I have had a head cold for the past several days. And now that I’m finally coming out of it, I looked at the review that I had written for this book, and I was appalled. I haven’t gotten any comments, but I could see in my mind’s eye people reading it and shaking their heads and thinking, “I didn’t peg her for a racist.”

I didn’t mean to come off that way. Blame the cold.

I liked this book. Really. It’s the story of James McBride’s growing up, interspersed with his mother’s life history. His family is an amazing one. His mother, Ruth, is an amazing woman. I admire her because she was able to get past her horrific past, most especially her abusive father. I admire her because race meant nothing to her. When asked, by her son, what color she was, she retorted (not an exact quote): “What color does God think I am? What color is water?” I admire someone who can so easily look past color and race and background and be friends with others. Not that it was easy for her, mostly because others aren’t as accepting as she was. I admire her for raising 12 children, mostly in poverty, and giving them the tools to succeed — at least materially — in life. Every single one of her children went to college, many got advanced degrees. All are professionals. Amazing.

I do have to confess that my feelings of being an interloper, though, were real. I felt like I was prying into someone else’s personal business, a place where I had no right to go. I still can’t place why I felt that way. I felt like it was too personal, too emotional, too close for me to truly enjoy. These people were real people. These things really happened. I feel this way often when reading books on the Holocaust, too. I can’t believe these conditions, these atrocities are really out there. It pushes me out of my bubble, and I react by feeling like an interloper. Like I’m not supposed to be there.

Perhaps that’s because I really do need to be pushed a little. It’s enlightening to see other people’s lives, walk a couple miles (or hundred pages) in their shoes just to see. And I appreciated the chance to see James McBride’s and his mother’s lives. It was worth it, even if I felt a little out of place.

I hope everyone had a lovely Thanksgiving. I meant to put up a post yesterday, but instead, I cooked a turkey (for only the third time in my life!), had several friends over for dinner, ate, played games, ate, talked, ate, and began watching Fellowship of the Rings. Blogging just didn’t enter into the equation. Probably a good thing.

Mr. Popper’s Penguins, by Richard and Florence Atwater, was a quick read, but one that I have conflicting feelings about. On the one hand, it was a cute little book. On the other hand, it was a little book. Slight, sparse, simple, and well, I felt like they were talking down to their audience. It was like the authors felt the children reading the book wouldn’t be interested in any more than just the basic, simplest story.

And that’s what I felt like I was getting. The basic plot: Mr. Popper is a house painter who longs to travel. He wrote a letter to Admiral Duke, who — out of some weird sort of generosity — sends Mr. Popper a penguin. The chapters once they get the penguin were amusing… getting the refrigerator repairman to drill holes in the icebox and installing a handle on the inside… Mrs. Popper getting used to having a penguin around the house… training Captain Cook (that’s the penguin) to go for walks. But Captain Cook isn’t happy, so Mr. Popper writes to a zoo, who in turn sends him another penguin (because that’s obviously the solution, here), Greta. The two penguins mate, and soon there’s 10 baby penguins around the Popper household. Amazingly, this has all taken place in less than 2 months! (Or at least, that’s the impression I got.) The Poppers take care of the penguins for a while, but then money gets to be short, so they train the penguins and take them on the road. (Those chapters were amusing, too.) That’s essentially the book. It’s amusing, but… that’s all it is. And maybe that’s all it’s supposed to be. I had to keep reminding myself that it was written in 1938; they looked at life and storytelling differently than we do today.

I totally and completely bailed on reading Japanland for the Armchair Traveler’s Challenge. The library didn’t have it, Book Mooch didn’t have it, and even Border’s didn’t have it (in stock). Sure, I could have ordered it over Amazon, or even through Borders, but we all know how I feel about buying books I haven’t read yet.

So when I saw this book, by Ann Vanerhoof, reviewed over at Lotus Reads, and discovered that the library had it, I picked it up instead. And I’m glad I did.

Ann and her husband Steve work in the publishing business in Toronto. They go to work, they come home, they have their busy daily routine, but something is missing. And then one day, Steve suggests that they buy a cruising ship and sail to the Caribbean. It took them five years (or so) to save the money, but they did it. They bought a boat, which they named the Receta (Spanish for recipe; I loved that they called the dinghy Snack), and after setting their affairs in order, they headed south for two years. This book is the tale of that trip.

Most of the book is their trip south, the islands they stop and, and the yummy-looking recipes Ann gathers through their travels. I enjoyed Ann’s transformation, not only from a stressed career-oriented businesswoman to a relaxed human being who can enjoy life; but also from someone who was scared of every little thing on the ship to a confident, competent cruiser. I enjoyed their travels; I think on many levels they are the sort of traveler’s I’d like to be. At one point, they’re on Grenada for Carnival, and they decide to join in the fun.

To our surprise, though, we’ve discovered that not all cruisers are as determined as we are to get involved in island culture. Some aren’t only ignoring local events and music, they’re still eating much as they did back home. “They’ve got bigger freezers and more money than we have,” Steve says, “but I’ll bet they’re not having as much fun.”

