She comes across an ancient and powerful text called the Ashmole 782 (I have to admit, I giggle every time I read the word Ashmole – looks way too much like asshole! I am such a child!) and that’s when all hell breaks loose. The discovery of the text triggers all sorts of strange events and also brings out all sorts of supernatural beings. In this world, there are four types of creatures roaming the earth; humans, witches, vampires, and demons. Each wants access to Ashmole and is willing to use any means to get to Diana since she seems to be the only person who can summon it.

Its 600 pages of Diana coming to terms with the knowledge that humans are not alone and learning that in order to survive in this new world, she has to embrace the magic within herself she’s been stifling since childhood. But really, at its core, A Discovery of Witches is the love story between Diana and Matthew Clairmont – the vampire that she falls in love with despite warnings from everyone that witches and vampires shouldn’t mix.

And here’s where my beef starts. Don’t get me wrong, I really enjoyed this book. The writing is great and really engaging. The pacing is strong and moves you through all sorts of twists and turns quickly. I’m on board with this world and all the magic craziness that’s in it and I’m sure I’ll read the rest of the series.

But. The whole time I was reading, I couldn’t help but be a little annoyed. The whole vampire thing is still beyond me. I don’t really understand the draw. I mean, what modern woman wants to be controlled and dominated by a thousand year old dude? Harkness does a good job of showing us Diana’s reluctance to give in to Matthew’s controlling ways. But for the most part, the ancient vampire with all his old school views of the world gets his way. Diane spends a lot of time being led around, settled into chairs, carried onto couches, placed in seats. And even though she protests and makes a show of claiming to be a modern independent woman, she pretty much hands her life over to Matthew.

As I read, I couldn’t help but wonder: how come there are so many stories about the strong powerful male vampire and the women who fall for his charms, but no stories about the strong powerful female vampire and the men who fall for her? What does it mean that the whole vampire – damsel in distress thing is such a cliché, but it doesn’t work the other way around?

Now I know this is just a work of fiction, but I can’t help but put on my English Major pants and say that this book says a lot about what it means to be a modern woman. Or at least it makes you think about what it means that it’s so easy to accept a story about a woman who so readily gives up her life for the man she loves. And how come there are so few stories about a man willing to give up his life for the woman he loves.

I know this is way more thinking that needs to be done here. But again, that’s why I am such a book nerd. Even in a book like this about vampires, witches, spells and magic, you get a look into the real world around you and the real issues we face on a daily basis.

Marrying Mozart - Stephanie Cowell

2012-06-26T16:47:00.002-07:00

You know how they say you can’t judge a book by its cover? I always thought this meant the image on the front. Well apparently you can’t judge a book by its back cover either – at least not the back cover of Marrying Mozart by Stephanie Cowell.

The publisher’s blurb is accurate enough when it comes to what the story is about; the intertwining lives of the Weber family and a young Mozart at the start of his career. But, the quote from Opera Cues that says the book is, “A frolicking romp…light and fun” is pure bunk. So is the quote from Newsday that calls it, “A splendid, shimmering comedy of manners.” Marrying Mozart is no rollicking comedy. This book is depressing. And has one of the most annoying, nerve wracking, pain in the ass characters I have ever encountered.

Before this book, I had never given much thought to Mozart. He was always just a fierce face in a white wig hovering on the wall in old elementary school classrooms. Now though, having a small understanding of what his life was like and the challenges he faced, I have a small soft spot for the guy. Like the child actors of today, it can’t have been easy for him to grow up always in the shadow of his own youthful image. He spent most of his adult life trying to recapture the fame and success he had as a young musical prodigy. But, when you make your name as a fresh-faced baby-genius, people have a hard time taking you seriously as an adult. Just ask Miley, Lindsay, and any member of any boy band ever.

On top of his professional challenges, Mozart somehow found himself drawn to the Weber family. As they are in the book, I can’t understand why. A music copiest, his horrid wife, and their four daughters somehow managed to sink their hooks into Mozart, and the poor guy could not get free. He first falls for the pretty second daughter, who then gets herself knocked up before running off with a painter. Then, he thinks it’s a good idea to take a room in the boarding house they run. And then he eventually falls in love with and marries the third sister. It would make a good soap opera, if it wasn’t so damn sad.

It’s damn sad and depressing because Maria Caecilia, the shrew of a matriarch of the Weber family is one of the worst people I’ve ever read about. She spent her whole life scheming and plotting and manipulating to try to marry her daughters off to the highest placed men she could find. She sort of reminded me of Mrs. Bennet from Pride and Prejudice, except that where Mrs. Bennet was trying to get her daughters taken care of, Mrs. Weber is more concerned about what her future sons in law can do for her. More than once she shrieks about how ungrateful her daughters are and how dare they not be worried about her future and who will take care of her when she gets old and don’t they understand it’s their duty to marry rich men so she can reap the rewards. She’s the most maddening and annoying woman I have come across in a book in a long time.

Mrs. Weber did do one thing, and that’s increase my sympathy for Mozart. How he managed to spend his short life around this woman is beyond me. And that he had her in his ear while creating such beautiful music…well, that takes genius.

Snobs - Julian Fellowes

2012-06-20T16:05:00.000-07:00

Reading is an expensive habit. And when you read as fast and as much as I do, and are as broke as I am, plunking down at least 12 bucks a pop every few days will eventually catch up to you. Or at least your bank account. That’s why I made a trip to my local library the other day. I practically grew up in libraries. By the time I was 10 I had read every book in the kid’s section twice and almost half of young adult wall at my hometown library. Libraries are happy places for me. You get to wander between the stacks and then sit in a big cozy chair to leaf through your selections. It’s like a treasure hunt. And it’s all free! Nothing better than that.

On this particular trip, as I made my way through the fiction section, I was surprised to see a cluster of books by Julian Fellowes. (I can’t say his name without thinking of Tracy Morgan – cracks me up every time!) I hadn’t realized that the brilliant mind behind Downtown Abby has also written a novel. So I scooped up Snobs without even reading the dust jacket.

Snobs is a particularly juicy look at the lives and loves of aristocratic British society. Except that instead of petticoats and horse-drawn carriages, these fancy-shmancy Brits are living today. Middle-class Edith, who has been brought up by an ambitious mother to want nothing more than to land an upper-class husband, does just that then she meets Charles Uckfield, the Earl Broughton and heir to the Marquess of Uckfield. But instead of a fairy tale happy ending, the story focuses on the disillusionment of getting what you always wanted.

Fellowes uses a first person narrator (who I just realized doesn’t seem to have an actual name) to take us through the ins and outs of this highly stratified world. He knows these people, how they think and act, and all the perks and pressures they deal with on a daily basis. An actor by profession, the narrator grew up among the noble-born – he’s the perfect person to give us all the dirty details about how the other half lives, while still maintaining his street cred as just another commoner, just like us readers. One thing that bothered me about this, what bothers me about first person narrators in general, is that somehow they become omniscient and know all about what happens when they are not around. It’s a small picky point, but you can’t help but wonder how he knows so much about Edith and Charles’s wedding night.

Playing along the sidelines of Charles and Edith’s story are people from both worlds. Upper-class families with their customs, engrained traditions and social pressures. And lower and middle-class personalities dying to claw their way to the top – to a world they dream of as filled with glitter and privilege. It’s sad really, watching people with power and money wallow in the fear of losing it. Just as sad as watching those without it fester with jealousy and greed wanting nothing more than just a taste of the world they imagine.

