Adult Fiction

Katherine

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I think I picked this up from Guusje. She mentioned a while back (not going to find the post) that it was one of her favorite books. And, I have to say, it’s not a bad little bit of historical fiction. It’s one of those instances where I actually learned somthing from a fiction book. But, then, the amount of research that Anya Seton did to write this novel was admirable. (Okay, I’ll admit that I don’t have the book in front of me — it was due yesterday — so I’m going off the top of my head.) Reading Middle English, making sure even her minor characters were real people, having someone translate Latin. It made for a very authentic book. (We’ve talked about authentic books here before…)

The basic story: it’s the love story between John, Duke of Lancaster and Katherine Swynford. “Who?” you ask. It takes place in the mid- to late-14th-century, time of Chaucer (who shows up) and the black plague (which also shows up). John and Katherine have a 10 year affair, while John is married and after the death of Katherine’s husband, which results (in the long term) in children who become the parents of several kings of England. Not bad.

It held my interest and I enjoyed it for a long time. But… it’s a long book. And I’m short on time these days. Which adds up to me skimming the last 1/3. It all ends happily for John and Katherine, I’m happy to say. But I didn’t have the time to savor it. Or maybe I was just bored with all the plot twists and uprisings and courtly behavior. Whatever. Maybe I’ll come back to it someday.

Tooth and Claw

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What do you get when you cross Jane Austen with Anne McCaffrey? This chraming Victorian Dragon novel(Or is it a Dragon Victorian Novel?), by Jo Walton. It was a riot to read. The dragons acted like Victorian English: maidens couldn’t be without chaperones (I especially liked the way they “blushed” pink when they came into contact with the male dragons, which usually led to an engagement). They had a social system like the English: there were gently born dragons and servant dragons and lower class dragons. I loved the court scenes (there was a suit filed in the course of the story). I guess I just liked the whole premise of the story. Which, truth be told is quite simple: a father dies. The daughters go live with their siblings and find love. The son feels cheated out of his inheritance and takes his brother-in-law to court. Not much there. This book rides entriely on its premise. Thankfully, it’s a good one. Especially if you like Victorian novels and dragon books. Why not combine the two?

Rachel and Leah

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I have given my opinion of Orson Scott Card before. And I’ve come to the following conculsions: 1) he just can’t let things end. Rachel and Leah is the third in a series, and there’s going to be a fourth (for the good reason that the story was just too much for one book). Still. He does tend to draw things out. 2) I really like the first book I read in one of his series (Rebekah this time; I read them out of order), but the more I read, the less I like them. Maybe because they’re often the same story retold? 3) Card can’t write ancient women. Just can’t. I don’t know what they’re supposed to “really” be like, but I really doubt they had conversations with their betrothed about bearing children (and how it’s akin to the preisthood). He takes modern women and dresses them up in sandals and calls is Biblical. I felt The Red Tent was more authentic. And I didn’t even really like that one.

The good points: I liked how he balanced the four women. That’s a hard task, one that he did manage to pull off (in spite of my complaints). In my opinion, he tilted the scales in favor of Leah and Zilpah, rather than Rachel, as expected. I liked Leah, in the end, more than Rachel (perhaps that’s what he was going for in order to explain the whole wedding deception thing?). She was more honest, more forthright, more interesting. Maybe that’ll change in the next book.

In the end, I don’t know how I really think about this book. Nothing seems to leap to mind. Which is sad. Because Card can be a vibrant, exciting writer. I guess not just about Biblical women. (Maybe it’s that whole men writing about women thing again…)

Gap Creek

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I need to focus and actually write this. It’s been a busy week — M and C started school; it’s going well and it looks like we may become the proud parents of a cello (player) — and I’ve been meaning to get down to write this (shoot, we have DSL now; you think it would be easier) all week.

So. Gap Creek. By Robert Morgan. One of those Oprah books (I’ve yet to have a good experience with them.) Actually, it was for my church’s bookgroup (yay! a book group!) that I read it. And, it’s not bad. I kind of liked it. The story: Julie lives in the North Carolina Appalachian mountains in the late 1800s. She watches her brother and her father die. She works hard. She meets Hank, falls in love, moves to Gap Creek, South Carolina. Where she proceeds to Live Life. All sorts of trials happen: the man they live with is crumudgeony, he dies, they get swindled out of money, Hank is moody, the mother-in-law is cranky, the house floods, she delivers a premature baby, baby dies, and they Move On. There. Now you don’t have to read it.

