Book Review: Hannah Coulter

Hannah Coulter by Wendell Berry

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


“Love is what carries you, for it is always there, even in the dark, or most in the dark, but shining out at times like gold stitches in a piece of embroidery.”

This is Hannah Coulter’s story, an ordinary woman who loves, loses, loves again, and loses again, gathering moments and memories along the way. Now in her seventies, she sifts through her life, taking out scenes and examining them, caressing them, sometimes finding joy and sometimes sadness, and then piecing them together.

Wendell Berry understands connection—the connection people have with each other and with the land. He understands the yearnings of the soul; the tender, quiet, beautify, ordinarily moments; the depth of love and feeling. Hannah is connected to a place—to the village of Port William, Kentucky—and to her farm there. (This is one of several novels that take place in Port William.) And she’s connected to people, both living and dead.

Berry's simple, poetic prose brought me to streaming-down-my-face tears—and that rarely happens to me while reading. Or at all, really. I was actually sobbing at the simple beauty of his words and the depth of his understanding. I felt mournful and yet optimistic, and incredibly grateful.

Absolutely one of my favorite books ever for its sheer loveliness and poignancy. I feel better for having read it, more cognizant of the small beauties of an ordinary life.



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Books Read in May and June

May

Firefly Lane by Kristen Hannah.
The story: Kate and Tully are best friends, growing up together on Firefly Lane. Kate is average but has a fabulous family; Tully is gorgeous but has no family. Kate wants an ordinary life; Tully wants fame and fortune. They novel spans their relationship from early teens through their 40s or 50s: through first loves, college, career, lost loves, parenting, etc.
Me: Meh. I couldn't get attached to either of the main characters or even to any of the characters. There was too much backstory left untold to make some of the more potentially interesting plot lines substantive. It was predictable and embarrassingly silly at times. It's hard for me to wrap my brain around the fact that Kristen Hannah wrote The Nightingale, which was phenomenal, and also wrote this.

A Piece of the World by Christina Baker Kline.
The story: Kline imagines the story of Anna Christina Olson, subject of the iconic painting "Christina’s World" by the  Andrew Wyeth. Olson and her brother are living by themselves in the old family farmhouse without water or electricity when Wyeth stumbles upon them and sets up his summer studio in their home. Christina's life has been a series of disappointments, from contracting a crippling disease as a little girl to losing her only love. Wyeth brings beauty and grace to Christina's world and allows her to see herself through different eyes. Wyeth's painting turns the once invisible Christina into a lasting treasure.
Me: It was hard to get into at first but I began really enjoying it about midway through. I didn’t know what was wrong with Olson— neither did she— and would have understood more had there been more detailed description as her disease began. Kline is a wonderful storyteller, and eventually I became completely immersed in Christina's world. Her own personal landscape was gray and tired, but Wyeth saw something completely different. I love that someone so ordinary could become a muse to someone so extraordinary, and thus become extraordinary herself. Highly recommended.

Hallelujah Anyway: Rediscovering Mercy by Anne Lamott.
I had the pleasure of hearing Anne Lamott speak recently. She was partly reading from Hallalujah Anyway and mostly just talking. She was truly wonderful. What an absolute privilege that evening was! Anyway, this memoir of sorts is Lamott's exploration of the concepts of grace and mercy. It's just a lovely book full of thought-provoking, comforting musings.
• “The hard silence between frustrated people always feels cluttered. But holy silence is spacious and inviting. You can drink it down. We offer it to ourselves when we work, rest, meditate, bike, read. When we hike by ourselves, we hear a silence still pristine with crunching leaves and birdsong. Silence can be a system of peace, which is mercy, easily offered to a friend needing quiet, harder when the person is one's own annoying self.”
• “My parents, teachers, and the culture I grew up in showed me a drawer in which to stuff my merciful nature, because mercy made me look vulnerable and foolish, and it made me less productive.”
• "Forgiveness and mercy mean that, bit by bit, you begin to outshine the resentment. You open the drawer that was shut and you take out hte precious treasures that you hid there so long ago, and with them, the person who marvels at tadpoles, who pulls for people to come clean and then have a second chance…"
It sounds trite, I know, but Lamott truly challenges me to be a better person: more compassionate, more forgiving, and more merciful.

JUNE

My Family and Other Animals by Gerald Durrell.
The Story: When Gerald Durrell was 10 years old, his family (his three older siblings, all in their late teens or early 20s, and his widowed mother) left dreary England for the sunny island of Corfu. Gerry is left essentially on his own at first: free to wander the island, make friends with the locals, and explore the incredible plant and animal life. Every now and then, his family would suddenly remember Gerry and decide he needed formal education, so a occasional tutors were hired—and they learned as much from Gerry as he did from them. Durrell remembers his island days with beautiful writing, hilarious stories, and incredible detail.
Me: I loved this book. It was our June book club pick and a particular favorite of our book club member's 18-year-old son. And I can completely see why: as I was reading this book, I saw Sam, her son, on every page. Durrell was bursting with curiosity as a young boy. He simply observed the world around him, soaked in every detail, befriended everyone, watched every animal-- insects, birds, reptiles-- adopted all kinds of pets, and wreaked havoc on his more "mature" siblings. He was simply delightful, as was this memoir. I laughed a lot and really wanted to re-do by kids' childhood by living off the grid. Lovely book.

Laughing Without an Accent by Firoozeh Dumas
The story: Firoozeh Dumas came to America from Iran as a young girl, and she recounts the hilarious and poignant story of her family's experiences in America in her memoir Funny in Farsi. Laughing Without an Accent continues with more vignettes of her Iranian family and their cultural conundrums, the often confusing intersection between American and Iranian customs, and her own place as a citizen of the world at large.
 Me: I've been meaning to read this book for years, so I was excited when a former student loaned it to me. Whenever I teach World Literature, I begin with Funny in Farsi. My students almost always love this memoir-- and always ask me if I've read Laughing Without an Accent. I'm glad I can finally say I have! This collection of stories is nearly as wonderful. Dumas is a humorist but she has these moments of truth that just hit hard. At the core of her memoirs is the intense love of family but also the theme of "why can't we all just get along?" Highly recommended.