We don’t really have a landed aristocracy here in the States. Sure there are a few established families, but for the most part, our nobility is in Hollywood. We look up to celebrities the way the Brits do their Earls and Barons. Our Royal Wedding was broadcast on E! and lasted 72 days. Maybe that’s why it’s hard for me to relate to anyone in this books. I’m obviously not one of the privileged few, but I also don’t want to be. If anything, Fellowes shows us that even if you “have it all”; if you’re miserable, you might as well have nothing.

Dead Ever After - Charlaine Harris

2012-06-14T21:24:00.000-07:00

Sookie is back! I’ve been anxiously awaiting the newest, and what’s been said to be the last, Sookie Stackhouse novel, Dead Ever After. And it’s finally here!

Actually, as I write this, I am re-watching a repeat of this summer’s True Blood season premier, so the fact that I am a fan goes without saying. What else goes without saying is that by now, these two worlds barely have anything in common. Allan Ball and his writing staff may be inspired by Charlaine Harris, but they sure as hell don’t mind veering away from her story.

This veering actually makes reading the books a little disorienting. The whole time I have to keep reminding myself that the Tara in the book is nowhere near the Tara on TV, that Sookie and Bill have a very different relationship in the books than on TV, that Alcide is a very different kind of werewolf on TV than he is in the books, and a million other little, and big, differences.

Anyway. Dead Ever After picks up where the last book, Deadlocked, left off. I think. From what I remember. Sookie is living with her fairy uncle and cousin, still dating Eric, still working at Sam’s bar, and dealing with the aftermath of her latest traumatic adventure.

Honestly, a lot of this book felt a bit repetitive. Thankfully, there are some self-aware moments where Harris even points out how crazy Sookie’s life is and how she often she finds herself in crazy-ass dangerous situations. This time, she is solving yet another mystery – who killed a random dead girl – and what does it have to do with Sookie and all the supernatural… things that always want her dead. In the midst of all the who done it mystery, Sookie is also finally figuring out her love life. Not to spoil things, but I have to say that she finally saw the light and ended up with the right man.

If Dead Ever After is the last book, I am both sad and satisfied. Sad because I like these people and their world and have enjoyed the time I have spent in it. Satisfied because, as much as I love it, I also think it’s time for it to come to an end. Unlike some series that just go on and on and on, repeating themselves and often getting more and more ridiculous, I think it’s smart for Harris to go out on top.

So farewell Sookie, Bill, Eric, Alcide, Tara, Jason, and the entire Bon Temps gang. Thanks for all the crazy vampires and werewolves, fairies, and shifters. And thanks to you Mrs.Harris, for letting us into your crazy imagination.

Those Who Save Us - Jenna Blum

2012-06-12T15:21:00.004-07:00

Watching Portugal play Germany in the UEFA EURO tournament last week, I admit I was disappointed. Not only that Portugal lost. (I am never allowed to mock the fiancé’s yelling at sporting events again) But because half way through the game when German fans erupted into a repeated chant of “Clap Clap Clapclapcalp Clap Clap Clap Clap Deutschland!” my first thought was, “well that’s not something you want to see.”

See, the sight and sound of thousands of Germans whelping with national pride sent a shiver down my spine. And it took me longer than I like to admit to remind myself that just like I was sitting in my living room rooting for my home country (or at least my family’s) , so these German fans had every right to stand and cheer for theirs.

It’s a sign of a good book when you find yourself thinking about it later. Just a few days before the Portugal/Germany game, I had finished reading Those Who Save Us by Jenna Blum. And when I realized I was being a sore loser and completely irrational, I started thinking about the questions Blum deals with in her book.

I can’t even put together the words to describe how horrific and disgusting the holocaust was. Anyone with a heart knows that what happened across Germany during WWII was terrible. When I hear survivor stories I am heartbroken at the thought of all the lives lost for no understandable reason.

What I haven’t often thought about, and what Blum addresses so beautifully, is what it must have been like to be a German during the war. And after. Her story focuses on mother and daughter Anna and Trudy. Trudy, a professor of German studies has spent most of her life trying to understand the war in an attempt to understand her mother. Anna on the other hand, has refused to discuss her experiences, preferring to leave the past in its place –tucked away and hopefully forgotten.

The novel transitions between Anna’s story, spanning 1939-1944, and Trudy’s mid-1990’s research into the lives of German women during the war. It’s easy from our comfortable modern point of view to admonish women like Anna. But when you really think about it, what were average German’s supposed to do in the face of the massive machine that was the Nazi party? At what point does the individual become responsible for the actions of their government? And how accountable is one person for the actions of others? Are we expected as citizens to blindly follow our leaders, or is it our duty to stand and fight when we don’t agree with their policies? Do we really expect people to sacrifice themselves and their families in the name of ideals? To put themselves in front of a loaded gun and say, “Stop” when they see injustice?

It is these questions that Blum asks through Anna’s story. The choices she, and millions of real women like her, made in order to keep themselves alive were difficult ones. Knowing the risks, knowing you would be put to death, would you hide a Jewish family? Give them food? Or would you turn away, swallow your guilt in order to save yourself and your children? Would you allow yourself to become the lover of a high ranking Nazi if it meant food on the table? Or would you keep your pride but starve?

I pass no judgment here. Thankfully I haven’t had to make those choices in my own life. And while it’s nice to assume you would be brave enough to stand up and fight, the reality is you never know what you are, or are not, capable of.

Its complicated stuff Jenna Blum deals with in Those Who Save Us. There are no clear right or wrong answers to the questions she brings up. What she does is make us think, make us put ourselves in Anna’s shoes and realize that judging another’s choices is easier than making our own.

Jeneration X - Jen Lancaster

2012-06-07T15:44:00.000-07:00

I’ve never really been sure what generation I am a part of. I grew up hearing about “Generation X” but always felt too young to be a part of it. And now, when people talk about “Generation Y”, I feel way too old. According to most descriptions, I was born right on the edge, smack dab in the middle. I see parts of myself in both, but really don’t belong to either one. Story of my life, really.

None of this really matters in the grand scheme of things. I mean, it’s not like I am filling out job applications and selecting my generation along with my gender and ethnic background. But when you look at the world, it’s hard to ignore that there is a definite shift in how Gen X and Gen Y think. I mean, this girl? Obviously a Millennial.

You all know my now that I have an undying love for Jennifer Lancaster. So I’ve been anxiously watching out for her latest book, Jeneration X. I was a little scared going in though. See, as much as I love her funny and irreverent outlook, she’s also way more conservative, and a tab bit older, than I am. So when it comes to telling people how to be an adult, I was afraid we might have some major disagreements. I was afraid that I would go all Gen Y and tell her Gen X ass to get off her high horse and cut us some slack.

What I found out though, is that my friend who always tells me that I am not as liberal as I like to

think I am, might have a point. Wrapped up in hilarious essays about the dangers of the skirted swimsuit, the terrifying reality of estate planning, the harsh mockery of the Wii Fit, and one gross pool filled with dead tadpoles, Jeneration X is basically a call for all us 20-30somethings to get it together and grow the hell up.

