Author: booknutgirls

booknutgirls http://thebooknutdotcom.wordpress.com I read. I blog. I sell books. I chauffeur my kids. What more do you need to know?

Miss Spitfire

7 Comments

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.

The Amulet of Samarkand

8 Comments

I first heard of this trilogy, by Jonathan Stroud, last year when the third book (Ptolemy’s Gate) won the Cybil for Science Fiction/Fantasy. I thought that it sounded interesting, then promptly forgot about it. (Such is the story of my life; I’m trying to rectify it. The forgetting, I mean.)

I remembered about it again, when a bunch of people over at the Nook read the trilogy and raved about it, saying that it was better than Harry Potter. I thought, amazing, I ought to read it. And then… well… you know… I forgot about it.

But, when I happened to be at the house of a member of my in-person book group, and was admiring her library (she’s got the floor-to-ceiling shelves that Hubby’s always wanted. The only downside is that there wasn’t a sliding ladder…), I noticed the Bartimaeus trilogy. And I asked to borrow it.

That was back in August.

I’m pathetic, I know.

Because, you know, this is an amazing book. I can only imagine that the trilogy will get better. (I’m going to have to put the other two off, since I have a small pile of “have to” reads that are due at the library…) But this one was a great start. Nathaniel is a 12-year-old magician’s apprentice in London. His master, Arthur Underwood, is a Minister, but an incompetent one, and he severely underestimates Nathaniel’s ability. Simon Lovelace is the magician — young, talented, ambitious, up-and-coming. And ruthless. He embarrasses Nathaniel, for which Nathaniel vows revenge. He learns to summon and control a djinn — Bartimaeus — who then steals the Amulet of Samarkand from Lovelace, setting in motion events beyond Nathaniel’s control.

It had a slow-ish start… I read the first four chapters in August, and picked it up on chapter five two days ago without missing a beat. But once I hit chapter 25, I was hooked. I couldn’t put it down. Literally. I was breezing through all the mom-stuff I had to do (which was made more challenging with Hubby out of town this weekend), just so I could get to the book. It’s funny — Bartimaeus is a very witty narrator — and Stroud writes action superbly. He kept me hanging from chapter to chapter, propelling me — and the story — forward. I was also impressed that the story moved as well as it did, because both Nathaniel and Bartimaeus aren’t exactly sympathetic characters. Nathaniel is prideful, arrogant, ambitious and reckless. He does have a couple of redeeming qualities, but mostly he’s a bit of a jerk. And Bartimaeus spends the whole book loathing Nathaniel and his servitude (which I suppose is reasonable). They’re not exactly what you’d call a happy partnership. Yet, it works. Extremely well. In fact, I think it’s the tension between Bartimaeus and Nathaniel that makes the book as compelling as it does. How do these two solve the problems they keep getting themselves in to, especially when the problems keep escalating? It kept me reading, wanting to know what happens next.

And, yes, the other two books are sitting on my floor calling to me. Maybe I’ll even listen sooner rather than later.

Villette

4 Comments

I really wanted to like this one. I liked Jane Eyre quite a bit and I had high hopes for Charlotte Brontë’s last novel.

I liked it at first — though I’m a bit disappointed with the blurb on the back (there’s a post — what makes a good jacket/back blurb); I didn’t get the sense that Lucy had a “unhappy past” that she was “in flight” from. I enjoyed the detail fo Lucy’s childhood, the relationship between Graham and Polly, and even Lucy’s job with Miss Marchmont. But once she gets to Villette, things slow way down.

I managed to stay interested through volume 2. I thought the whole Dr. John drama was fun. Especially the bit when Lucy realizes who he his (or rather, the bit when she lets us, as readers, know who he is). But as the book wore on, I began to care less and less about Lucy and her life. It took a l-o-n-g time to get to the main point of the book — at least according to the back blurb again: her relationship with fellow teacher M. Paul and Madame Beck’s attempts to keep them apart. Honestly, by the time I got around to their relationship I was fed up. Fed up with the oh-so-helpful endnotes (great for translating the French, but kind of annoying otherwise), fed up with M. Paul and his annoying attempts to control Lucy, fed up with the excesses of Victorian literature.