You Will Know Me by Megan Abbott.
The Story: The Knox family has only one focus: getting Devon, their teenage daughter, to the Olympics. She's an incredible gymnast and perfect child, and everyone in the community is rooting for her. Well, rooting for her while seething with jealousy. And then the assistant coach's boyfriend dies in a violent accident, and everyone is a suspect. Secrets start piling up and relationships crumble, but the Knox family is determined that nothing will get in the way of Devon's success.
Me: Oh, this was good! It was all very riveting and suspenseful, with plenty of twists and turns and secrets revealed slowly. It was a quick, creepy read.

The House We Grew Up In by Lisa Jewell.
The story:  The Bird family used to be the perfect family. Lorelei was a creative, free-spirited mom to Meg, Beth, and twins Rory and Rhys. But then something happens to the Bird family. (The tragedy is revealed about midway through.) Once carefree and joyful, the tragedy leads to the demise of the family. They drift apart and then become disdainful of one other. Once best friends, even Meg and Beth refuse to speak to one another, and Lorelei dies alone, a hoarder in their once lovely home. The book shifts between the present, when the children are middle-aged, and the past, as we find out what actually happened-- and why.
Me: I liked most of the book, although a lot went on. Like, really a lot. Probably too much-- it became tangled a bit too much. But somehow it was all quite interesting, and I did get wrapped up in the characters. My biggest complaint is that the mystery finally revealed at the end of the novel was odd and didn't really fit with the rest of the novel. It was just plain weird. So... good, but not great.

The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper by Phaedra Patrick.
The story: Arthur Pepper has been a widower for one long and painful year. He goes through his days with precise and painstaking routine.  On the one year anniversary of her death, he decides he really must go through her belongings, and while sorting through her clothes, he discovers a charm bracelet that he's never seen before. He's puzzled but intrigued. Where did the bracelet come from, and why was she hiding it from him? The first charm leads him on a journey to uncover a life he never knew about—her life before she met Arthur and settled down. While he discovers who Miriam once was, he also discovers who he really is—and that there is a lot more life to live.
Me: I loved this book! It was our July book club read, and everyone agreed that it was wonderful. It's reminiscent of both A Man Called Ove and The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry—two of my favorite reads last year. Like Ove and Harold, Arthur is a lost, grumpy old man who discovers incredible joy—and the incredible writing in all of these novels just makes it all incredibly delicious. Highly recommended!

Books Read in March

March was a month of extraordinarily enjoyable books. If every month were like this one for reading, I would never get anything done. Ever. And yet… I only hope that April brings as many fantastic reads.

 Me Before You by JoJo Moyes.

The Story: Although she’s in her late 20s, Louisa takes her very ordinary life day-by-day. She really has no goals or plans for the future. She’s happy with the status quo, which includes living with her parents, her sister, and her baby nephew; continuing her long-term, comfortable though dull relationship with Patrick; and working at the coffee shop. And then the coffee shop closes, and she has to find a new job. She answers an ad for a companion for a quadriplegic, a job for which she is terribly unqualified. She knows nothing about medical care and nothing about the world that once belonged to Will. She’s never left her tiny English village; he traveled in the world of millionaires, seeking extreme adventure whenever he wasn’t closing multimillion dollar business deals. Will is trapped by his paralyzed body, depressed, angry, and suicidal. Louisa finds him rude and cold, but she desperately needs the money. Eventually, they learn to respect and depend on each other, and ultimately they fall in love. But is their love enough to convince Will that life is worth living?

Me: This was our March book club pick, partly because the movie is coming out soon, and it made for great discussion. I must admit that I never before considered what it would be like to live as a quadriplegic. I’m not convinced that Will’s argument was valid: he insisted that his life as a quadriplegic was worse than many other people’s because he lived for high adventure. He was really kind of a selfish jerk. Louisa notes that he never would have even noticed her in his old life—that she would have been part of the woodwork.  The book was full of topics for discussion. Moyes probably tried to encompass too many subjects and used too many stereotypes, but she knows how to write a great page-turner. We’re looking forward to the movie in June!

All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doeer.

The Story: The story takes place during World War II in France and Germany. Marie-Laure has been blind since childhood. Her father, the locksmith for the Museum of National History in Paris, takes tender care of her. Because he wanted Marie-Laure to have some independence, he constructed a miniature replica of their neighborhood so that she could memorize each twist and turn, eventually learning to navigate the real neighborhood. Their lives are happy enough until they are forced to flee Nazi-occupied Paris and move in with her great-uncle, who suffers from agoraphobia brought on my PTSD, to Saint-Malo in Normandy. Werner grew up in a German orphanage and is discovered by the Hitler Youth to be a genius at electronics. He is forced to track the Resistance movement. He is disgusted at his part in the war but is too weak to take a stand, which disgusts him even more. Eventually his story converges with Marie-Laure’s, and the results are unforgettable.

Me: Ahhhh. Now this was a beautifully, masterfully written book. I like a good sentimental plot-driven novel now and then, I’ll admit. But what I really love are beautifully written books with a poetic bent to them— books that make me ache with the sadness and the goodness in the world, with the wonder at how people survive terrible, true ordeals. This is a story of survival, of just how good people can be in the darkest of situations. This was a great month of reading, but this was by far the best of the reading list and will no doubt be a contender for my #1 spot this year.

We Were Liars by E. Lockhart.