According to Lancaster, being an adult is about knowing when to say screw it to your shit-tastic apartment to buy a house in the suburbs. About realizing that you can’t party like a 21 year old anymore, no matter how cool you still think you are. About being responsible for yourself and your actions, even if those actions include spying on your neighbors and seeing way more than you bargained for. And most importantly, about getting off your lazy ass and realizing that if you want something in this world – you have to actually work for it, not just pout and frown and wait for mommy and daddy or someone else to tell you you are special and hand you what you want.

Reading about Lancaster’s journey into adulthood, you can’t help but reflect on your own. At least I did. Watching her face her own milestones of adulthood, I couldn’t help but think of the ones I’ve hit so far, and the ones yet to come. I might have not laughed as hard this time around – I mean, I love Jen and she cracks me up, but somehow this time I was a little less moved to uncontrollable laughter - but I walked away feeling a little better about my own emerging adulthood.

The Satanic Verses - Salman Rushdie

2012-05-29T17:57:00.001-07:00

There is a part of me that has a very very hard time not finishing a book. It’s the same part that also has a hard time throwing things away. You should see the big ‘ol tub of high school memorabilia I have sitting in the garage, not to mention the stack of clothes in the upper reaches of my closet that might fit again someday. Point is, I try to stick with books and see them through to the end, no matter how painful.

Except this time. According to the receipt/bookmark I found about 100 pages into The Satanic Verses By Salman Rushdie, I started reading it back in December of 2009. If my math is correct, that means right after my first semester of grad school. So I can get away with saying I didn’t finish it then because I already had a hectic reading schedule and could not fit in “just because” books.

The fact is though that then, just like now, I got bored. This is the highbrow, super dense, thought provoking stuff I am supposed to love. This is what English classrooms are made for and made of. All sorts of parallel story lines, complex characters, symbolism, complicated imagery, dreams, questions about what’s true, what’s pretend and what’s the difference. It’s English major catnip.

And while I do love a book that deals with life’s big questions, I can only take so much. And Rushdie packs his books with a lot. Too much for me.Too many shifts in perspective. Too many shifts in character. Too many dreams within dreams to the point where you have no idea who is where or what.

Problem is, I’m not an existentialist. I don’t spend my days struggling to define good and evil. I don’t spend nights lying away wondering about who god is or if he’s out there at all. I have more practical things to think about, like paying rent, figuring out how to save for retirement, and how to stop my nail polish from chipping. So when it comes to my reading material; it’s not that I am vapid, I just don’t want a book to make my head spin in an attempt to get me to think. I do that on my own just fine.

So as guilty as I feel admitting it, I am giving up. Tapping out. Waving the white flag. Quitting. Throwing in the towel. I just can’t do it.

Miss Representation - A Scary Reality Check Everyone Needs to See

2012-05-15T13:57:00.002-07:00

A while back I heard about this documentary Miss Representation written and directed by Jennifer Siebel Newsom. Her husband, Gavin Newsom (yeah, thatGavin), was on the radio and talked about this project that his wife was working on. It sounded interesting, so I set my DVR to find and record it. It’s been sitting there for months, and I finally got around to watching it today. Actually, I am watching it right now. Half way through and I am already fired up enough to grab my laptop and start ranting.

I know I’ve probably turned you off by using the word documentary, which usually makes people run screaming. But believe me, this is no stuffy boring academic tome. It’s a vivid look at the way women in our society have been treated by the news, movies, television, advertising, and our government. So essentially, how we treat ourselves and each other.

It should be pretty obvious from the things I read and talk about on this blog that I have some strong opinions about the way women are treated in our culture. As much as we say that things are “getting better” for women, anyone with a TV, internet connection, video game console, or movie ticket can see that women are still treated differently - sexualized, objectified, ridiculed –by the media.

Actually, hold on. I’ve always hated that term. Blanketly blaming “the media” always seemed like a cop out. I never thought of the media as some independent entity out there creating magazines and newspapers. We, the people that write and consume these stories make up the media. So when we blame the media for the way it treats women, really we are blaming ourselves as a culture and society for allowing it to happen. But after watching Miss Representation I am inclined to change my mind.

Using interviews with some of our culture’s most influential and powerful women; Katie Couric, Nancy Pelosi, Condoleezza Rice, Dianne Feinstein, to name a few, it gives us a look at the way women have had to overcome sexism in all facets of their lives. There are also some terrifying statistics that paint a picture of how the media sees and treats women. Of how the men we elect to represent us often ignore the things that matter to woman. How advertisers cater to male tastes and desires, using women’s bodies to sell beer and cars. How news outlets focus more on female politician’s fashion than their politics. And how young girls are growing up and learning that the most they should aspire to be is a pretty face on a reality show.

Before I get a barrage of “hey what about the guys?!” let me say that Miss Representation does address how the media affects our young men. The flip side of the message is that boys should be strong, should be masculine, should be successful and see themselves as failures if they do not live up to the stereotype. But, as much as I agree that they have it rough too, I would much rather grow up with the pressure of being the hero than the damsel in distress.

Miss Representation is a fascinating, if not somewhat depressing, reality check. I think anyone with daughters, nieces, sisters, students, should watch it. Should share it with the young girls and women they know. The only way we as a society can start working to make changes, is to understand what’s happening. So go find a screening –look here for info – or host one if you can. Buy the DVD and show it to every young girl, and boy, you know. Teachers, use it in your classrooms if you can.(And no, I don't work there, don't have a horse in this race, just think it's worth the time and money.)

Seriously, find a way to watch it. You’ll walk away with a whole new perspective of the world we live in.

Everyone's got an opinion... here's mine on Obama's big announcement

2012-05-10T20:23:00.001-07:00

Ok. So, believe it or not, I do try to not be very political here. I’m fully aware of the fact that opinions are like assholes, everyone has one and thinks theirs is the prettiest shiniest most special one. Usually when something in the news strikes a nerve, I get all in a tizzy and gear up for what my sister calls a rant. I eventually calm myself down though, and remember that with the crazy state of our world, adding my voice to the fray won’t help the cause. But sometimes it’s hard to keep my mouth shut. Especially when it comes to things I’m passionate about.

Things like gay marriage. Of course, you’re all aware by now that our president, Barack Obama,
made a pretty historic announcement this week. And while I am not naïve enough to ignore the timing of his announcement considering the recent vote in North Carolina, and the super convenient timing of the “discovery” that Mitt Romeny was apparently a teenage bully, I still think it’s a pretty ballsy move.

So it’s not really things like this and this and this that have me fired up. I expect reactions like that from a segment of the population. Again – opinions and assholes.

What has me fired up is that gay marriage is an issue at all.

I’ve talked about this with a lot of people over the years, and I am constantly astonished by how some people don’t see their own ignorance and bigotry when they try to defend their anti-gay marriage stance. They say things like “Can’t they be happy with domestic partnerships?” and don’t realized that that’s the same as saying “Can’t women be happy with being paid a fraction of what a man makes?” or “Why can’t black people be happy with their own bathrooms?” Funny, I thought we all agreed that separate is not equal a while ago.

Let me illustrate my point with a little story.

A few years ago I was at a friend’s wedding, sitting at a table with my parents and some of their friends. Conversation turned to my parents, who back in the 70’s bucked tradition and pissed off their parents by foregoing a church ceremony and simply getting married in court. One lady at the table, in her old school way of thinking, asserted that since they didn’t have a church wedding, my parents weren’t really married. My mother, bless her patience, tried to make things clear to her by pointing to the couple we were celebrating.