I shouldn’t make fun of it. It really wasn’t a bad sort of time spent. It’s just that I’ve read similar stories that were written much better. And resonated much better. Which I think is the real problem here. Morgan put Julie through the paces, but I’m not sure if he ever really felt her. (Which begs the question: can men really write women well? Conversely, can women accurately write men?) If he did, I’m missing something, because I sure didn’t. But then, as we know, I often miss the boat on these Meaningful and Moving books.

The Unexpected Mrs. Pollifax

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One week left. Then I’ll renounce the state of Illinois (probably forever; it was good to us, even if the university wasn’t), and become a Kansasan. That still sounds weird. But then, so did being an Arkansasan, and I got used to that after a while.

(I told Julie when I had lunch with her in Ann Arbor that I’d try and put a little more of my life on the blog rather than just reviewing books… one has got to start somewhere, right?)

The Unexpected Mrs. Pollifax (by Dorothy Gilman) was pretty much the last book to be packed; it was loaned to me by someone in Wichita, so it doesn’t go in the usual book boxes, having the disinction of being left out so I don’t accidently not return it. There really isn’t much to say about the book. It’s fluff. But nice fluff. In short: Mrs. Pollifax (I kind of liked that she was always referred to as Mrs. Pollifax rather than her given name; gave it an English touch, I think.) is a retired widow without much purpose in life until she decided to fly to Langly and apply at the CIA for a job. (“No one just walks in here looking for a job!” says one of the characters, or something like that.) She ends up getting hired for a courier job (just pick up a package and bring it back), but it goes wrong (of course), and the rest of the book is how she gets out of a sticky situation. Compared to more recent action/adventure books (of which I read a lot — NOT!), it’s not all that exciting (it was written in the 60s). But still, it was fun.

And since I’m still in the market for fluffy books, it works for me.

The Mermaid Chair

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My dear husband gave me the chance this week to go to the library sans the kids. Made me ecstatic wandering the stacks without having to check every 30 seconds what the dear girls have gotten in to. Okay, only my 2 year old. The older ones are pretty responsible.

Still, I wandered looking for something to read (I even took my trusty list of recommendations, but none of them really sounded “right” at the moment. Speaking of recommendations, someone posted a comment a while back about an author who was a “modern day Jane Austin”. I know I wrote the name down, but can’t find it anywhere, and am too lazy to go searching through my blog looking for the comment. If you’re out there… PLEASE tell me who the author is!)

I discovered that Sue Monk Kid’s Secret Life of Bees was in, and it’s been on my list for a couple of years. But The Mermaid Chair was right next to it, and frankly, it sounded more interesting to me. So I got it instead.

First, let me say that I think Kidd is an excellent writer. Beautiful prose, very evocative imagry. And very Southern, which I loved.

But, this book made me peevish.

The story in short: Jessie is feeling despondent in her marriage and finds answers/escape/salvation when she visits her mother (who had cut off a finger with a meat cleaver on purpose) at her childhood home on Egret Island (off of South Carolina). It’s more complicated than that, of course, and it involves a monk. But that’s the basic jist of it.

I was talking to my husband about it after I finished last night (I liked the ending, by the way), and he suggested that I felt peevish because it’s asking some hard questions. And ones I relate to. I’ll be married 13 years this August (13 years on the 13th!). Am I happy in my marriage? Yes. Am I still my own person, though? Will I end up in 7 more years feeling like Jessie: trapped, despondent, an extension of my husband and children rather than my own person? How do I avoid that? I lay awake while feeding the baby early this morning thinking about all the ways in which I could find something that is myself , that isn’t “mom” or “wife”. And I haven’t found the answers yet.

I thoroughly admire what Jessie did in the end: she jettisoned her old life and found a new place for herself in her marriage, in the world. (I don’t approve of how she went about it, but it’s only a book, and it’s silly to pass judgment on fictional characters anyway.) I hope my life doesn’t come to that, though. I want to be able to keep what I’ve got, but find some… solitude of being, I think is what the characters called it.

But, then, isn’t that what we all want?

Zorro

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I feel like there should be some sort of exclamation point: Zorro! It’s not something you just casually say.

This book by Isabel Allende has made the rounds (well, a couple other people have read it): both Allison and Lisa have reviewed it. In fact, it was Allison’s review that sent me searching for the book. I figured it fit right in with my light and fluffy regiment. And, I was right.

I really enjoyed the first half of the book. To sum up: it’s the Zorro origin story. Deigo de la Vega, the son of a Spanish soldier (who becomes a wealthy landowner in California) and a Native Amerian. He grows up respecting both Spanish and tribal culture, yet sees the injustice in the way the Spanish treat the native populations. He’s educated in Barcelona, makes a couple of enemies, has to vacate quickly, makes a long voyage back to California, and once there, saves his father from prison. Whew. (All in a day’s work, right?)