So, I read the last chapter, discovered that M. Paul left Lucy and possibly died in a shipwreck, and called it quits.

Maybe I’m just not meant to read so much Brontë. A little goes a long way in this case.

How many have YOU read?

7 Comments

I saw this list, from Publishers Weekly (which I should read, but don’t), over at Becky’s Book Reviews yesterday. I thought it would be fun to go through the list and mark the ones I’ve actually read this year. PW, of course, had lists of fiction, poetry and Sci-fi/Fantasy as well as everything else, but since I think I only recognized maybe two titles, I’m leaving those out. Still, the list is worth checking out, if only for more books to add to your TBR pile.

Children’s Fiction (the ones in bold are those I’ve actually read; the ones in red are those I’d like to read; the ones italicized are the ones I’ve not heard of.)

  • The Golden Dream of Carlo Chuchio by Lloyd Alexander (I’m undecided on whether or not to read this one…)
  • The Absolutely True Diary of A Part-Time Indian
  • The Sweet Far Thing by Libba Bray
  • Mistik Lake by Martha Brooks
  • Someday This Pain Will Be Useful To You by Peter Cameron
  • Revolution is Not A Dinner Party by Ying Chang Compestine
  • Elijah of Buxton by Christopher Paul Curtis
  • A Swift Pure Cry by Siobhan Dowd
  • Before I Die by Jenny Downham
  • Evil Genius by Catherine Jinks (I have to be the only person who didn’t like this book!)
  • Bone by Bone by Bone by Tony Johnston
  • Diary of A Wimpy Kid by Jeff Kinney (this one is actually on my TBR list)
  • Red Spikes by Margo Lanagan
  • Skulduggery Pleasant by Derek Landy
  • Bullyville by Francine Prose
  • Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling
  • The Wednesday Wars by Gary D. Schmidt
  • The Invention of Hugo Cabret by Brian Selznick
  • Emma-Jean Lazarus Fell Out of A Tree by Lauren Tarshis
  • The New Policeman by Kate Thompson
  • Long May She Reign by Ellen Emerson White

I haven’t heard of most of these. So, the question is: am I uninformed, or are the books just not hitting the blogosphere yet? (Probably the former…)

Better Late than Never… Right?

1 Comment

I saw this challenge, hosted by overdue books, floating around the blogosphere a while back… it’s just taken me this long to figure out what I *have* to read before the end of the year, and whether or not I could fit in some from my book stack pile sitting by my bed.

And I decided that since I’ve got books loaned to me from friends that need to get back anyway, and since I really ought to whittle my pile down anyway, why not join the challenge. Maybe I’ll even be motivated by it.

My list:
1. The Amulet of Samarkand, Jonathan Stroud (I’ve borrowed this back in August, it’s about time I read it!)
2. The Stone Diaries, Carol Shields (an in-person book group selection a few months back; I borrowed the copy after the discussion.)
3. Mr. Popper’s Penguins, Richard and Florence Atwater (No I haven’t read this. Don’t make fun of me.)
4. Roll of Thunder, Hear my Cry, Mildred D. Taylor (Double up for The Newbery Project.)
5. The Omnivore’s Dilemma, Michael Pollan (been meaning to read it forever; Hubby just brought back a copy from a conference.)

Bonuses:
1. The Golem’s Eye, Jonathan Stroud
2. Ptolemy’s Gate, Jonathan Stroud
They’re the second and third books in the Bartimaeus Trilogy. I borrowed all three at the same time… it’d be nice if I could get them back, huh?

Anahita’s Woven Riddle

4 Comments

Say you are a 16-year-old Afshar girl, daughter of the kadkhuda (he’s the tribal leader). Your father has decided to arrange a marriage with the kahn (he’s the tribal chief who represents the tribe with the government)… except the kahn’s old(ish), has buried three wives, and is arrogant and self-absorbed. You don’t want to marry him. What do you do?