The Story: Cadence Sinclair, age 18, begins the story: "Welcome to the beautiful Sinclair family. No one is a criminal. No one is an addict. No one is a failure. The Sinclairs are athletic, tall, and handsome. We are old-money Democrats. Our smiles are wide, our chins square, and our tennis serves aggressive. It doesn’t matter if divorce shreds the muscles of our hearts so that they will hardly beat without a struggle. It doesn’t matter if trust-fund money is running out; if credit card bills go unpaid on the kitchen counter. It doesn’t matter if there’s a cluster of pill bottles on the bedside table. It doesn’t matter if one of us is desperately, desperately in love. So much in love that equally desperate measures must be taken. We are Sinclairs. No one is needy. No one is wrong. We live, at least in the summertime, on a private island off the coast of Massachusetts. Perhaps that is all you need to know.” But, of course, there is a lot more to know beneath the surface—more than Cadence can possibly remember. Every summer of her whole life, Cadence and her cousins spend the summer on their family complex on Beechwood Island. They call themselves the Liars: Cadence, Mirren, Johnny, and Gat. They are the privileged children of a privileged family, rich and coddled and completing unraveling. Something happened the summer that Cadence was 15, but a traumatic brain injury prevents her from remembering. The novel moves in and out of her memory, flashing back from summer 18 to various summers, puzzling especially over summer 15. It’s a coming-of-age story of young love, family secrets, and carelessness.

Me: I whipped through this young adult novel in an afternoon or two. I seriously could not stop reading it. Lockhart is a beautiful writer: poetic and oh-so-lovely with powerful language and vivid images.  I had absolutely no idea what was coming and had to go back and read several chapters to see what clues I might have missed. I almost didn’t read this book because of the cheesy description: “beautiful, privileged, damaged. We are the Sinclairs.” But I am so glad I did. The writing was beautiful and the story riveting. Great for adults and older teens.

The Language of Flowers by Vanessa Diffenbaugh

The story: Victoria is a lost soul. She’s just aged out of the foster care system, and, at 18, is ready to live on her own. She is tough, distrustful, and angry except when it comes to flowers. During one year of her young life, she lived with Renata, a woman who taught her the language of flowers: that yarrow, for example, is a cure for a broken heart; that winter cherry indicates deception; that a wisteria stands for welcome. In a lifetime of foster care, this year was the only one in which Victoria was truly loved and accepted, and so, because it’s the only thing Victoria knows how to do, she sabotages her future as Renata’s daughter and heads back into the foster care system. Upon her emancipation at 18, she slowly begins to trust herself and trust people as she discovers that knowing the language of flowers can change lives.  She meets Grant, a young man who also understands flowers, and together they begin healing and restoring their brokenness.

Me: This was a fascinating book. I loved the lesson on the language of flowers and the thought of what carefully chosen flowers can do for people and relationships. (Bonus: Victoria’s “Dictionary of Flowers” is included at the end of the book.) I thought this was a fantastic portrayal of the challenges of foster care, for the child with an attachment disorder, for the social worker, and for foster parents. Victoria sabotages her happiness over and over again because she considers herself so unworthy of love, not because she wants to hurt other people. Her story is handled with tenderness but without romanticizing her future and the lengthy healing process. And I loved the charter of Renata, the woman who loved Victoria as a daughter. Highly recommended—but warning: you’ll want to have flowers in your house all the time, and you’ll wonder what they are saying about you.

The Museum of Extraordinary Things by Alice Hoffman

The story: The novel tells of two young people whose lives become intertwined. the sections switch between Coralie, the mermaid girl, and Eddie, the finder. Coralie’s father is the owner of The Museum of Extraordinary Things in Coney Island in the early 1900s. He is a collector of unusual things, like a dwarf albino alligator, and of unusual people: Siamese twins, a wolf-man, the Butterfly girl, the bird lady. Coralie is unusual too: she has webbed fingers, which she keeps hidden always beneath white gloves. On her tenth birthday, Coralie’s father presents her with her destiny: she is to be the museum’s “human mermaid.” For a while, she becomes the star of the museum, but then things change.

Eddie, born Ezekiel, is a young Jewish man who has renounced— or tried to renounce— his faith and his name. As a child, he and his father escaped their Ukrainian village during a pogrom and made it to Brooklyn, where they are employed as tailors in a factory. Eddie, full of anger at their circumstances, strikes out on his own in a business he things his father would be ashamed of: he works for a “fortune teller.” His job is to track down lost people, errant spouses, missing children. He is good at his job, and for years he mingles with the dregs of society, listening to “loathsome” tales and encountering all kinds of things that a young boy should never see. But in his late teens he encounters a photographer who changes the course of his life, and he quits finding lost people on seedy streets and instead begins finding beauty through photography.

Me: I loved this novel. There are some graphic parts in Coralie’s story that are truly horrifying and difficult to read. Her father is an unscrupulous monster who will do anything for money. But Coralie is a precious, lovely character with an innocent heart and a great capacity for love. Eddie is a rough character at times, but his heart ultimately matches Coralie’s. There are so many kind and compassionate characters in this novel that her father’s cruelty is ultimately defeated. I think I can say that without giving away too much of the book. This was a fascinating story. There were parts that were extremely disturbing, but the triumph of good over evil is clear and satisfying.

Learning to Swim by Sara J. Henry.
The story: On a ferry ride, a young woman named Troy sees a child in the water, presumably fallen from a passing ferry. Without thinking, she dives into the water and rescues the child. The little boy seems to be an orphan at first, but gradually the story comes out that he was kidnapped. Troy finds his rich father eventually, and she takes the little boy back to him. The mystery, then, becomes finding the kidnappers. Somehow, Troy takes this into her own hands to do. Ultimately, she does discover the mystery and nearly dies doing so. Yawn.
Me: Meh. I liked the narrator/main character, Troy. I liked the little boy and his Dad. But the whole story just fell kind of flat for me. I kept thinking that something really exciting and surprising was going to happen as I slogged through details of Troy cleaning and repairing her bike, teaching computer skills, and shopping. I was looking forward to that "Ah! I didn't see that coming" moment, as I wondered why this rich father and the police weren't able to locate his son during his 5 months of captivity. Instead, the story became laughable when all is revealed. I think I actually shook my head in astonishment, and I know I rolled my eyes. It was all so contrived and so neatly wrapped up in about 10 pages at the end. What?? I had to go back and skim a few chapters to see if I'd missed a bit of foreshadowing or something. Nope. Apparently this is the first in a series featuring Troy, and I will not be reading the series.

