by Kirk Curnutt
age: adult
First sentence: “Let me tell you about the time your grandfather took a sledgehammer to the car.”

Um, no.

No, no, no.

That’s what I should have said when they asked if I wanted to be a part of this book tour. My gut instinct said no, and I should have listened.

It’s not the book, really. It’s a well-written book, and it’s because the characters are so well drawn that I’m having such a violent reaction to it. If it were anything less, I could brush it off, shrug and roll my eyes at it. But I’m not able to. This one got under my skin, dragged me down and that is not something I want or need in January when I’m already dragging because of the weather.

See, Colin St. Cloud’s son was kidnapped and murdered. By a creep, a pedophile, a sick man named Dickie -Bird Johnson. And St. Cloud can’t let it go. His life has gone to hell; he’s spending it driving around the country, half of the time high on speed, looking for his kid and others, hoping, for what exactly? Redemption? Closure? I’m not sure he even knows. And then there’s Robert Heim, the P.I that St. Cloud hired to help him track down the person who took his son. He ended up on probation because St. Cloud and the case engulfed his life. And now, a year after the incident, he’s on the road again — abandoning his family and a decent, if unrewarding job — in order to track St. Cloud down and finally close the case. And — because two tortured people aren’t enough — there’s Sis Pruitt, dealing with her own ghosts because her only daughter was brutally raped and murdered seventeen years before. The three converge in Sis’s town in Indiana, because another boy has gone missing, where they’re forced to face their ghosts and their pasts.

Enough cheer for you yet?

It was a harsh novel. Brutal. I had to skip sections because I have a faint heart, and I don’t want to know about the people out there who will take, violate, kill my girls. Perhaps it hit too close to home: yes, I let my children play outside alone. I do know where they are, basically, but I believe in a measure of freedom. This could happen to me. These characters could be me. And. I. Don’t. Want. To. Face. That. Reality. (Granted, it did it’s job: I may not let the girls outside by themselves for a very. long. time.)

So. Go check out the rest of the tour; others have really liked the book for its stark nature, and powerful storytelling. Perhaps you are less faint of heart, and can handle a book about grief and death and hopelessness in the face of the most horrible thing as a parent you can think of. As for me, I’m going to go read something happy now.

The rest of the tour:
Monday, January 5th: Diary of an Eccentric
Tuesday, January 6th: Ramya’s Bookshelf
Wednesday, January 7th: The Sleepy Reader
Thursday, January 8th: Crime Ne.ws, formerly Trenchcoat Chronicles
Monday, January 12th: Savvy Verse and Wit
Tuesday, January 13th: Educating Petunia
Wednesday, January 14th: Michele- Only One ‘L’
Friday, January 16th: Anniegirl1138
Monday, January 19th: Caribou’s Mom
Tuesday, January 20th: Lost in Lima, Ohio
Wednesday, January 21st: A Novel Menagerie
Monday, January 26th: Catootes
Wednesday, January 28th: Bloody Hell, it’s a Book Barrage!
Thursday, February 12th: She is Too Fond of Books

by Charles Dickens
ages: well, everyone should read it or have it read to them

I read this, for the first time, back in sixth grade. It was sitting on the shelf in the classroom, and I was intrigued by it. But, other than that, I don’t remember much about the book itself. Because, even though we own a copy, I haven’t read it since then. Oh, sure, I’ve seen the movies (we own several, and Hubby makes sure we watch at least two or three versions every year), so I know the story. But my aversion to Dickens has kept me from reading the book all these years.

And you know what: I liked it.

I don’t think I’m in love with the book, like Hubby (who considers it almost scripture). But, I was surprised how much I enjoyed reading it. (Look: a Dickens book I like! Amazing! I won’t go so far as to say there’s hope for his other books, though. I think I liked it mostly because it was short, and I didn’t have enough time to get irritated with Dickens.) Everyone knows the story, so I won’t bother summarizing it. The movies have mostly done a decent job with the book, capturing the feel and message of the book. The only thing that really stood out for me was how much I liked Dickens as a narrator. A couple of quotes that I smiled at:

The curtains of his bed were drawn aside; and Scrooge, starting up into a half-recumbent attitude, found himself face to face with the unearthly visitor who drew them: as close to it as I am now to you, and I am standing in the spirit at your elbow.

If you should happen, by any unlikely chance, to know a man more blest in a laugh than Scrooge’s nephew, all I can say is, I should like to know him too. Introduce him to me, and I’ll cultivate his acquaintance.

He’s a nice guy, this Dickens narrator.