There are many choice moments in this book. Ann and Steve’s friendship with Dingis on Grenada, the calypso music, conch as an aphrodisiac, Ann dealing with seasickness and the Mona Passage, all the exotic food, the fishing (Reading about them catching dorados/mahimahi was fabulous. Made me want some.), the sunshine, the warmth. This book made me want to travel (though I realized that cruising is definitely not for me). Made me do what I’ve always thought would be the ideal “vacation”: renting a house for a few months and exploring the area that way. It’s one of the reasons why I didn’t like the only cruise I’ve been on: I never got a chance to explore each of the places. We got of the big boat, were treated differently because we did, and were only exposed to that small part of the island that we had time — maybe only a few hours — for. Some islands we didn’t even get to see hardly at all. Our best experience, aside from Puerto Rico (which I would love to visit again), was on Barbados, where Hubby and I hired a taxi to drive us around the island. What I really wanted was what Ann and Steve created for themselves: experiences and friendships that enriched their lives.

Anyway. I thought about all this while reading. I thought about how I’d love to see the world. I thought about how I love my life, but sometimes it’s nice to just get away from everything for a little while. I wondered what Ann and Steve are up to now.

The quote on the back of the book from Kirkus Reviews really does sum it up (this time): “Finely crafted… portraits that prompt us to to see and to yearn: what travel writing is all about.” Yes, it is.

I either really like Christmas (true) or I’m just looking for something interesting to perk me out of my pre-holiday life-is-so-ordinary blahs (also true) because I’m already excited about Christmas blogging events and I’m signing up for them right and left.

There’s Nymeth, over at things mean a lot, who is proposing a book blogger Christmas Secret Santa Exchange. It sounds like a ton of fun, and the more the merrier!

And then there’s Kailana, at The Written World, who’s organizing the Blog Advent Calendar for 2007. It’s essentially a chance to share a little bit about your holiday season — whether it be Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanza or whatever else. I remember enjoying the advent posts I read last year, and I’m excited to be a part of it this year.

It may not be quite Thanksgiving yet (here in the states, anyway; I was boggling C’s mind last night with the information that Thanksgiving — US-style — is not celebrated everywhere…) but it’s never too soon to think about Christmas.

Go check them out! 🙂

Sarah Miller is one of the authors whose blogs I’ve read long before I ever cracked open their books. I came upon her blog by happenstance, mostly; I think I clicked on her profile from a comment she left at either Erin‘s or Becky‘s blogs, liked what I read and kept going back.

So, when the library finally got a copy of her first book, Miss Spitfire, I nabbed it. I found that it was an interesting reading experience for me; I “know” the author, and like what I’ve read from her. I don’t think I came to this book with any sort of objectivity. I wanted to like it because I like Sarah’s blog.

But I didn’t have to worry: it’s a genuinely good book.

Sarah (I feel weird writing “Miller” they way I do with authors in most of my reviews) has tackled an interesting, and difficult, topic: Helen Keller and Annie Sullivan. Interesting, because it’s a fascinating and inspiring story. Difficult, because it’s been done before. Definitively.
Yet, Sarah found something fresh and new to write about: Annie’s story. I knew absolutely nothing about Annie Sullivan — her childhood, her disability, how she ended up at the Keller’s house in the first place. And knowing those things makes Annie’s struggle to teach Helen that much more interesting, and, yes, profound.

I also enjoyed Sarah’s writing style. She had another difficult task: how to make a story where one of the main characters can’t communicate compelling. And she succeeded beautifully. There’s lots of internal reflection and thought on Annie’s part, but there’s also a vivid sense of helplessness and frustration on both Annie’s and Helen’s part. I think Sarah portrayed Helen beautifully; she wasn’t a “creature”, but an extremely frustrated (and spoiled!) little girl. And the way Annie handled her was both hard and loving. Sarah focused a lot on Annie’s need to be loved, and I’m glad she did. It made the journey to communicate with Helen that much more gripping and the eventual connection between Helen and Annie that much more touching.

I also like how Sarah focused on language as the ultimate connection with the world. There’s a scene early on before Annie meets Helen, where she’s musing about teaching Helen.

Closing my eyes, I try to form a wordless though with the few tools Helen can use: shape, size, texture, sent and taste. Without much trouble I conjure up a mind-feeling for an apple: round, firm, and smooth, with a soapy-sweet scent that fills my mouth.

But I have to fight to keep the words from my thoughts. My mind aches to say “apple.” As that wordless apple-felling hovers in my head, it’s like holding my breath to keep my brain from reminding me, No words, no words, only sensations. No matter how I try, I can’t silence that voice in my head. Even when I block “apple” from my mind, streams of thoughts whir in the background, as if my brain can’t bear not whispering to itself. When I finally give up, a cold worry has twisted it’s way into my stomach.

How am I to teach Helen what language is, when words themselves have no scent, taste or texture?

That’s the ultimate reason this story is compelling: because Annie Sullivan succeeded. She managed to teach a girl who could not see or hear the meaning of language and how to reach the outside world. Annie’s story is one that’s worth telling. I’m glad that Sarah chose to do so.