“Look at Jack and Jill” she said. “Before they had their church wedding today, they had to go to court and get a marriage license, right?”

“yeah…” confused lady admitted.

“Ok, so if they had to go to court to get a marriage license, that is what makes their marriage legal and valid. This church wedding is a religious ceremony, but it does not make their marriage valid to the government.”

“Oh, so you’re saying Jack and Jill are married twice?” Confused lady did not get it.

Listen, I’m not trying to bash anyone’s religious beliefs here. I fully respect your right to believe and worship however you want as long as you are not shoving your religion down my throat or hurting anyone else.I even sort of respect a church's right to not perform a marriage ceremony for a gay couple, as icky as that is.

But the facts are that as a country, we have decided that marriage is regulated by the government. And our government does not discriminate. Therefore, basic logic dictates that if marriage is something regulated by the government, the government can’t discriminate by deciding who can and can’t get married.

I don’t understand why that is such a hard concept for people to grasp.

Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet - Jamie Ford

2012-05-01T14:45:00.000-07:00

I’d be surprised if anyone who grew up in California (like I did) isn’t at least somewhat familiar with the (crazy bigoted racist horribly stupid) Japanese American internment camps the U.S. government established during WWII. I assume it’s part of history classes across the country (at least I hope it is), but here in California, with our multi-ethnic pride and proximity to Japan, not to mention that most of this happened here, I have a feeling we spend more time on the subject than most.

I remember the feelings of confusion, shame, anger, and revulsion I felt when the reality of what happened clicked for me. As I sat in class listening to my teacher explain this piece of our national history, I felt sick. A lot of those feelings came rushing back as I read Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet by Jamie Ford. Years later, I still don’t understand how our country - one that prides itself on being a “melting pot”, that was founded by immigrants, that claimed to have open arms for all - rounded up thousands of innocent people, took their homes and property and forced them to live like animals. All because of where they came from.

Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet centers on Chinese-American Henry Lee and how his personal history becomes intertwined with the Japanese American internment. Ford tells two stories really; the story of Henry’s childhood in Seattle watching his neighborhood ripped apart by the fear and racism that hit after Perl Harbor, and the story of adult Henry in the late 1980’s dealing with the death of his wife and a sudden reemergence of his past.

Ford gives us a new perspective on this time in our collective past. Henry stands on the outside watching history unfold around him. With the “I am Chinese” pin his father forces him to wear, Henry feels both safe and guilty as he watches his neighbors forced from their homes. Through Henry, we understand what it was like to stand by and watch injustice happen. You want to speak up, but know you’ll only put yourself at risk – and honestly, who among us has the courage to do that? Torn between wanting to protect his family and wanting to right the wrongs he witnesses, we watch Henry come to grips with his role in history. Luckily, Henry is able to capture the pieces of his lost past in the end.

Reading Ford’s story today, it’s pretty impossible to not think about how easily something like this could happen again. Ten years after 9/11 a lot of Americans are still fearful of anyone who even remotely looks like they are from the middle-east. Fear can make people do a lot of stupid things. I just hope that stories like Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet make their way into the right hands. That reading stories like this one help us learn from our mistakes and prevent injustice from happening again.

You Can't Drink All Day If You Don't Start in the Mornin' ~ Celia Rivenbark

2012-04-25T16:16:00.002-07:00

You know those goofy ice breaker questions people ask at corporate events? Things like “If you were stranded on an island, what three items would you want with you?” and “If you could be any ice cream flavor, what would you be?” My favorite though, is always, “If you could have a dinner party with anyone, living or dead, who would you invite?” It’s my favorite because most people try to do the ass-kissy thing and rattle off names like Gandhi, Mother Theresa, Abraham Lincoln, Shakespeare, some long lost great-great-grandparent, or even Jesus. I assume they think this makes them sound intellectual; the equivalent of a beauty queen claiming that her biggest wish is world peace. Typically, this is when I’m rolling my eyes.

As with most things, my answer to this question is usually…askew…from most. My fictional dead-or-alive dinner party would include people like Lucille Ball, Chelsea Handler, Tina Fey, Joan Rivers, Jen Lancaster, Fannie Flagg, Erma Bombeck…basically a rotating list of funny women. I can only imagine the ab workout I’d walk away with after a vodka soaked evening with these ladies.

Well, I’m happy to announce I have found a new additional to my imaginary girl-fest: Celia Rivenbark. She has been popping up as a recommended author on both Amazon and Goodreads lately, and frankly when I saw the title, “You Can’t Drink All Day If You Don’t Start in the Mornin’” I pretty much couldn’t resist. I mean, who could?

Reading Celia Rivenbark feels a little like sitting on a sunny southern porch with a good friend, sipping cocktails and gossiping about the neighbors as they walk by. Not that I’ve even done that. Or even been to the south, really. But Rivenbark paints such a vivid image of the south, I can see it.

“You Can’t Drink All Day If You Don’t Start in the Mornin’” is a collection of essays covering things like what life much be like for a Jesus action figure sitting on a Walmart shelf, the annoyance of Gwyneth Paltrow’s lifestyle advice, the all too familiar pain of finding pants that fit, and how a southern mamma is supposed to compete with homemade bento boxed lunches popular in Japan.

No matter what she’s talking about though, Rivenbark does it with – I almost said “down-home charm” - but that sounds really cliché and insulting. Her voice is not the over exaggerated folksy southern twang you see on TV (I’m looking at you GCB). This is a real woman with a real voice. One that speaks to the reality of life for the average woman in America. A really funny average woman in America who would rather spy on her new neighbors while half-paying attention as her daughter sets up her Facebook account. A really funny average woman in America who made me laugh my ass off. Out loud. Often.

Apparently I am late to the party once again. “You Can’t Drink All Day If You Don’t Start in the Mornin’” is Rivenbark’s 5^th book. That means I need to get cracking on the other four. That way I’ll have plenty to talk about during our dinner party.

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

2012-04-21T19:14:00.000-07:00

I’ve said it before, there is a certain level of guilt that comes along with having a Kindle. I love books. I love book stores. And playing any part in the demise of actual paper books and the publishing industry makes me sad. But. I am also a practical (and frugal!) girl. And having a Kindle makes my book habit a little bit cheaper.

Case in point; one of the first things I did when I got my Kindle was download free stuff. Mostly classics. Once a book’s copy right expires, it becomes public domain. That pretty much means that nobody owns the rights, so nobody can sue you if you print or reproduce it. So Amazon makes a bunch of these free to Kindle users. Score.

This came in super handy a few weeks ago as I sat at the hair salon. There I was, looking all Steel Magnolias with my hair in foils, ready to sit back and read for the 25 minutes it would take to dye the grey away, when I realized that I had finished what I was reading. And that I didn’t know the salon’s wireless password, so I couldn’t download a new book. After the initial panic of being stuck with no reading material, I remembered – I’ve got The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.

I’ve always heard that House is a modern day take on the famous Mr. Holmes. And since House is a stable on our DVR (and who can resist Robert Downey Jr. in a frilly shirt?!) I figured it was as good a time as any to delve into the real world of Baker Street.