What Anahita proposes to her father is this: every Afshar girl weaves a wedding qali (that’s a rug). She proposes to weave a riddle into the rug, and she will marry whomever can solve the riddle. With that, you have the premise of this engaging book by Meghan Nuttall Sayres.

I have to admit, that this book is a bit clunky to start with. Sayres weighs down the first section with information about the place (Iran), culture (Persian), language (Farsi), as well as nomadic life. Much of this information was necessary in order to understand Anahita and her world, as well as the suitors who would most likely have a chance to win her hand. But I felt like I had to push through the early chapters; all the extra elements slowing me down.

After I got through that section, though, the book soared. Anahita — who has a bit of a reputation for being outspoken — has to convince her father first that marrying the kahn is a bad idea. Then she has to convince him that a riddle contest is a good idea. Then she has to deal with the repercussions of that decision, which effect not only her but the entire tribe. I enjoyed that part; I felt like Sayres was very honest with Anahita by not letting any minuscule part of her rash — and unorthodox — decision go unexplored. I felt that Anahita’s responses were honest, too. Her unwillingness to settle for anyone which gives way to the slow realization of how her stubbornness affects other people. She matures very beautifully.

But what I enjoyed most was the love story. Anahita has three serious suitors, and Sayres makes each one of them desirable and worthy of Anahita’s hand. We meet them in snatches: there’s the prince who meets Anahita only briefly; the good friend who sees her every day; and then the scholar and teacher who comes into the picture late. In this book, there’s is only one bad choice (the kahn); everyone else is varying degrees of good. I was, in turn, hoping for each one of the suitors to win her hand, even though I suspected that there was one true front-runner. However, I was very satisfied with the way it turned out.

It’s also a book for weavers and spinners. Sayers (who’s a weaver herself) takes the qali-weaving through the entire process, from carding and spinning the wool, through dying (all-natural; no synthetic dyes here), and finally through weaving the pattern. Even though I’m not a weaver, I know a few, and I thought of them as I was reading those passages. I could tell that Sayres has an affection for the craft, for it came through in those passages. I’m not sure it made me want to weave, though it did give me an appreciation for all that goes into the process.

One last thing. In the authors note at the end (very informative, by the way), Sayers mentions that she’s donating proceeds from this book to help the people of Iran in recovery from a December, 2003 earthquake in Bam. If you do decide to purchase it, the royalties will go to development enterprises in Bam that serve women and children.

Just think: you get a good story and can help people at the same time. Happiness all around.

November, Already?

Leave a comment

Hard to believe. I’m recovering from a hard night of trick-or-treating with the girls (four trick-or-treaters can bring home a LOT of candy!) and watching Ghostbusters. Now, on to Thanksgiving!

The November issue of Estella’s Revenge is already up! It’s all about comfort… though I didn’t write anything along those lines. I did, however, contribute two reviews. One was a book I thoroughly enjoyed — Ophelia by Lisa Klein. The other — April and the Dragon Lady, by Lensey Namioka — was a quick read, but only a so-so book. Go check out the other stuff, though, especially the book challenge. I’ll have to think about whether or not I want to join this one…

In other November news, it’s almost deadline time for the November Bookworm Carnival (November 9th). There’s been a change in hosts; the new host is now Myrthe . The theme is still short stories (either ones you’ve read or ones you’ve written). Don’t use the bookworm carnival submission form; Dewey’s taken the Bookworms Carnvial off it, due to technical difficulties. Send all your submissions to armenianodar at yahoo dot com and please also thank Myrthe for stepping in at the last minute!

Happy November!

Two Books of Southern Humor

Leave a comment

I started both of these books a while ago, and have been slowly making my way through the essays. And I’ve come to two conclusions while reading these. The first is that what’s funny to one person may fall completely flat on another. That’s why recommending humor books is so hit-and-miss. The second, is that I think Southern humor is a class by itself, which is why I enjoy it.