I enjoyed the childhood of Diego de la Vega. There were strong female characters, Diego was an interesting person, and I liked his relationship with Bernardo. But… as he got older, it got less interesting. The whole escape from Barcelona was just forced, and long. I did like parts, but I found I had to force my way through chapters. And then it quickly wraps up in the end. Too much buildup, not enough pay off. Still, the ride was enjoyable, for the most part.

Lisa said that it wasn’t nearly as good as Allende’s other one, House of Spirits. I’ll see if I can find that one. Because Zorro wasn’t a bad book. I guess I just wanted something more.

The Jane Austen Book Club

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I’ve discovered that my library is a haven for fluffy books. Serious literature and out of the way books, not so much. But potboilers, best sellers and all manner of romance novels, they’ve got in abundance. So, I guess it was no surprise that they had this one by Karen Joy Fowler (whom I’ve never heard of, but I guess has written a bunch of romance books).

Anyway. Basic plot: Six people — five women (two best friends, one eccentric old lady, one daughter and one high school French teacher) and one man — get together once a month to discuss one of Jane Austen’s books. Not much there. Still, it worked. Fowler’s basic premise (not to be confused with plot, because there really isn’t one: they talk, someone falls in love with the man, one woman’s husband leaves her then comes back, the French teacher’s mom dies… pretty mundane stuff) is that everyone has an Austen book. Each of the chapters focused on one person, and gave them a book to do it by. Jocelyn has Emma (she’s a matchmaker, always trying to set people up, and running the world). Bernadette has Pride and Prejudice (that chapter was set at a formal dance/fundraiser). And so on. It made me wonder what my Austen book is. (There should be an internet quiz for that: Your Austen is Persuasion. You are long-suffering and kind, but often put upon by your family and friends. You do your best given the circumstances. Don’t give up hope: it all will work out in the end!)

Oh, and a couple of the book group questions in the back got me thinking, too: ” Austen lovers and science fiction readers feel a similar intense connection to books. Are there more book communities you know of that engage with a like passion? Why these and not others?” and “Many science fiction readers also love Austen. Why do you suppose this is true? Do you think many Austen readers love science fiction?”

What do you think?

Two perfect books

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The Orange Girl, by Jostein Gaarder
Every once in a while, the Chinaberry magazine comes through with a truly wonderful read. This is one. It’s hard to tell the story — it’s a love letter, from a dead father to his son 11 years after his death; it’s a mystery; it’s a fairy tale; it’s an awakening. On top of all that, it’s really beautifully written, touching and powerful in the end. Gaarder (who is Norwegian) deals with space, time, life, eternity and is life worth it in the end. Maybe someday I’ll get a chance to recommend this one to a book group.

Ida B (and Her Plans to Maximize Fun, Avoid Disaster, and (Possibly) Save the World), by Katherine Hannigan
M brought this one home from her school library; I picked it up, read the back cover, and decided I need to read the book, if only because the character reminded me so much of M. And, while Ida B wasn’t exactly M, she was a great character. Hannigan has got fourth graders down perfectly. The story in a nutshell: Ida B’s homeschooled, because her one week of Kindergarten in a public school is horrible, until her mother gets sick with cancer. On top of being forced to go back to public school, her father has to sell off some of the family’s farmland to a developer who, horror of all horrors, cuts down some of Ida B’s tree friends. It’s a fabulous world to get lost in. From Ida B’s imagination, to her free spirit, to her expecting revenge when she is mean to a classmate, to how things resolve in the end. It’s a wonderful read.

The Virgin’s Lover

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I couldn’t resist picking this one by Phillipa Gregory up, since I enjoyed The Queen’s Fool so much. I wasn’t disappointed, really, but I didn’t enjoy it as much as I had the earlier book. As far as historical fiction goes, it’s okay — it’s got lots of soap-opera style stuff, from war, to love and lust, adultry and jilted wives, and ambition… gotta love the 16th century, right? Still, it lacked a sympathetic character. Queen Elizabeth was a bit of a pushover — in love with Robert Dudley and completley at loose ends during her first two years of her reign (the time period of the book). Dudley, himself, is a bit of an arrogant prick, and not at all likeable. His wife, Amy, is — probably true to her time — weepy, boring, and garners no sympathy when she ends up dead. The only really likeable character is William Cecil, and even then, he’s not exactly endearing, being manipulative and harsh on everyone (though by the end, he’s the only one acting like an adult, and I was grateful for that). Still, it’s not a bad read — I’ve read, and finished, books I’ve liked less — it’s just that The Queen’s Fool is much better.