Book Review: The Thirteenth Tale

I read this book by Diane Setterfield many years ago and absolutely loved it. (My woefully short review is here.) I just spent a lovely weekend re-reading it for book club. This is one of those times I am grateful that I can rarely remember what happens in books and movies because I had forgotten everything that happens in this wonderful novel.

First of all, Setterfield is a beautiful writer. Her prose is poetry, her insight speaks to my core. Next, Setterfield is a masterful storyteller. This is a book that is hard to put down, the kind you keep thinking about as you go about your day and can't wait to get back to when your day's activities are finished. I even took the luxury of reading this one on the couch during the day, which I don't usually do.

This is a kind of ghost story, a mystery, a love story, a story of families gone horribly wrong and also being repaired or forged anew.  It's a story of discoveries and confirmations. Famous author Vida Winter is dying, and she wants someone to tell her true story. She picks Margaret, a quiet young woman who works in her father's bookstore.  Margaret reluctantly enters into this relationship as Vida Winter's biographer but ultimately does everything she can to find the truth in Vida's tale.

The novel was a big hit in our book club, and we rarely all love a book. One of our members pointed out that it is extremely disturbing. There are scenes that are hard to scrub out of one's memory, although I assured her that I had no recollection of those scenes these many years after reading it for the first time. We all agreed that we wanted to underline whole paragraphs because Setterfield's writing is so beautiful, especially when she is talking about the power of families and the necessity of books.

I'm glad I had a chance to read The Thirteenth Tale again, and I am excited to see that Setterfield finally has another novel due to be published in November, Bellman and Black: A Ghost Story. If you like Kate Morton, you'll love Diane Setterfield.

Linked up at Semicolon's Saturday Review of Books

Book Review: The Story of Beautiful Girl

Oh my goodness. Having a head cold is kinda miserable but kinda awesome—awesome because I was too miserable to do anything but lie in bed and read for two whole days. I read three novels. I'm thinking about maybe faking a cold each month.

The Story of Beautiful Girl by Rachel Simon: I can hardly even say how much I loved this. The story is about Lynnie, a beautiful inmate at the School for the Incurable and Feebleminded; Homan, a deaf man who is also locked away there; and Martha, a widow in her 70s who becomes tangled in their lives.

Lynnie and Homan are madly in love and have managed to escape the institution—but only for long enough for Lynnie to give birth to a baby girl. They seek refuge briefly with Martha, and Lynnie begs her to hide the baby. Martha does—for decades.

The rest of the novel spans 40 years or more, reflecting on Lynnie's and Homan's childhoods and reasons for being at the institution; detailing their terrible lives within the facility; following Martha and Julia's life together; and unfolding how their lives, forever intertwined, ultimately are restored.

I absolutely loved this novel. Simon is a compassionate but not overly sentimental writer. All the characters were richly drawn and practically palpable. She has obviously done tons of research on this history of mental institutions and institutional reform. I have put her memoir Riding the Bus with My Sister, her journey of riding a bus with her intellectually disabled sister, on my TBR list. Highly recommended!

Book Review: The Forgotten Garden

Oh, Kate Morton, how I love you!
The House at Riverton was wonderful.
The Distant Hours was simply delicious.

But The Forgotten Garden? It was just, well, it was everything I could possibly want in a novel. A mystery with a ghost story feel. Romance, lost love, found love, familial love, orphans, good guys, villains, a manor, a secret garden (and speaking of that, well-done cameos with real life figures), fairy tales, and did I mention suspense?

Well, and then, of course, Kate Morton is a writer of astounding grace and perspicacity. I mean, I know that no one is perfect and all that, but quite possibly, Kate Morton is a perfect writer. Really.

OK, so here is the story in a nutshell: a little girl is lost on a big ship while waiting for the Authoress to come back to get her. But the Authoress never does, and when the ship lands in Australia, the little girl, assumed to be an orphan, is adopted by the dockmaster and his wife. When she is grown, the dockmaster tells Nell the truth—or as much as he knows of it. Chapter by chapter, the truth is gradually uncovered, sometimes by Nell and sometimes by her granddaughter, Cassandra. Who is the Authoress? Who is Nell? Why was she left alone on a ship bound for Australia?

The cast of characters reaches far back into the life of the Authoress. You'll meet a man in a black suit, a Dickensian harridan, an obsessive uncle, a kindly old fisherman, a beautiful invalid, a wicked aunt, and, of course, a garden maze that follows many twists and turns and dead ends. 

Please read this book. And please, Kate Morton, MORE!

Book Review: The Kitchen House

Oh my goodness. Have you read Kathleen Grissom's The Kitchen House? If not, go quickly and buy it, borrow it, or take it off your TBR pile. I wish I had another book guaranteed this good to anticipate!

The Kitchen House is the story of Lavinia, a little Irish immigrant orphan who becomes an indentured servant on a Virginia plantation, and the family that raises her—and the family that owns her. What Lavinia doesn't understand is that she is white and her adopted family is the property of the master: the slaves of the big house.

As she grows into womanhood, she is forced to acknowledge that she is a white girl, and her family is black. What she refuses to deny, however, is that they are, indeed, her family. She has to learn to carefully straddle the two worlds, to protect those she loves, and to simply survive a brutal introduction into adulthood.

I know. It sounds like a "been there, done that" kind of novel. The plot line I've given merely scratches the surface. There is nothing sentimental or trite about this novel. Grissom is a master storyteller. Told from the perspectives of both Lavinia as well as Belle, her adoptive mother who is the master's illegitimate daughter, the novel is fast-paced, beautifully written, and absolutely compelling.

In an interview, author Grissom hints that she may be writing more on some of the characters in this novel. I can only hope!

Linked up on Semicolon's Saturday Review of Books

Book Review: My Name Is Mary Sutter

As Robin Oliveira's first novel, My Name Is Mary Sutter has set the standard high for the author. This novel set during the Civil War was so fabulous, so compelling that I mourned when I had finished it. I mean, not like sobbing uncontrollably or anything like that, but I was bummed. I wanted more.