Mama Makes Up Her Mind, by Bailey White, is one of those larger-than-life books; I didn’t know whether to believe her stories half the time, but I loved reading them anyway. It wasn’t laugh-out-loud funny, but rather the smile-funny type. Bailey’s a single woman, a first-grade teacher, and someone who still lives with her mom. I loved her mom; she was a real spitfire. (I’ve really liked old ladies in stories lately… hmmm… does this say something?) Some of my favorite stories are the ones that feature Bailey’s mom prominently. Like the time when Bailey and her sister insisted they clean the house because someone was getting married and wanted to have a dinner at their house. Their mom said, “They need to get to know us on our own ground,” which included a bowl of night crawlers hanging from the ceiling and massive piles of stuff around the house. Or the time when her mother decided to teach their neighbor how to cook. Quite amusing.

The other side of Southern humor is Celia Rivenbark’s Stop Dressing Your Six-Year-Old Like a Skank. While this one didn’t have the staying power that Mama did — after several essays I had to put it down and read something else for a while — it actually made me laugh out loud. Snort, actually. Guffaw, too. Which always got Hubby to ask, “Now what’s she saying?”

Lots, actually. Nothing is sacred to Rivenbark (thankfully); she’ll poke fun at everyone from Celebrities (Something Stinks: And I’m Pretty Sure its Tonya Harding), to herself (This Blonde isn’t as Dumb as You Think), to Southerners in general (Want to “Talk Southern”?), to super moms (Slacker Moms Unite!: Say Adios! to All That Guilt) to… well, just about everything. I should have book-darted my favorite bits, so I could quote them here, but I didn’t (too busy laughing). Instead, go get the book and read it for yourself.

Perhaps you’ll find it funny, too.

2008 Challenges

2 Comments

I’m a little late getting this one up, but better late than never, right? Becky over at Becky’s Book Reviews is hosting a couple of mini-challenges. The one I’ve decided to do is the Austen Mini-Challenge (and since I’m a button sort of person, I made one for this one. Hope you don’t mind, Becky!) The goal is to read (and/or watch the new PBS Masterpiece Theater versions) at least two of Jane Austen’s novels over the course of the year.

I was intrigued by Brooklyn Arden’s calendar for reading Jane Austen… so that’s what I thought I’d attempt to do this year. I’m reposting it here for my own reference. Go read the post, though, if you haven’t. 🙂

January-February: Northanger Abby
March-April: Mansfield Park
May-June: Emma
July-August: Pride and Prejudice
September-October: Sense and Sensibility
November-December: Persuasion

Pomegranate Soup

4 Comments

After all the hemming and hawing and picking not very good books for the Armchair Traveler Challenge, I think I finally found a winner in Pomegranate Soup, by Marsha Mehran. I thoroughly enjoyed this book.

It’s hard to describe what this book is about. It’s a food book, complete with the recipes for the delectable dishes that Marjan — the oldest sister – cooks up for the town of Ballinacroagh, County Mayo, Irleand, where the Aminpour sisters have ended up. It’s one part travel book — lush descriptions of both Irleand and Iran, as we slowly get the sisters’ back story. It’s magical realism; Marjan’s cooking changes lives, Layla’s (the youngest sister) sent of cinnamon and rosewater inspires lust in younger men and remembrances in older ones. The only sister who didn’t have a healthy dose of the magical was Bahar (the middle sister); perhaps it’s because of her past — it was too brutal and too sad (and the reason that the sisters are in Ireland) for it to be magical.

It wasn’t a depressing book, even though it touched on heavy themes: domestic abuse, the Iranian Revolution, greed, gossip, racisim… It was all there, but done in such an engaging way that the book never seemed depressing or difficult. I loved the characters in this book — from the sisters, to Estelle Delmonico (the landlady of the cafe’s space), to Malachy (Layla’s love interest) to many of the other townspeople. Like the store owner who believes in fairies and leprechauns. Or the hair stylist who used to be an actress. Or the grumpy woman stuck in her house so she spend the day spying on everyone. Or even the town “bad guy”, the bully Thomas McGuire. Sure, he was a jerk, but he was a very well-written one.

Now if I can just find two other books that I enjoyed just as much as this one.