One way to realize just how trivial and silly us Americans are: read Wild Swans, and then follow it up with this book by Haven Kimmel. Wild Swans: full of tragedy, integrity and survival. Girl Named Zippy: full of petty big sisters, Quakersand “evil” old women named Edythe. Not exactly much of a comparison there. Still, it wasn’t a bad book, as memoirs about childhoods in towns of 300 go. Not great, either. If I had an interesting childhood, spent in a town of under 300 (rather than in sizeable cities in California, Utah and Michigan) then I probably could have written a book and gotten it published, too. But I didn’t. Oh, well. I could have, though.
Author: booknutgirls
Wild Swans
This book , the story of author Jung Chang’s family history, is very long, but very engrossing and fascinating though in a very morbid sort of way. It’s the story of Jung, her mother and her grandmother, spanning nearly a century of China’s history. The book moves from the Manchu empire and Japanese occupation, through the revolution by the Kuomintang and then the counter-revolution by the Communists, and finally the whole of Mao Tse-tung’s reign/rule. Fascinating Chinese history, if you’re interested in that sort of thing. But, above that, it’s a story of three women and their struggle to survive. I wasn’t that interested in the grandmother or the mother (except it paints a very interesting portrait of life as a woman Communist official, and it isn’t pretty). What fascinated me most was the intellectual journey Jung took from a child worshipping Mao, to a staunch disbeliever in Communism in general, and what Chinese communism has become. This book reminded me a lot of a couple of great movies by Zhang Yimou: To Live and The Story of Qiu Ju; all three deal with every day life under the Communists, and paint very interesting personal stories. The parts about the Cultural Revloution give and interesting comparison (from what I can remember) to Life and Death in Shanghi. And makes me very interested to read Chang’s new book, Mao: The Unknown Story. Good read.
Jackaroo
A quick review: This book, by Cynthia Voigt, is one that I can credit my obsession with youth fiction to. I was given it by an old friend about 10 years ago, and was hooked. I finally went out and bought myself a copy (and discovered that Voigt has turned it into a series, need to read the other two —On Fortune’s Wheel and Elske). I’m not sure if I liked it as much as I remembered, but I still was thoroughly captivated by the story. In short — Gwyn, a peasant, loathes the inequity among the people (and between the people and the Lords) and discovers the costume of Jackaroo, a folk legend among the people. She decides to become Jackaroo, to help those in need. Yes, it is a female Robin Hood character. It’s not an action-adventure book, though. It’s much more thoughtful and introspective, dealing with issues of class and worth and deserving. It’s a good read, though.
Early Bird
The subtitle is “a memoir of premature retirement”. The premise: Rodney Rothman, former head writer for David Letterman (a fact he doesn’t let you forget) gets burned out from working so hard after the TV show he was working on in LA got canceled (I guess being a writer for a TV show is a lot of hard work) and decides to retire (as an experiment mostly) to Florida. Just to see.
Like a lot I’ve read lately, this had potential to be really funny. It turned out okay.There was really only one part that I found myself laughing out loud. But other than that, it was a mildly interesting, sometimes sweet, sometimes weird picture of life in a retirement community in Florida. I liked some of the observations he made and people he met– the way we call old people “adorable”, and his friend Amy the 93-year-old former stand-up commedian — but my two favorite chapters by far were the one on shuffleboard (he tries to encourage a comeback — “Shuffleboard: the safe sport”) and on the acting class a man he met gave. Rothman went hoping to meet some “aspiring young actresses from the Tampa area” and it turned out to be a class for high schoolers. He was a bit put off, but it got better when he got cajoled into doing an improv scene with one of them. She looked at him and said, “Hey, can I talk to you Principal Jackson?” He totally flips out and goes on for the next page about it. The best part: “Turn to the author photo right now. Do I look like a principal to you? At worst, I look like the young, good-looking English teacher fresh out of Vassar. The kind of young man who could wear a sport coat and mustache and mke it work. That’s what you get for driving five hours to hang out with some chicks. They turn out to be underage murderers of the English language, and then they call you Principal Jackson.”
But in the end, the book is kind of pathetic. I mean, really, he’s 28 years old and hanging out in a retirement community. That kind of screams pathetic. That, and all the people in the retirement community are kind of pathetic. Makes me not want to retire to Florida. What’s the point, if you’re going to turn out pathetic. Besides, Florida will proably get washed out by a hurricane someday.
Betsy and the Emperor
This book by Stanton Rabin has a great — and amazingly, true — premise: Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte is exiled to the island of St. Helena after his defeat at Waterloo, and ends up developing an intimate and very deep friendship with a 14-year-old girl.