Mary Sutter is a strong young woman who has a singular focus: to be a surgeon. During Civil War times, this was considered outrageous. Women were nurses, not physicians. Mary futilely attempts to intern with a few surgeons, but they all refuse her. Ultimately, she escapes from her privileged home in Albany, New York and heads to Washington, DC, where she is thrown into a gritty world of amputations, pain, exhaustion, and constant heartache. In a rundown hotel-made-hospital, she becomes a surgeon.

I have nothing but praise for Oliveira. Her writing is delicious. Her characters are vivid and memorable; the dialogue is excellent; the historical perspective fascinating. I will wait with expectation for her next novel and hope it can be even half as good as Mary Sutter.

A great companion to this novel is March, by Geraldine Brooks, which I reviewed recently. The two together depict a side of the Civil War that doesn't get as much attention as the battles and lives of soldiers.

Thanks to Wisteria at Bookworm's Dinner for the initial recommendation of this novel!

Other Reviews of My Name Is Mary Sutter
Fiction Writers Review: "Mary herself is a symbol of what women have historically brought to the American experiment, showing incredible tenacity in the face of injustice and patient nurture in the aftermath of violence."
ReadSpace: "Combine that with real people and events from history, a set of very human characters who give perspective to what is happening, and even a love story and this book moves beyond just a Civil War story."
CaribousMom: "In the pages of her novel, Oliveira captures the chaos, death, and trauma of under supplied hospitals and overwhelmed doctors and nurses…bringing to life the amazing stamina and courage of those who filled those roles."
My Friend Amy: "…should appeal to readers interested in the history ofmedicine, war-time medicine, the advancement of women's rights, and the Civil War."
Take Me Away Reading: "his was truly a powerful book with a strong female lead."

Book Review: Bloodroot

I've been reluctant to write this book review, because writing a review forces me to face that I really am finished with this first novel by Amy Greene.

I didn't want Bloodroot to end. I miss it.

Bloodroot is a story of four generations of the Lambs, an Appalachain mountain family both blessed and cursed—literally. They are people who are part of the mountain and yet can't resist, in the later generations, the draw of what's below. The sections are narrated by different pairs of characters in different time periods. This particular layout has a tendency to confuse me in novels, but in this case, Greene does a great job of labeling the chapters and voices.

Greene is a wonderful storyteller, and she obviously has a deep love for and understanding of the mountains and Appalachia. She doesn't paint a picture of happy mountain folk out gathering ginseng. Instead, we see the poverty on the mountain woven in with the love of the mountains, and we see the truth of foster care, alcoholism, abuse, ignorance, and a yearning for something more. She manages to tell satisfying stories about a whole cast of characters, although I would love to read a novel about each individually.

Greene is a lyrical writer who weaves just the right amount of mountain magic into her words. I highly recommend her first novel and look forward to many more.

Other Reviews of Bloodroot
Fiction Addict
This Is This
Life Is Short. Read Fast.
Mostly Fiction
New Dork Review

Book Review: Olive Kitteridge

I didn't know what I was getting into when I began reading Elizabeth Strout's Olive Kitteridge. That's kind of what I do: I put a book on my TBR list because of a glowing recommendation or 12, and then I forget all details about the book, completely trusting myself that I want to read it. And so I had no idea that Olive Kitteridge is a collection of 13 individual stories that take place in the little town of Crosby, Maine, all linked by one formidable woman: Olive Kitteridge.

In many ways it's a modern-day Winesburg, Ohio, although a bit more cheerful, if my memory serves me right. I haven't read Sherwood Anderson's collection of linked stories in over 20 years, but I remember feeling rather depressed upon finishing. (Obviously, I'll have to go back and read this now.) Strout follows a similar formula in Olive Kitteridge. Each story is a slice of life of one character or family in Crosby, Maine: a young man about to commit suicide, a widow who discovers that her husband had an affair, an anorexic addict. Somewhere in the story his or her life crosses paths with Olive Kitteridge. Sometimes Olive just has a cameo, but often she plays a pivotal role in the story.

The stories encompass about 30 years, from the time Olive is a middle-school English teacher who terrifies most students, to her life as a widow, struggling to come to terms with who she was and is. In stories that feature other characters, we see Olive is a variety of dimensions: is she a hardened old witch, or a compassionate caretaker? Was she an abusive mother or an encouraging friend? If you've ever experienced that disconcerting feeling that comes when someone describes you in a surprising way—a way that you don't think about yourself—you'll appreciate the way Strout reveals the multi-dimensional Olive.

I've been saying this a lot lately (October and November have been great reading months!), but Olive Kitteridge will surely land on my Top 10 list this year. Beautiful writing, fascinating stories, and rich characters—it's all there. I don't always say this, but I'm glad this one won last year's Pulitzer.

Other Reviews of Olive Kitteridge
Babette's Book Blog
She Is Too Fond of Books
Home Girl's Book Blog
Gently Hew Stone
Peeking Between the Pages
Book Club Classics

Book Review: My Name Is Asher Lev

I had a friend and fellow bibliophile in college who always said that Chaim Potok's My Name Is Asher Lev was her favorite book. I always meant to read it. I had read The Chosen and The Promise, but somehow I never picked up Asher Lev.

I was prompted to read it now because it will be the "common book," required of all first-year students, at Belmont University this fall, where my son will be attending. I've already read and reviewed the University of Tennessee's choice this year for its Life of the Mind program, Mountains Beyond Mountains. The two universities picked completely different types of books, so it's really impossible to compare their two choices. (Let's just say I struggled to complete Mountains Beyond Mountains, but I felt immensely fulfilled when I finished My Name Is Asher Lev. But beyond being required reading for freshmen, the two have little in common.)

Asher Lev's world is confined to the strict beliefs and traditions of the Hasidic community, post World War 2. Asher's only duty as a young boy is to be an obedient Jew, to study the traditions and to someday be a leader in this strict sect, like his father. But Asher Lev is not like his father. Asher has a a gift that his father considers straight from Satan: he is an artist. Asher tries to put aside his art, but it is evident from a very early age that his gift can't be buried.