I’d like to say that I’d read it over and over, every year. Because I do think there’s worth in the book: there’s a good message that one needs this time of year, to remember those less fortunate than us, to remember that Christmas is about giving and sharing and family.

But then, I could just watch the movie (one of them anyway, mostly likely The Muppet Christmas Carol, since that’s the one the girls like best) and get the same message. Kind of sad, isn’t it?

So… what’s your favorite Christmas Carol movie adaption?

by Jane Austen
ages 14+

I was going to be good, and just read a chapter or two of this book in the evenings before bed. I thought that I could be patient, drawing out the story of Anne and Captain Wentworth for a couple of weeks. Not so, my friends. I managed that for a couple of nights, and then I was just sucked in. There are so many things to love about this little book, and I found that I just couldn’t put it down.

It’s not as funny as some of her books, and it lacks the popularity that others have. Everyone wants to hear about Darcy and Lizzy, or even Elinor and Marianne, but Anne’s plight? She’s not often given much thought. (Which is actually her lot in the book.) But this one: it’s my personal favorite.

Sure, Anne’s a bit of a pushover — she’s so incredibly kind and sweet and her family is so snobby and crass and mean to her — but she comes by her nature honestly. She borders on the annoying (really, how wonderful can a person be?) but I don’t think she quite gets there. She’s honsetly good-natured. And she’s honestly sweet. And I honestly feel for her, especially when she’s at Uppercross and Wentworth shows up, the first time in 8 years that she’s seen him. The last time being when she dumped him, on the advice of her dead mother’s friend, Lady Russell. Austen so perfectly captures the awkwardness of the situation: Anne being all nervous and fidgety — she still loves him after all, and has no idea what he thinks of her; he, all cold and aloof — his pride was wounded after all, and he thinks he’s over her.

But what really makes this book for me is the end. Austen penns the most romantic letter — from Captain Wentworth to Anne — ever written. It makes no sense out of context, but every time I read it (and it’s been quite a few), it makes my heart flutter, and I have to keep reading until the very satisfying conclusion. It’s raw pent-up emotion, it’s desire, it’s heartache, it’s hope… all in two paragraphs on page 214. It gets me every time. This book is the best one of Austen’s because it’s a re-finding of love lost, it’s the rekindling of hope, rather than the blush of first love. Anne and Wentworth were torn apart — by pride, prejudice, situation, class… all of which are Austen themes in her other books — and yet they overcome all in order to be together.

It’s beautiful.

I honestly didn’t know what to expect when I picked up this book. Obviously, it’s about a dog, since there’s one on the cover. (As an aside: the illustrations in the book are done by Brian Moser, who also did the edition of Dracula I read. They were fabulous.) I also knew it was considered a classic. But beyond that I had no idea what to expect.

I was suitably impressed.

For those who don’t know: it’s the story of Buck, a husky. He was initially a pet, living a comfortable life in southern California, about the turn of the century, until one of his master’s servants sold him to pay off his gambling debts. Buck then found himself shipped north to Canada/Alaska, and was beaten and trained as a sled dog. He learned the ropes (unlike many “Southerner” dogs, who died from the hardship and the work), and was eventually passed through several masters. And practically run to death. He was saved by his last master, and stayed with him for while. Buck, however, became more and more restless, hearing (sorry), the call of the wild, until he finally left humanity (if that can be possible for a dog) altogether, joining the wolves in the end.

London is a tight writer — almost a poet — in that no word is wasted. There is so much packed into each sentence, into each page, that even though the book is only 111 pages long, it feels complete. There really was nothing missing, or anything superfluous. I’m also not one to enjoy pages and pages of narrative, but in this case, I was captivated. I liked how London treated the dogs, Buck especially. I felt like I knew Buck, even though he never spoke a word. He was personified for me, with emotions (fear, rage, jealousy, love), and with ambitions and desires. And the emotion of the book: it’s an adventure story, but it’s full of pain and love and anger and disappointment and happiness. I’m still amazed at how much London captured through the eyes of a dog.

I suppose this one could be easily written off as one of those English-major-only books, or perhaps one of those animal-lover-only books, but it’s not. (Since I’m neither of those….) It truly is a classic: something that can be enjoyed by everyone, on some level. It really is worth the time spent reading it.

I think the thing that struck me most about Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein was how un-horror-inducing it was. I didn’t find it to be a horror novel; sure Victor Frankenstein did a horrific thing (more on that later), but the novel itself wasn’t much of a horror book. In the edition I read, Walter James Miller pointed out that it’s actually more a work of science fiction than gothic or horror, and I’d have to agree. It’s a treatise on many things, the primary one being what happens when a scientist tries to become God.