Not sure why it never occurred to me that The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes is a series of short stories. But considering the nature of Victorian serial publishing, when writers were typically paid by the word, it makes sense that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle tended towards the verbose. It also explains why each story tends to repeat certain elements. Read individually, it makes sense to reintroduce Holmes and his quarks to new readers. Read back to back, as they are in this collection, it becomes a bit maddening to be reminded over and over just how Holmes is able to come to his always correct conclusions.

I was ready for Holmes to be his Holmesian self though. What I was not so ready for was the absolute annoyance I felt for Dr. Watson. As a narrator he’s thorough, giving us every detail of each case and digging into Holmes’ thinking like an archaeologist. As a character, Dr. Watson is a ninny. He patters after Holmes like a puppy, always willing to drop what he’s doing to scurry off to find some missing jewels or a lost bride. (Poor Mrs. Dr. Watson, always left behind) After all the years they have supposedly worked together, Dr. Watson’s constant amazement at the way Holmes thinks is frustrating. How is he still unable to figure out how Holmes works? Why is he always so befuddled about what Holmes sees? I get it that he is there to play the role of the audience, to be astonished and in awe of Holmes so that we are too. But when you read these stories one after the other, like I did, I don’t see how anyone is left wanting to do anything but try to sell bemused Watson the Brooklyn Bridge. No way he’d figure that out on his own.

Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children - Ransom Riggs

2012-04-05T20:58:00.001-07:00

Despite reading a few reviews, and my sister mentioning it when she said Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children was on her list of things to read, it somehow escaped me that Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children is a Young Adult novel. That particular nugget only surfaced in my memory when I was a few pages in and wondering why in the world the language was so… off.

I’ve read my share of Young Adult fiction. Both as a kid and as an adult. Probably more as an adult. Don’t judge me. The major difference between this book and say, Harry Potter, is the language. Very rarely while reading good quality Young Adult books do I remember that I am not the target audience. I think that’s what makes certain Young Adult books so successful. Kids are drawn to Young Adult literature that doesn’t condescend to them, that respects their intelligence. But. (You knew it was coming, right?) The language in Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children felt a little…inauthentic.

Jacob, our 16 year old narrator, is dealing with the traumatic aftermath of the loss of his grandfather. He’s a typical 16 year old; annoyed at the world, pissed off at his parents for no real reason, freaking out about the future, and of course, dealing with some crazy out of this world drama, all while in the midst of the hormonal insanity that is being a teenager. (Yay for authentic Young Adult Literature!) But, as much fun as Jacob’s story is – and it is pretty fun – the way he talked drove me a little batty. One minute he is calling every one “dude” and the next he sounds like a 70 year old grandmother. It’s almost like there are two Jacobs. The Jacob that talks to people in the book, and the Jacob that talks to us as narrator.

Despite the language quirks, Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children ended up being a pretty darn entertaining book. Mostly because of the pictures. Let me explain. Ransom Riggs (that’s a real name!) collected old photos – the kind you see in old Civil War documentaries or find in antique stores – (the kind I always find creepy and that freak me out) and used them as inspiration for his story. The anonymous children in these old black and white photos become characters. The photography tricks become their special talents. It’s a crazy interesting concept. I can see why Hollywood is all over turning this into a movie – so many cool visuals!

I will say that reading this on a Kindle, where the image quality is not amazing, took away some of the fun. If you have a choice, get the real book, I have a feeling it’ll be better. (As always)

The Night Circus - Erin Morgenstern

2012-04-01T15:50:00.000-07:00

See, the thing is that I finished The Night Circus few days ago. And have been trying to think of what to say about it since. It’s a strange new habit I seem to have created; to start trying to put together an opinion half way through a book.

The problem here is that at the end, my opinion is pretty much… meh. I didn’t hate it. I don’t think it’s a bad book. It actually has a lot of the elements I usually dig; magical realism, a bit of suspense, a smidge of a love story, a look into a fantastical world. But they didn’t really come together for me. I wasn’t blown away. I could put this book down. And in fact did for a few days in the middle there with no guilt at all. Anyone that knows me and my obsessive reading habits knows what a big deal that is.

The Circus itself is basically a world of dreams. A world where anything is possible. With gardens of ice, labyrinths made of clouds, memory invoking smells and illusionists who don’t rely on tricks. The story though, left me wanting more. I wanted more magic. I wanted to be reminded of the magic in the mundane and every day. I wanted to be left thinking about how we each have the ability to live out our dreams. I wanted to love these people and their fantastical abilities. I wanted to be swept up into a world of illusion and color and love and fantasy.

Instead I felt more like I had just spent the evening at a boring wedding. You know the kind I mean. You don’t know many people so the conversation is tepid. The food is decent if you like wedding chicken and cold rice pilaf. The decorations look like handmade low budget Martha – not ugly, but not Pintrest “Repin” worthy either. The DJ plays enough music to get the crowd dancing but nobody breaks a sweat. You take a few pictures, but nothing worth framing. The next day when someone ask you how it was you say, “It was ok” and nothing more.

I wanted to rave about this book. But really, there’s not much else to say. The Night Circus is a perfectly fine book. But, that’s sort of like saying a homely girl has a good personality. And, really, who raves about her?

The Weird Sisters - Eleanor Brown

2012-03-24T17:53:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago, I talked about how books sometimes find their readers. Well. It happened again. Sort of. It’s like a story my high school psychology teacher told us once. One day, a college professor gave each of this students what he said was a personalized horoscope. Each student read theirs, and there was a lot of “oh my god that’s me!” and “Yes! That is exactly what’s going on in my life.” After a while, the professor told them to swap horoscopes with the person behind them. Turns out, everyone had the same one. The lesson here is that we read into things what we want to see. That we project our personal situations on the world around us. And, I guess, that horoscopes are bunk.

Maybe I’m projecting, but I know I can’t be the only one that had a few “Oh man, that’s totally me” reality checks while reading The Weird Sisters by Eleanor Brown. I hate to get all existential and weepy about things, but the truth is that there are times in everyone’s lives when you have to take a step back and evaluate. That’s what this book is about. Three sisters; Rosalind, Bianca, and Cordelia, all find themselves back home after years away. Each is dealing with a “now what” moment, trying to figure out what the next step is, and how the hell they got where they are in the first place.

As far as I can tell, there is no single moment when you realize you are an adult. It’s a series of small moments. Little things that make you realize you are not a kid anymore. Some more significant than others. Like the first time you see your parents weak. Or the first time you buy a car on your own. The night you realize you can have cereal for dinner and nobody can call you on it. When your friends start to have kids. Or the first time you see a gaggle of high school girls and think “man, was I that annoying at that age?”

You also realize you are an adult when you start wondering what you are doing with your life. When you find yourself questioning if the dreams you had when you were young are the life you want to live now. In their own way, each sister is dealing with her own crisis. Each is figuring out what their life has meant so far and where it is going. Facing hard truths about themselves and each other, they are forced to deal with reality. And well, they are forced to grow up. Dare you to find me a 30something who hasn’t had to go through that.

You can’t talk about The Weird Sisters without talking about the way it’s written. Brown uses the first person plural voice. She says it’s because, “this is a story about family, and one of the ideas I wanted to raise is that we carry our families of origin with us always. They help form the way in which we see the world, for better or worse, and no matter how we may feel about them now, they are a part of us.” It’s an unusual choice. A brave one. One I think works really well here. But one that also makes the book sort of confusing in some spots. It’s as if the sisters, their relationships, their shared history and experiences have a voice. It takes some getting used to. And in some areas it pulls you out of the story wondering who this “we” is and who’s talking.