The novel takes us from Asher's first memories as a boy of about four into his early 20s. His life is filled with struggles: as an artist struggling on a personal level, as a Hasidic Jew in a secular world, as a son who betrays his parents. His life is full of guilt and torment, but he is unable to sacrifice his art for the sake of his family and his community.

Throughout the novel, Potok clearly expresses the burden that often accompanies great genius. His writing is powerful; the nuances of relationship are practically tangible. The character of Asher Lev will stay with me for a long, long time. I am going to add the sequel to this book, The Gift of Asher Lev, to my reading list.

Book Review: Cutting for Stone

I don't know if it's possible for me to do this book justice in a review. I have to say, right off the bat, that I am a huge fan of Abraham Verghese. I became enamored with him in the early 1990s with his memoir My Own Country. Turns out that Dr. Verhese and I were living in the same town in upper East Tennessee (Johnson City) at the same time—in the mid-to-late 1980s. I was a college student, and he was a young doctor specializing in infectious diseases at the Veterans' Hospital, where I used to take walks. About the same time that most of the U.S. was becoming acutely aware of AIDS, Dr. Verghese was discovering a huge pocket of AIDS cases in upper East Tennessee, and he became the local AIDS expert. My Own Country is the powerful book that came out of his experiences dealing with people, mostly men, coming home to the mountains to die. Verghese is a tremendous writer, full of lyrical medicine and poetry.

I was excited several years later when The Tennis Partner was published. This memoir details his relationship with his medical student and tennis partner, who, like many in the medical profession, becomes a drug addict. Again, Verghese's writing is simply exquisite. I was privileged to get to hear Dr. Verghese read at a small bookstore in Knoxville after The Tennis Partner was published, and I have to say that he reads just like he writes. I was smitten all over again.

And now 10 years later, Dr. Verghese gives us his first novel, Cutting for Stone. This is a magnificent novel, following the short life of Sister Mary Joseph Praise and then the longer ones of her twin boys and their adoptive family, from India to Ethopia to New York City. As in all of Verghese's works, the setting is a hospital, and medicine is woven intricately in with the story of this family. Verghese does wonders with his characters. They are all practically visible and nearly all loveable, in spite of their mistakes. (And if they aren't loveable, than at least we understand why.)

I really can't do this book justice in a review. Verghese is so eloquent, his subject matter fascinating, the characters so rich: you just have to read it. Toward the last quarter of this book, I almost dreaded reading it because I didn't want it to end. I seriously hope we don't have to wait another decade for Dr. Verghese's next book.

**ADDENDUM** I had an email from Abraham Verghese himself in response to my review! My heart went pitter-patter, truly! And he sent me this link to a fantastic review by Simon Schama of Financial Times.

Book Review: The Other Side of the Bridge

I read Mary Lawson's Crow Lake two years ago (very short review here) and was mesmerized. I've had The Other Side of the Bridge on TBR list since then. As much as I loved Crow Lake (a lot), I am happy to say that Lawson's second novel is even better. I read this immediately after The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, a wildly popular book right now (my review here). I wish I had read one not-so-good book between the two, because The Other Side of the Bridge was so outstanding that it did somewhat diminish my appreciation of Guernsey.

This novel tells the stories of brothers Jake and Arthur Dunn beginning in the 1930s, alternating with the story of teenager Ian Christopherson 20 years later. They all live in an isolated town in northern Canada, where some souls thrive and some shrivel up and must escape. Jake and Arthur are brothers with a Cain-and-Abel relationship. Lawson handles this familiar theme beautifully. Jake and Arthur are so fully portrayed that I could see them, and that is not always easy for me as a reader. Alternating chapters tell Ian's story, which intersects with the adult Arthur and his family. Ian is the son of the town's doctor and destined to become the third Dr. Christopherson.

Sometimes I finish the last few chapters of a book and feel as if the author was just tired of writing and wrapped things up too neatly, or not enough. One of the things that Lawson does so well is to tell these two stories, bring them together, provide closure, and never give the reader a sense of hurrying the story along. She is a stunning writer.

If you enjoyed the popular Crow Lake, you will love The Other Side of the Bridge. If you haven't read either, you are in for a couple of fantastic novels.

Book Review: The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

This book (with the very long title) by aunt/niece team Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows has been getting rave reviews throughout the book blogging community—and this is one bandwagon I'm jumping on. And don't let the title throw you; it sounds like one of those silly fluff books, but it really isn't.

The book is written as a series of letters, which was exactly the right choice to unfold this wonderful story of a writer searching for a subject, a war-ravaged island, and its inhabitants. It's London in 1946, just after World War II, and author Juliet Ashton begins corresponding with the residents of Guernsey. She is amazed to discover that the islanders spent the war under German occupation and had no contact with the outside world. During this time the Guernsey Literary Society was accidentally formed, and Juliet seeks out their stories through a series of letters. Eventually she visits the island, and the story continues there.

While it is true that much of the novel is predictable and wraps up so very nicely, I really didn't care. The writing is wonderful, the characters rich and distinctive, and Juliet's voice is fabulous. I knew absolutely nothing about the German occupation of Guernsey during WWII; in fact, I knew nothing about Guernsey at all prior to reading this book. I think an excellent sign of historical fiction, however light it is (and this book does have some tragic moments), is that it makes the reader want to explore the topic at a deeper level. And, of course, I think all readers want to travel to Guernsey upon finishing the book!

After having two book flops to start off the year, I was thrilled to find this book at our library. While it is early in the year, I imagine that The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society will end up on my Top 10 list for 2009.

Book Review: Atonement

Now—after reading On Chesil Beach and Atonement in less than 24 hours— I know why everyone is reading Ian McEwan (and why McEwan is on Entertainment Weekly's list of New Classics). He is brilliant.