Unfortunately, while the book is often fun and adventuresome and Besty is an intriguing and worthy heroine, the book gets much too sappy and silly. It’s hard to place my finger on it, really. Like the part when she has a terrible crush on an officer, and is told that she’s only “liked” because they figured she put out for the Emperor. Or the part when she sees her brothers’ tutor die in a hot air balloon accident, that is partly her fault, and then goes to the ball a couple nights later. No remorse, no punishment, no consequences. Besty has a tendency to be petulant, too, whining and often acting much too young for her age. And the Emperor — well, I know that Rabin did her research, but really. I found it hard to believe that Napoleon would act the way he did.
The end notes to the book are almost more interesting than the book itself. Rabin mentions that the real Besty wrote an autobiography of her relationship with Napoleon (Recollections of the Emperor Napoleon by Elizabeth Balcome Abell), which probably would be the better read. Unfortunately, it’s out of print.
UPDATE: So, Julie forwarded an email sent to her by Rabin, which, among other things, informed me that I was wrong saying the book is out of print. It was out of print for quite a while, but has since been reissued as To Befriend an Emperor (an “attractive, illustrated edition,” according to Amazon). I still think it would be more fascinating to read Betsy’s own story, even if it’s not great “literature”. 🙂
Magic Street
So, I was checking out books from the library here a couple weeks ago, and turned around to see the latest, brand-spanking new Orson Scott Card book staring at me. “Get me! Get me!” it said. So, I did. And it sat, patiently waiting, on my nightstand until I was done with all the other books.
I’ve had a long and troubled relationship with Card. Some of his books, I adore. Some, I can’t stand. I’ve found that he’s gotten much much too preachy in his later life, and that I, as a general rule, enjoy his earlier stuff better. So, I came to this one without much hope for it being very good.
Thankfully, I didn’t let that stop me from reading this book. It’s excellent. Which really surprised me. It takes from Midsummer Night’s Dream, and runs with it. It’s set in Baldwin Hills, a middle-upper-class black neighborhood in LA. Mack Street just appears in a grocery bag, out of supposedly nowhere. And is raised by a single woman in the neighborhood and her next-door neighbor’s youngest son. After a few years, Mack starts having what he refers to as “cold dreams”: the deepest wishes of his neighbors. The problem is, when he dreams them, they come true, but in a really twisted way. He grows up, discovers Puck, Titania and his role in the whole good versus evil of the play.
Pretty simple, but there are a lot of fun twists and references here. And yes, Card gets preachy, but ironically, he puts the words into the mouth of a preacher (and a fairy queen) so they don’t sound out of place. At least to me. And amazingly, the ending held up. Not quite what I expected, but it worked, and was satisfying.
My only complaint is that sometimes the plot seems a bit convoluted, and I had to re-read sections over. It didn’t bother me, though, in the long run. And I would be curious to know what black people thought of Card’s portrayal of them. It didn’t interfere with my enjoyment of the book, but I’m sure someone out there will call Card on it. After all, he’s a white, Mormon writer from North Carolina.
Changing Planes
As a general rule, I like science fiction. Really. So I was quite excited to read an Ursula Le Guin book for the first selection in our book group. And I wasn’t (entirely) disappointed. The premise is great: you’re sitting in an airport, bored stiff (the first chapter about time in airports is great. There’s this wonderful line: “In this, probably its true aspect, the airport is not a prelude to travel, not a place of transition: it is a stop. A blockage.” So true.) and you realize that you can slip to another plane and visit other worlds. Wow. Fascinating. Fabulous.
But from there, the book isn’t consistent. It’s a series of short stories from the various planes the “author” visits, or has had friends visit. Some — like “The Silence of the Asonu” (a planet where the adults never speak); “Seasons of the Ansarac” (a bird-people who used to migrate north in the winter, but technology introduced convinced them to stop for a time); “Great Joy” (about the exploitation of a plane for the use of Americans as a permanent Christmas Island — great holiday descriptions!); and “The Fliers of Gy” (bird-people, again, this time some who grow wings and either choose to fly or choose to stay grounded) are wonderful. Others are just plain weird. Some, because I think I was trying to hard to “get” the social commentary (especially in “Woeful Tales from Mahigul” — a series of depressing tales from a land that has seen much violence and conquering and “The Building” — a people who travel for days to build a building they don’t ever plan on living in). Others I didn’t like because I just didn’t like the story all that much (“Wake Island” — they breed people who don’t sleep, much too disturbing; and “The Royals of Hegn” — everyone’s royalty and they’re obsessed with the one non-royal family the way we’re obsessed with celebrity. Got the point, but it was a bit crass for my taste) And I just didn’t get the last story “Confusions of Uni” at all. Where was it trying to go?? If someone could explain it to me, I’d appreciate it.