Don’t let that scare you. The Weird Sisters in an incredible read. Anyone with a family will relate to the way siblings love and fight with the same urgency. Anyone who has had to question their future, their place in the world, who has wondered how those faded dreams of the life they were going to have turned into the sharp reality of the life they are living, will seem themselves in each of the sisters. I know I do. Or maybe I’m just projecting.

The White Queen - Philipa Gregory

2012-03-16T17:54:00.001-07:00

People who don’t read have a strange image of us bibliophiles. To non-readers we are a foreign breed of indoor plant. They assume we spend all our time in dark libraries with our faces buried in dusty books. When they find out you actually went to school to study books and literature – like I did – twice – you become an even more exotic flower. They tilt their heads and look at you through squinty eyes trying to figure out why you shun the real world. And they also assume you’ve got super highbrow taste in literature. It can be a lot of pressure to live up to.

So imagine the waves of embarrassment and panic rushing over me when I realized that the dude running the register at a local bookstore looked familiar. As I wandered around the shelves I realized that I had been a TA in a class he took. Now this kid, whose papers I had graded, was going to judge what I was choosing to read. And what I was about read was not necessarily something I was proud of.

See, I’ve read a lot of Philippa Gregory. And I’m not really sure why, but her books feel like a dirty little secret. I swear they are not as “romance novel” as they look. I mean, yes, there is a lot of love story going on. But what I like about Gregory’s books is the way she opens up a new view of history. Reminding myself of all this, I sacked-up (ovaried-up?) and walked out of there with The White Queen clutched in my hands.

One of the reasons I like historical fiction, which is mostly what Gregory writes, so much is for the untold stories. It’s easy to read a history book and learn about the battles fought, the territories lost, the political moves made. But what you don’t get most of the time is a view into what life was actually like while all the “history” was going on. And you especially don’t get to know what life was like for women.

The White Queen is a first in a new series about The Cousin’s War. Gregory weaves the story around Elizabeth Woodville; married to Edward IV and mother of the princes in the tower. Keeping track of what seems like 5 Richards, 3 Edwards, 8 Elizabeths and 4 Henrys (it’s like there were only 10 names on the whole planet for people to choose from!) as they battle back and forth for the throne of England can be confusing. This was a time when politics was a bloody contact sport. Men literally fought to the death for political power. Women were nothing more than pawns, used by their fathers and husbands to make deals and secure financial rewards. Most women had no choice but to stand passively by and watch their lives swirl around the ever changing political leavings of the day.

Not Elizabeth. As Gregory paints her, she is a fierce mother and even fiercer political player. Instead of standing on the sidelines and letting things unfold around her, Elizabeth takes an active role in her world. We watch as she reaches unimaginable highs and plunging lows. All while trying to protect her children, herself, her family, and her place in history. What Gregory does so well is craft one woman’s story set against a background of true events. The history becomes a part of the story, and we care about the outcome because we care about Elizabeth.

As messy as our political landscape is today, I’m glad we are in a more civilized place. Can you imagine Barack and Michelle making backroom deals to arrange the marriage of poor Sasha to John Boehner’s first born as the only way to secure a vote in congress? Though, the thought of Santorum, Romney, and Gingrich in a fight to the death would be much more entertaining than watching all those boring debates…

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society - Mary Ann Scaffer & Annie Barrows

2012-03-12T10:42:00.000-07:00

There’s a line a few pages into The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society where Juliet Ashton, our central character, muses that, “perhaps there is some secret sort of homing instinct in books that brings them to their perfect readers.” It’s funny, since this book sort of found me. Stalked me, actually.

A few weeks ago I was early meeting a friend for dinner and decided to spend the time wandering through a nearby book store. I love a good book store. Even one of the big ol’ big box variety - sprawling shelves of books are shelves of books regardless of whose selling them, I say. Before I knew it I had an armful, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society included. But, then the guilt kicked in and I did the good responsible thing and put them all back – why spend money on new books when you have unread ones at home – and forced myself to leave the store empty handed. Couple of weeks later, Goodreads.com (Not on there? You should be. Find me, we can be friends!) listed it as a recommendation. And then last week I went to my mom and dad’s house. Mom always has a giant shelf of books that I raid on a regular basis. The first thing I saw was a familiar cover. That’s when I realized that I better read this book before it invaded my dreams and chased me as I ran down the street naked.

So I set out. We start with a letter. And then a reply. And then another. And it took me about ten pages and a quick flip through the rest to realize, “oh, it’s an epistolary novel.”(That’s a fancy-pants way of saying a novel made up of letters and other “found” documents.)These are not always my favorite –think I am a bit traumatized by Clarissa and Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded - both I had to slog through in grad school and both that I wanted to toss into a weed whacker.

But this one was different. Because at the core, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society is about a group of readers, the books they read, and how reading transforms their lives. Uumm hello, I’m all over that.

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society (good lord that’s a long title – can we go with TGLPPS from now on? Thanks) is a kooky group of islanders trapped in the English Channel during the German occupation of WWII. Sounds like heavy stuff, and it is. There is a lot of sadness and tragedy going on in one small place.

But there is also a lot of joy. And for this group, most of that joy comes from the community they form. Each one is touched by books and reading in a different way. And each is saved in some way by their connection to literature. And each other. Regardless of what happens during the war, and after, the TGLPPS are and always will be connected through their love of reading. As we read their letters, we see it open their minds, heal their hearts, educate and entertain them, and change the way they see the world.

A few times I was taken aback by the way a TGLPPS member described reading and how it moved them. Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows were in my head, putting into words things about reading I have always struggled to describe to non-readers.

Reading is for the most part a solitary adventure. But we readers know that second to the joy of getting lost in a good book is the joy of talking about that book with someone else. That’s what this feels like. You’ll become member of TGLPPS when you read this book. It’ll make you want to reach out to a stranger and create a literary community of your own.

Maybe we can start here….?

Island Beneath the Sea - Isabel Allende

2012-03-08T18:14:00.000-08:00

It’s been a good week here in Nerdy Book Land. My sister had a baby! And since nothing near as exciting is going on in my life, I’m living vicariously through her. I’m also super amped to be expanding my auntiehood.

Being an aunt is the best. You get all the perks; the wet sloppy kisses, the tangled cuddles, the big hugs from tiny arms, and scrawled pictures where your crayon hair looks like snakes. But at the end of the day you get to give the kids back and sleep through the night. I would do anything for my little Puertoguecan nuggets (Portuguese and Puerto Rican, get it?!) While I am not her mom, I was hit with an overwhelming feeling of love for that little girl the first time I held her. It’s the same feeling I have for her older brother. It’s a primal, instinctual feeling – the drive to protect those little people with all you are. And if I feel that way as their aunt, I can’t even imagine what being a parent is like.

All the happiness and joy of the last few days made Isabel Allende’s Island Beneath the Sea hit home that much harder. At the heart of the story is Zarité. Born a slave as the result of her mother’s rape by a sailor on the ship transporting her to the Caribbean, Zarité’s story is the history of slavery in the late 18^th and early 19^th century. Of all the brutality she faces; chronic rape, beatings, emotional abuse, and countless other indignities, the worst is the gut wrenching way her children are ripped from her arms. Having just an inkling of the love a mother has for her children, it is unimaginable to me to think of what real women like Zarité suffered in similar situations.