The writing in Atonement isn't as sparse and conservative as it is in On Chesil Beach. This is a more complicated novel in terms of characters and twists and turns. There is more to keep up with in this novel that spans several decades, but you won't feel as if you're working to keep up.

The most basic storyline itself is a terrifying one: a precocious 13-year-old girl, Briony, creates her own truth about an event, and everyone believes her. With her gigantic lie, she alters the lives of her whole family. Does she have the courage to take back what she said?

The novel begins with Briony at 13 and ends with her in her 70s. Through much of the novel I longed to slap Briony across her silly, smug face. But the possibility of a lie being told and stuck to: terrifyingly true. How many times as children did we tell a little lie and have to remember it and stick to it later? Most of our lies were probably "innocent" cover-ups ("I'm not the one who broke the glass!"), but even a little lie is just a step away from one that is big enough to alter our world.

As I said in my review of On Chesil Beach, McEwan is a master storyteller and a true craftsman. I will be reading through the rest of his novels soon.

Book Review: On Chesil Beach

I came to Ian McEwan's On Chesil Beach knowing nothing about it except that lots of people have recently read and recommended it.

From the first paragraph, I realized I was about to read something by a master author. I guess I subconsciously group authors, and I'm not through puzzling out my exact groupings, but one of them is "master." There is something masterful in every sentence that McEwan writes. In literature classes in college and in AP English in high school, I was taught to pay close attention to everything I was reading because writers choose their words carefully. I realized as I began this book (and Jayber Crow also comes to mind) that I have largely let that power of concentration slip away amidst a sea of good plot reads and intriguing, though not necessarily powerful, characters.

But with McEwan, I have to sit up and pay attention. He demands it.

The primary story takes place in just a few hours in 1962: the wedding night of newlyweds Florence and Edward. Key to the novel is that this all happens just a few years before "moral liberation" of the 1960s. Frances and Edward are innocent; they haven't even spoken of their physical relationship before this night. And Frances is absolutely terrified. Between scenes of the wedding night, McEwan takes us through their year or two of courtship. Unless you've read other book reviews, you don't know whether they are headed for marital bliss or disaster (and I won't tell you here).

McEwan is never frivolous with his language, and I love that. He is intense, poetic, and grave. There is a strong sense that life was more serious then—that today we are conditioned to being casual with consequences. Although this is a fast read at 203 short pages, this isn't a light beach read. I loved On Chesil Beach so much that I immediately (literally, as I had it with me) began reading Atonement. Review of that coming up soon!

If you've reviews On Chesil Beach, feel free to leave your links in the comments.

Book Review: The Sky Isn't Visible From Here

In a recent post I mentioned my love for memoirs. Done well, a memoir reads like carefully crafted fiction, redolent of storytelling at its best. (Done poorly, a memoir makes you want to throw the book violently, or perhaps have a book club session in which you roll your eyes a lot and seriously question the veracity of the author.)

The cool thing about a memoir is that it's not fiction. When we get caught up in fiction, we readers understand that, while the characters and events may be based on fact, it's still just a story. Happy ending or tragic ending, it's made up. But a memoir: this is real stuff. Felicia C. Sullivan is a real person (here's her blog to prove it) who survived an incredibly rough, volatile childhood only to battle her own drug and alcohol abuse, ultimately emerging—fiercely—into this "author, foodie, and rockstar."

The Sky Isn't Visible From Here alternates between Felicia's childhood in Brooklyn and her college and post-college years. Central throughout each chapter is Felicia's relationship with her mother: a manipulative, unstable, selfish, drug-addict. The chapters are neatly compartmentalized for much of the novel, just like Felicia's post-Brooklyn life:

I had been in perpetual chrysalis for most of my life, but during college I'd become an expert at transformation. I turned into a walking J.Crew catalog: preened, preppy, and audaciously New England. Lake a barnacle, I clung desperately to my affluent Waspy friends, most of them blonds who owned platinum Rolex watches that cost more than used cars. Unbeknownst to them, they were my teachers on all matters of etiquette and style. I mimicked their expressions and copied their wardrobes. … And I never let down my hair. Literally. I have curly hair— the kinky, unruly kind — but I wore it ironed straight. The difference between wearing my hair straight or curly was the difference between life and death.

Like Jeannette Walls in The Glass Castle, Felicia Sullivan takes great pains to keep her childhood separate and secret from her Ivy League friends. Eventually, though, the two worlds collide and Felicia crashes, ultimately losing friends and love when her cocaine and alcohol use spins out of control. The scenes of alienating her friends and of her losing Ben are painful and heartbreaking:

I am afraid I'll never kow this love again; never hold it between two fingers, because I'm busy letting myelf slip away from myself. From a distance, love seems entirely too hard, always a mopping up, a sweeping down. Who you are is never enough. You need a catch phrase, a story that makes everyone laugh.

You can't help but root for Felicia. You might even stalk occasionally visit her blog, anxious to read that she is still okay. Her blog also has a great collection of interviews, including this one here at All Things Girl and this oneon Ploughshares Blog. Felicia Sullivan's story is fascinating in itself, but her writing makes the memoir breathtaking.

My creative writing thesis was a mixture of poetry and memoir. It was a requirement that we have one person outside of the English department be a part of our defense committee. One of my professors suggested a woman in the architecture department. She wore a shiny yellow rain slicker to my defense and looked angry to be there. Put out. "Why," she said, "Would I care about this? Why do I care about any of what you have to say? This has no relevance in my life." Both being writers of creative nonfiction themselves, my other professors/committee members were horrified and momentarily speechless (as was I). How do you defend the need to tell? How do you convince your readers that your memoir is worth reading--that you have something valuable to say?

I can't remember how the awkward silence was filled, but my major professor apologized profusely to me after my defense, assuring me that this woman obviously had no clue about writing and no lyrical gene in her body. And I know that this woman's reaction is every memoir writer's fear: that her work will be considered self-indulgent and irrelevant. A cathartic outlet.