Other observations:

Frankenstein, the scientist, is not a very sympathetic character. He creates this monster, mostly because he can, figuring the creation will bless his name. Instead, when the creature is made alive, Frankenstein freaks out, and bolts, leaving the creature to fend for himself. From this moment, I realized that the narrative was tainted; how could I respect or like or believe Frankenstein when he so casually creates life and then abandons it. Perhaps that’s the mother in me talking.

Along the same lines, I actually liked the monster better, or perhaps I should say that I felt more pity for the monster than for Frankenstein. I’m not sure whom Shelley wanted us to sympathize with, but I was entirely on the monster’s side. Frankenstein behaved abominably, and all the monster wanted was a companion. How could Frankenstein, having gone so far, deny the monster that thing?

There is an interesting discussion of nature versus nurture in the novel. The monster, by his own account, is actually a sensible, feeling, kind being. It’s the fact that he’s universally abhorred that makes him turn to violence and revenge against Frankenstein. It’s all in the nurture of the monster, or lack thereof, that calamity is brought upon Frankenstein and his friends. I’m not sure I agree, entirely, with that reasoning, but it made sense in the framework of the story.

The story itself was long-winded and plodding. I have to admit I skimmed sections, reading only enough to get the gist of the story. In the intro (which I liked, can you tell?), Miller blames Percy Shelley for that — he “edited” Mary’s language to make it more “literary”. I probably would have preferred something more straightforward.

This book has made me think, though. I’d love the opportunity to hash it out in a classroom or good book group setting; there are a lot of topics and thoughts for discussion in the 198 pages that Shelley wrote out. And for that, it’s well worth reading.

I read this once, about 6 years ago. It was the very last of an Austen kick, where I read all of her works back-to-back over the course of a month. Needless to say, by the time I got to Sense and Sensibility, all the books were sounding alike, and the 561 pages of this book were just daunting. I decided I liked Emma Thompson’s adaptation better, and haven’t bothered re-reading this one since.

That said, I thoroughly enjoyed reading it this time around. While the story of Elinor and Marianne and their suitors lacks the chemistry of Darcy and Lizzy and the humor of Emma, it more than makes up for in drama. I think this just might be the most intense of her stories… between the libertine and cad Willoughby and the tension and heartache that Elinor goes through with Edward, I’m not sure if there’s a more soap-opera-ish Austen. I also think that this one explores class and money in a more explicit way than in the other novels. Sure, it plays a part in Mansfield Park and P&P, but it’s more in the background. Fanny and Lizzy shouldn’t be getting the men they do because they’re out of their class. But, if it wasn’t for money, Marianne’s heart wouldn’t have been broken, Edward wouldn’t have been cast out. There are a lot of money-conscious characters in this one (right from the start with John and his wife!) and it factors heavily in the plot. I think Austen could rightly be pegged as showing what money *can* (but doesn’t necessarily) do to people, and how Elinor and Marianne deal with it.

I think I still like the movie version of this more than the book, though. There’s a lot of excess — characters, descriptions, plot points (what? Willoughby came back? I didn’t remember that!) — that Thompson streamlined while still maintaining the heart of the story. It’s one of my favorite adaptations, and I think I’m going to indulge myself tonight.

Glad I read the book first, though.

I really liked the idea of this book. I was searching for a copy of Malory’s Morte d’Arthur and came across this one, “written” by John Steinbeck. I thought it was interesting: who knew that Steinbeck had done anything with King Arthur? I got it from the library, and perused the introduction. It turns out that Steinbeck hated reading until an aunt gave him a copy of Mallory, and it was because of that book that Steinbeck became who he did. He wanted so much to “translate” it into common vernacular, so he took it upon himself to go to England, study the manuscripts and create a version of the work of his own.

However, he never finished it. This was published after his death, in 1976, with a series of letters from Steinbeck to his agent and editor about the process. I found both the introduction and the letters fascinating.

But. (You knew there would be one, didn’t you?)

When it came to the actual reading of the tales, I was bored out of my skull. I won’t say that it was Steinbeck’s — or even Mallory’s — fault, because there was a part of me that was intrested to see the origins of all the novels I’ve enjoyed. I just realized about 100 pages in that I like the novelizations. I like to have my mythical characters have motivations, and conversations, and to be more fleshed out than they were in this telling. (For the same reason, I don’t really like Greek myths, although Hubby and M tell me I’m missing out.) And since my time is better spent reading something I really like, I abandoned it.

If you’re interested in Arthurian legends on an intellectual level (or you handle myths in pure form better than I do), this really is an interesting way to read it, especially if you can’t get your hands on a good version of Le Morte d’Arthur. It’s just not for me.