Island Beneath the Sea is filled with all sorts of other unimaginable horrors. We’ve all learned about slavery. We all know how disgusting a practice it was and how shameful a part of our national history it was. We all learned about whips and beatings, about families torn apart and about unspeakable punishments leveled for minor indiscretions. Somehow though, over time, and maybe because it’s too painful to look at full on, we lost the details. We see movies like Roots and Amistad, but the reality of slavery has been somehow sanitized in our national memory.

Not so in this book. Allende captures the abject terror of the people living on plantations in a way that smacks you in the face. Hearing the white characters speak about slavery, justifying the practice, explaining why they do what they do, joking about rape, dismissing the humanity of people standing right in front of them – is almost worse than the physical acts of brutality she depicts. But those are pretty hard to stomach too.

My gut churned while I was reading Island Beneath the Sea. To think that this is how people really thought, talked and acted filled me with rage and disappointment towards humanity. But just like Nabokov did with Lolita, Allende manages to find a way to use beautiful words to tell us a painful story. And as much as we would like to ignore the ugly, the harsh, the dirty, the shameful, the truth is that we need it. How else will we learn? Facing these harsh truths through books lets me say to my niece and nephew, “yes, that happened. And if you feel bad about it now, then you have to work to make sure it will never happen again.”

Leave Angelina Jolie and Her Leg Alone

2012-02-27T11:50:00.000-08:00

OK, we all know I am a sucker for all things pop culture. So it should come as no surprise that last night was pretty much my Super Bowl. I love awards shows. And The Oscars are my favorite. Not only because I love movies, but its fun to see all those famous people crammed into a room and forced to play nice. I love it when a full-fledged movie star goes all snotty faced during an acceptance speech. And when you can tell their excitement and wonder at the whole thing is genuine. Truth be told though, it really is all about the dresses. I mean come on, who doesn’t love seeing all those gowns and shoes. I especially love it when someone goes all Helena Bohnam Carter or Bjork on the place.

This year amidst a sea of beauties, of course Angelina Jolie stood out. Think what you will of her – personally I see glimpses of a real person sometimes that make me think all that pretentiousness is a construct for the cameras. You can’t have six kids and take yourself too seriously. And anyone who works as hard as she does to do good in the world gets a few points in my book.

Last night she was in an especially…movie star… place. Yes, the dress was pretty. But that leg. I mean, we all saw it right? That forced pose. Like she was thinking, “Hey look! There is a slit in my dress! Check it out! Right here! It’s my leg! You guys! Can you see it?!” I guess there is no other way to show off a slit like that other than striking a pose. But it did look silly. And I LOVE that Jim Rash busted her out for it on stage. (See, The Oscars are so much fun!)

What should have been a non-story about a movie star trying a little too hard is taking a strange turn though. I saw this this morning, and have seen similar comments on facebook, twitter, US Weekly and a bunch of other places. Not exactly the most reputable sources, but still. More than the awkward pose, people are up in arms because Angelina’s leg looks too skinny. What is it that makes us have to criticize women this way? Why are women’s bodies always up for conversation? Why is it always ok to say someone is too fat, too skinny, too muscular, too frail, too… whatever?

Is it any wonder that girls are growing up increasingly worried about their bodies? That younger and younger girls are dealing with bulimia, anorexia and who knows what other crazy attempts to stay skinny, to live up to some mythical ideal. That things like this are happening to our young women all in the name of getting the boy. Being popular. Staying on top.

I clearly remember being in Angelina’s shoes. Ok, maybe not the fancy Ferragamo’s she had on last night. But I’ve been taunted and teased about my weight. At five foot two, I was well into my twenties before I broke a hundred and five pounds. And as much as I would never think to call anyone fat, to point out that they could stand to lose a few pounds, that their ass barely fit in a chair, I was commonly referred to as a “skinny bitch” and told to eat a sandwich. Whenever I tried to call people on it, ask why they thought it was ok to comment on my weight, they would just “oh whatever, you’re skinny, get over it” as if I had no right to be hurt or offended that someone was commenting on my body.

My point is that we just can’t win. No matter what, women will always feel the need to tear each other down. And if we do it, then of course men will jump on board and do it too. As long as we are a culture obsessed with appearance, women will always be the target of this hateful drivel. Yes, I see the irony in my stance here. I know that by reading these magazines I am adding to the problem. But I think there is a line between “oh, that’s a pretty dress” and “oh hell no, that bitch needs to eat a steak.”

So, can all we leave Angelina and her leg alone? Can we please accept that she is a smart capable woman who has her life under control? That yeah, she is skinny, but regardless of whether it’s the natural state of her body or the results of hard work, it’s her body to worry about? And that it is really none of our business.

You keep sticking that leg out Angelina, no matter how goofy you look. Stick it out for all women. Stick out your leg and be proud of yourself for all that you have accomplished. As a woman I stand next to you, leg firmly thrust forward. Supporting you. Hopefully this way, we can all start to back each other up instead of knocking each other down.

The Hunger Games Trilogy – Suzanne Collins

2012-02-23T11:45:00.002-08:00

Quick head’s up– I bought The Hunger Games Trilogy as one Kindle ebook and read all three at once. In my head, this is one story and it’s called The Hunger Games. Consider this your Spoiler Alert.

Ok. Moving on.

I was trying really hard to avoid jumping on The Hunger Games bandwagon. I mean, I am a grown ass woman. A grown ass woman who already has an unhealthy love for all things Harry Potter. The last thing I needed was to latch onto another series of books meant for kids. I do have some standards. And a life. (Sort of) But after a few weeks of “stop being a snob and just read it already” badgering by a friend, I didn’t really have a choice. (Sorry kids, try as you might, I draw the line at Twilight.) And of course - now I’m all in so Tally-Ho and all that - isn’t that what you say on a wagon?

Suzanne Collins should share her secrets to the CIA or NASA or The Dharma Initiative or someone because she has found a way to warp time. I sat on my couch at around 6pm and before I knew it was 3:30 in the morning and I was done with book one. And it kept happening. Every time I sat down to read, I would look up thinking 20 minutes had gone by only to find I had been tagging along with Katniss Everdeen and her band of warriors for hours.

As I got closer to the end, I was trying to figure out what it is about this story that had me, and so many others, so hooked. It’s a complicated mix of coming of age story, love triangle, and political thriller with elements of The Handmaid’s Tale and The Lottery , Survivor and Mad Max all rolled into one amped up concoction of violence, intrigue, suspense and small moments of calm. Back when I was 12, 13, 14, this story would have totally wigged me out in the best way possible.

The key I think, is Katiness herself. She’s a complicated character. More complex than most characters in most books for adults let alone kids. One minute you admire her strength, the next you want to smack her for being so selfish. Five pages later you have sympathy for her as she murders someone and then you’re back to thinking she is a bratty pain in the ass. Following her through a life of pain, suffering, confusion, highest highs and lowest lows, you can’t help but like and loath her. You become invested in her. You root for her. You root against her. You yell at the page and want her to turn left when she insists on turning right. While you might be cocooned on the couch wrapped in your cozy blanket drinking tea, really you are in Panem, right there at her side the whole time.