I’ve had a bumpy “relationship” with Le Guin, liking some of her works, and disliking others. She never does write what I “expect” as a reader, but then perhaps that’s why she’s considered a great writer. Otherwise, she’d be predictable and boring.
Sorry this is longer than usual; the book group doesn’t meet until October 20th, and I want to remember what I thought. 🙂
Vanity Fair
A letter to William Makepeace Thackeray:
Dear Sir,
I just finished what is considered your masterpiece, Vanity Fair, and I have a few comments. First: it’s a great story. Really. I enjoyed your portrayal of Becky Sharp (though perhaps I wasn’t supposed to like her?); she was a very intriguing character throughout most of the book. I loved Major Dobbin, but then who wouldn’t love his devotion to Amelia. And I even liked Amelia, though there were times when she came off as a sniveling and annoying wimp. I enjoyed the statire on high society and those who aim for it. there were even parts that made me laugh out loud.
However, there was just too much of it. I know, it’s a product of the times you wrote in: the book was serialized in the papers, you were a contemporary of Dickens. Whatever. There is still way too much book here. Especially for the story. But then, I do have to admit, I feel the same way about many of your contemporary authors. Many of them, like Dickens, have great stories to tell that get bogged down in the sheer amount of words they take to tell them. And, sir, you fall vicitm to that flaw. Perhaps it was because there was a significant lack of decent editors around to tell you that if you tighten your story, it will have greater impact in the end. I skipped whole chapters whithout ever losing the main gist of the story.
Oh, one other thing: you really needed to work on the ending more. Yay for Dobbin and Amelia. But to just drop Becky like that? She deserved something grander, something more, well, scandalous to end the book. To just have her fade is really quite pathetic. But then, maybe that was your point.
Sincerely,
Melissa
The Princess, the Crone and the Dung-Cart Knight
I suppose it’s kind of telling if your 9 year old daughter comes home with library books and you pick one up and say, “Hey, cool! This looks good. Can I read it??” But, that’s what happened. I did “let” her read it first, since I was still trying to slog through the French book. Thankfully, I gave that up, and thoroughly enjoyed being lost in Gerald Morris’s world of princesses and knights.
The book, according to the author’s note in the back, is based on an Arthurian romace tale written by Chretien de Troyes. Morris took the basic story (originally called the Knight of the Cart) and then added some extra characters, including heroine Sarah. She’s a fabulous character: strong, stubborn, kicks butt, and learns a few lessons along the way. You can’t help but love her. And many of the great Arthurain characters come into play, Kai (Arthur’s foster brother, often spelled Kay) and Gueneviere; Lancelot (though he goes under a different guise in this one); Gawain; and Morgan and Morgause. Merlin doesn’t show up at all, which doesn’t distract from the story at all and Arthur plays only a minor role.
The story’s pretty basic. Sarah’s mother and guardian (her father’s never identified) — who’s a Jew — were brutally murdered by a knight and she’s set out for revenge. On the way, she witnesses the kidnapping of Gueneviere and Kai and ends up setting off to rescue them (with help, of course). She, of course, manages to get her revenge, learn a little about killing and mercy and save the day in the end. Still, the adventure along the way is one worth joining in on.
Maybe I should let my daughter pick out my books more often.
Sixty Million Frenchmen Can’t Be Wrong
Why not?
Sorry.
This book was fascinating. I learned a bunch about France, what makes the French tick, French history, the social structure, the comparisons between France and the rest of Europe and France and North America, and the list goes on. The problem, though, was that this book, by Jean-Benoit Nadeau (I don’t know how to do the funky accents, sorry) and Julie Barlow, was terribly dense and difficult to get through. I waded through chapter after chapter after chapter about the French government and civil bureaucracy before I finally bailed on the book. I’m sure there were interesting chapters at the end (like, possibly, “The World According to France” or “The Meaning of Europe”) but I could care less. I’m Franced out.
The first section, on the Spirit of the French, is really worth reading, though. As Canadians, Nadeau (who’s a Quebecker) and Barlow went to France with the unique position of being both able to converse with the French on their own terms and having North American perspective. So, it made for some fascinating tales and encounters with people they met. (Like, I had no idea that the French guard their names so closely; they rarely introduce themselves the way we think of as introductions over here, and only tell their names after “getting to know” someone. ) I’m not sure I ever got the answer to “Why we love France but not the French” (the book’s subtitle), though. It’s almost too bad that the authors got so bogged down in the political chapters. This could have been a great book.
The Book Nut 