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.

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?

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?

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.

First, a definition: Parnassusian (parnassus isn’t in my dictionary) — from the Greek parnasios; Parnassus, mountain in Greece sacred to Apollo and the Muses. Of or relating to poetry.

There. Now everyone’s learned something today.

This was a slim little nothing of a book, wrtitten in 1915 by Christopher Morely . But, it was totally enjoyable. I’m not sure I expected anything grand or life shattering; it wasn’t. The basic story: Helen McGill was completely content to live in the New England countryside baking bread (over 6,000 loaves, as she later calculates) and cooking meals for her brother. That is, until he decides to become “literary” and write a book. She gets increasingly put out with him and his escapades off to gather material for his books. So when Roger Mifflin stops by the farm with a wagon — the Parnassus — wanting to sell it to her brother, she up and buys it. And off starts her adventures. Which really aren’t life-shattering (though they are life-changing for her). It is amusing, though. And completely charming. I’ve been reading a lot of charming books lately, it seems. Not that there’s anything wrong with charming. It was actually quite refreshing to put down a book and think, “Now that was charming.” Maybe I wanted there to be something more — it did tie itself up quite nicely — but that’s quibbling.

Besides, I learned what a parnassus is.

Something about this post by Lisa made me want to read this book by Leif Enger. I went back and tried to pinpoint what it was, but couldn’t quite figure it out. Which is kind of what I felt about the book. There is something about this book, but I couldn’t quite pinpoint it. I couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was about — people kept asking me that, and I couldn’t ever really come up with an answer. It wasn’t about anything. It just was. Not that that’s a bad thing. I’m usually a plot-driven person (I usually like my books to be about something!), but I found myself drawn into this one. And I can’t quite pinpoint why. Was it the miracles? Was it the characters? Was it the writing? Don’t know. But I did finish the book, and found myself mulling over it for a day or so after. I guess it must have been good.