That realness, that rawness, that’s what Collins does so well. This story is alive on the page. You feel every moment of it, good, bad, terrifying, or lovely. You smell all the blood and gore. You see all the fashion and hungry faces. It’s beyond the school-girl “Team Peeta vs Team Gale” debates. For the record; Team Peeta all the way. This is a story that forces you to think about bigger issues. About governments and how they work to control populations. About sacrifice and what price you are willing to pay to save yourself, your family, your country. About our society’s need to always be on camera and what that does to the individual. About being put in unimaginable situations and how your actions and choices define you for the rest of your life.

I’m a little sad that I came to the party so late and I plowed through all three so fast. Now all I have to look forward to is the movies. Though I have to say, the idea of actually seeing this world live in front of me sort of makes up for it.

Cleopatra: A Life – Stacey Schiff

2012-02-20T13:53:00.000-08:00

Like (I assume) a lot of people, I didn’t know much about Cleopatra before reading Stacy Schiff’s biography. I’ve never really been into Egyptology – unless you count learning to walk like an Egyptian as a kid. Sarcophagi, mummies, pyramids, gold plated cats, that’s what comes to mind when I think of Egypt and since all those things tend to creep me out, I don’t think about Egypt very often.

Before reading Cleopatra: A Life if you said Cleopatra to me, I would picture Elizabeth Taylor with her cat eye makeup or maybe one of those horrible lamé costumes you see on Halloween. It’s shameful really, because in truth, Cleopatra was an astonishingly amazing woman and it’s sad that her life and legacy has been so distorted.

It’s not strange though, that Cleopatra has been relegated to the slutty-hussy bin of historical figures. The men who wrote her story would never let the true woman survive without spinning her intelligence into manipulation and her political dealings into the desperate flailing of a love-struck woman. Powerful women, especially those in Cleopatra’s day, are rarely given the credit they are due.

That seems to be the point Schiff is trying to make. She strikes a delicate, and really impressive, balance of citing sources, but also calling out those sources for their obvious biases. Cleopatra paid little respect to the self-important Cicero, so of course he writes about her with vitriol. Greek, Roman, Medieval historians were all on the same page according to Schiff, that “it’s always been preferable to attribute a powerful woman’s success to her beauty rather than to her brains, to reduce her to the sum of her sex life.” The actual facts of her life are often tainted by the opinion of the men who created the historical record. Schiff does an incredible job of sifting through the propaganda to find the real Cleopatra.

She was not a perfect woman. Hell she was far from it – she married both her brothers, and followed in her ancestor’s footsteps and murdering sisters, uncles and others that stood in her path to the throne. She concocted countless potions and poisons and tested them on prisoners and slaves. She used her intelligence, cunning, and sexuality – real talk – one of the few weapons available to women then (and now sometimes) – to influence king’s and change the course of history. And she ruled one of the largest empires alone for over 20 years.

I’m not really sure why Cleopatra doesn’t get higher billing in schools and history books. She was a successful leader and one of the most interesting political figures I have ever read about. I can only imagine what she would accomplish if she were alive today.

Santorum and Romney's Dangerous Game with Women's Health

2012-02-19T11:50:00.000-08:00

Been thinking about Margaret Atwood a lot lately. Partly because she’s wonderful and amazing. But mostly because all the talk of contraception and women’s health in the news lately has me revisiting the terror that is The Handmaid’s Tale. Every time I read it, I am left with a feeling in the pit of my stomach. I imagine it’s what cave man felt while hiding from a saber tooth tiger; crouching in the dark listening to a monster outside waiting to come and rip your loincloth off.

When I see stories like this, this and this, I can’t help but panic a little. I believe that this country will always be divided on abortion and contraception, but as long as women still have a choice, I’m ok with a dialogue on the issue. But when the Susan Komen Foundation stripped funding for Planned Parenthood, and when it’s “rumored” that the move was motivated by conservative leaders; that’s a whole other level of dirty politics. Men like Rick Santorum, Mitt Romney, and their conservative cronies are making names for themselves by focusing their campaigns on “traditional” values – most of which hinge on returning to a day when women knew their place was barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen.

Punishing women for the audacity of using birth control, for daring to want jobs and educations, for having the gall to have and express ideas and thoughts, and the wantonness to admit to having sexual desires – that’s what life in Gilead is about. And when I read comments made by Santorum, Ginirich, Perry and others lately I’ve been flashing to Atwood’s words. And that feeling of terror has been creeping back.

Some say The Handmaid’s Tale is a cautionary tale of what happens to a society that strays from traditional values and let’s women run amok. To me though, the scary thing about life in Gilead is how close some would have us to that world.

The Paris Wife by Paula McLain

2012-02-05T16:21:00.001-08:00

I have sort of a love hate relationship with Ernest Hemingway. It started some time in the 10th grade when I was forced to read “The Old Man and the Sea”. At the time, I thought it was the most boring useless book on the planet. But it also reminded me of my grandpa. He grew up on a tiny island in the middle of the Atlantic and spent his youth fishing and all sorts of other salty things.

Hemingway and my grandfather were cut from the same cloth. They were both MEN. In the most ferocious sense of the word. When I read Hemingway, I see the world as I think my grandfather must have seen it.

This came in handy during my Topics in American Literature class in grad school. We focused on WWI ex-pats. Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Stein, all those wonderfully glorious people running around drinking gin, smoking cigars, hanging out in cafes, and roaming the French coast. I never thought I was a major Hemingway fan, but I found myself defending him. A lot.

See, there were a few women in the class who hated him. Their post-feminist stance could not let them see past the womanizing, drinking, foul mouth and controversial opinions. Yes, Hemingway was a salty guy. Yes, he treated people horribly. But, just like my grandpa, there I saw a soft gooey center in there. Somewhere.

One thing we talked about a lot were the women in Hemingway’s books. And life. It’s a controversial topic in literary circles: can you appreciate a work if you don’t appreciate the author? How much should you know about an author’s real life, and how does that impact your reading of their work? With Hemingway, there is a natural overlap since A Moveable Feast is non-fiction and the story of “the Paris years”.

Admidst my defending, I did wonder about Hemingway’s woman, real and fictional. They were always seen through the eyes of the men around them, very rarely having their own voice or telling their own story.

I think that’s what I like about The Paris Wife by Paula McLain so much. It’s a glimpse into the life of Hadley Hemingway, Ernest’s first wife, in her own words. (And yes, I see the danger in having someone else tell her story – this is still not Hadley’s actual voice, but someone else telling her story - again.)

The Paris Wife made me want to reach out and hug Hadley. She was stuck on the precipice of two worlds; the Victorian upbringing pounded into her by her overbearing mother, and the excitement of the 1920’s. She embodies the beginning of the “women’s movement” while still holding to traditional values. It’s a challenge we as women still face; how to balance having a life of our own while still being good mothers and wives.

Hemingway didn’t make it easy for her. According to The Paris Wife, he wanted her to be one and all things to him; drinking buddy, lover, fan, caretaker, and understanding wife who stood by while he had affairs.

I find it incredibly sad the way it is impossible to talk about her without talking about him. I think it’s because he was such an imposing figure hanging over Hadley’s life. She was all consumed with him and his success, so much that her own life withered away while they were married.

But reading The Paris Wife, you understand her and her struggle to find her own place in the world. It’s a struggle many of our mother’s and grandmother’s went through and that a lot of us still deal with today. And I thank Hadley for paving the road.