But I think it is a risk that has to be taken. What do we as readers gain from memoirs? A greater sense of humanity. A reminder that the world is so much bigger than our own backyard. A gratefulness for our own lives, or perhaps a reassurance that others have shared the same struggles. A rejoicing in the strength of an individual, in one's ability to overcome adversity and not just survive, but thrive. Or in some cases, like in Amy Krouse Rosenthal's Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life, a simple delight in ordinary things.

If you aren't much of a memoir reader, this is a great place to start. Other suggestions are here and in the comments of this recent post.

Book Review: Unaccustomed Earth

Oh, I am so happy that Jhumpa Lahiri's novel The Namesake should be arriving in the mail tomorrow, because I have finished Unaccustomed Earth and I haven't nearly gotten my fill of this absolutely amazing writer. I am seriously astonished by the sheer excellence of Lahiri's writing. She is a true master of the craft of writing and of the short story genre.

Unaccustomed Earth is a collection of eight short stories that follow the similar theme of Bengali immigrants in America and their American children--the struggles and conflicts of both generations, especially for the grown children as they are caught between two radically different cultures.

Although much of the conflict centers on this theme, the characters are universal, and there is not one single stereotypical flat character here. Even the tertiary characters have well-rounded faces, wiping doughnut crumbs from their smiles. But the main characters! I truly can't even begin to express the depth of Lahiri's skill in character development--the nuances, the details, the insight and exactitude--phenomenal.

My only complaint is that this is a book of short stories. I want each story to be a novel. And I love what she does with the last three stories; read it, and you'll see what I mean.

I can't bear to be done with this book.

My Favorite, Ever.

March 23, 2008

"Mockingbirds don’t do one thing but make music for us to enjoy. They don’t eat up people’s
gardens, don’t nest in corncribs, they don’t do one thing but sing their hearts out for us.
That’s why it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird."

I can't really write much this evening because I need to go read a few more chapters in my favorite book, ever. That would be To Kill a Mockingbird, and I have the supreme pleasure of getting to introduce this most marvelous novel to my students tomorrow, and talk about it for two whole hours. And two hours the next week, and two hours the next week. Bliss.

It’s hard for me to explain what happens each time I begin reading To Kill a Mockingbird. I actually get shivers of excitement. I can say with assurance that this happens with no other novel. I have read this novel at least a half-dozen times, and this weekend I’ve begun reading it yet again and also preparing discussion questions. This quote by Russian poet Marina Tsvetaeva explains this feeling well: "There are books so alive that you're always afraid that while you weren't reading, the book has gone and changed, has shifted like a river; while you went on living, it went on living too, and like a river moved on and moved away. No one has stepped twice into the same river. But did anyone ever step twice into the same book?"

I’m not alone in my feelings for To Kill a Mockingbird. In 1991 the Library of Congress conducted a survey of book readers. Readers were asked to cite books that had made a difference in their lives. One of the books most often cited was Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird. The only book ranked higher by readers was the Bible.

Post A Comment!.....

Comments

Sunday, March 23, 2008 - sister ...

Posted by onfire (206.132.50.252)

totally with you on this one.

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Monday, March 24, 2008 - Untitled Comment

Posted by Anonymous (98.223.206.70)

Yup. It is second to the Bible to me! :) Can't wait for the day my kids are ready to read it!!

Back in the day when we got our first VCR, I asked for To Kill a Mockingbird on VHS and my brother got Top Gun. :)
Cindy
www.stillhisgirl.blogspot.com

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Monday, March 24, 2008 - Untitled Comment

Posted by Anonymous (81.156.95.127)

I've never read this buy based on your post have just added it to my wish list.

clareswindlehurst.com/bookreviews

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Monday, March 24, 2008 - Untitled Comment

Posted by Ann (Table Talk) (86.145.116.96)

I've just been discussing 'Cry the Beloved Country' with Jennifer in the same way. I absolutely love it and introduce it to as many student groups as I possible can. It's a wonderful feeling, isn't it?

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Monday, March 24, 2008 - Untitled Comment

Posted by Anonymous (71.49.48.73)

I'm going to make an admission...

I've NEVER read To Kill a Mockingbird. And I have a freakin' MA in literature. Sad, I know. However, it is on my shelf, ready to go, and it's post like yours that get me really excited to read it.

Love your blog! Happy Sunday Salon.

Andi
http://estellasrevenge.blogspot.com

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Monday, March 24, 2008 - Untitled Comment

Posted by Margaret (68.42.29.163)

Aw, you're making me feel like I need to go read it again! Agree with you completely.

Margaret
http://2kidschoolhouse.blogspot.com

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Wednesday, March 26, 2008 - hey

Posted by Beckyg (68.59.209.123)

thanks for stopping by!
i love love love To Kill A Mockingbird! I have not read the book, but the movie is my favorite! My daughter's middle name is Harper .... it was my great-grandmother's maiden name, but Harper Lee did have a bit of influence too!

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Friday, March 28, 2008 - Tell me more

Posted by HomeForHim (74.130.206.113)

Hey Sarah,
I just spent the last hour reading through your reviews and adding to my TBR list. Gosh, I can't believe I've never read To Kill a Mockingbird....what a little world I live in. LOL Tell me more about the class you are teaching....I am interested.

Book Review: Broken for You

January 31, 2008

The debut novel by Stephanie Kallos is everything I want a novel to be, from the fully rendered characters to the twists and turns of plot, filled with all kinds of side-stories and satisfying details. I loved this book.

The story: Margaret, age 70-ish, discovers she is dying of a brain tumor. An awkward recluse who talks to the objects in her house, Margaret decides to take what little time she has left to change her life. She takes in a boarder, Wanda, who is also a broken person. The two women tentatively begin a friendship, accumulating a cast of broken people along the way. The backgrounds of Margaret and Wanda are revealed along the way, including a whopper of story that I didn't see coming with Margaret. I like to be surprised.

Kallos's writing is fantastic. Some may say she manipulates events too much to make everything tie together in a neat package, but I thought the story was fabulous. Some of the broken people were a bit stereotypical, but just a bit. Broken for You kept me up past my bedtime for several nights, and that's always the sign of a riveting book.