Julie, who has read (by her own admission) most everything Orson Scott Card has written, was appropriately shocked when I had no idea what Basilica was when she mentioned it in a comment a while back. After informing me it was the city in Memory of Earth, she “assigned” me to read it, hopefully before we met up for not-coffee in Ann Arbor last weekend. Well, I didn’t quite make the deadline, but I did read it.

My first reaction on picking up the book was: “Oh, yeah, this one.” I was in college when it came out and I remember when it hit the bookstore. I took one look at the book jacket, and was put off by Card’s blatant stealing of the Nephi story in the Book of Mormon. I didn’t want to give it the time of day; the man plagerized scripture (or what I believe to be scripture) after all.

Now, though, I’m glad I was encouraged to give it a chance. Yes, the plot for any good, church-going, scripture-reading, LDS member is completely predictable. I knew what was going to happen, especially as the book got going. That said, the way Card adapted and fleshed out the story was completely fascinating. Basilica is truly a fascinating place; what city that has existed for 40 million years (my mind can’t even begin to wrap itself around that one) isn’t? But beyond that, I found that the motivations for Elemak and Mebbekew to be completly believable; no longer are they just punk, bullying older brothers. And Nafai’s whole “conversion” process is understandable. Of course he would have questions and doubts. Okay, there were some weak spots (aside from the obvious plot hangups) and Card did spend a lot of time on probably needless details. And Gaballufix wasn’t excatly totally believeable as a bad guy. But overall, it was a decent read. I haven’t decided, though, whether to read the others or not.

I had three reactions to the book: the first section depressed me; the second enraged me; and I was resigned to the fate of these women by the end of the third. What a book.

So. The story: three different women (the Mrs. Kimbles) marry, in succession (not at the same time; that might have provided some interesting plot points), a man who is, by all counts: a pig, a jerk, a liar, a manipulator, and a crook. I suppose the real draw of the book is figuring out why all these women marry this guy. I wasn’t impressed. The first wife drank herself into oblivion after Mr. Kimble left her. She couldn’t hold a job, she couldn’t remember to buy food, and the biggest crime in my book, she couldn’t remember that she had kids to take care of, and therefore a reason to get going in the morning. I felt depressed and repulsed by this character. I know I’m supposed to be on the woman’s side, because the guy was a jerk — he had an affair and left her for the other woman — but how can I be if she’s so despicable?

Second wife wasn’t much better. She convinced herself that he was a Jew (he wasn’t), and married him. Fell for all his tricks because she was suffering in silence from a mastectomy and was vulnerable. She thought he loved her and she loved him for that. Okay so far. Then she up and convinces him to kidnap his kids. WHAT? Thankfully, she dies pretty quick of breast cancer so he can inherit her millions and go on to his third wife.

The third wife was the only one that I actually felt sympathy for. She was the babysitter for him and his first wife and had a crush on him. Anyway, they cross paths, he pays for surgery to correct her major facial birthmark, they get married. But, she’s the only one not to have any delusions about him, at least after 15 years of marriage (Why did he stay wtih her that long?? No answer.). She’s the one who has an affair (though I assume he’s had ones, too), and in the end, she manages to hold on to her life and even make it a happier one, after he does the predictable thing and bolts.

Honestly, I would have never read this book if it wasn’t for the book group. I don’t go in for the divorced/men-are-pigs/women can’t seem to get on with their lives/Oprah-self-help books. I don’t enjoy the feeling of “well, at least I’ve got it together” once I finish a book. So, I’m not exactly happy I read this one. Thankfully, it was a quick read so I didn’t have to spend too much of my time involved with these people.

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. 🙂

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 cover of this book by Suzanne Wolfe has this quote: “An imaginative vision akin to that of Dante.” The person who said that must have a very low opinion of Dante. Because the imaginative vision of this book was nonexistent. It’s about art renovation and a woman healing from her horrible past, both of which could have been interesting in the right hands. In this book, they both were terrible cliches. I never cared that the main character was raped, or had a miscarriage or even finds healing in the arms of her Italian lover. The art restoration was slightly better, but so infrequent that by the end I couldn’t care less that they discovered not a lost masterpiece but a new work of art by an obscure woman painter. Whoopee.

Thankfully it was short, or I’d really be grumpy about the time spent. (Then again, I might have bailed before the end….)

I loved this movie. We watched it a while back with our girls, and just enjoyed it thoroughly. It’s a great story about a girl wanting her grandfather’s love, and how she comes to earn that love and how he comes to realize her worth. And she learns to be a Maori chief and ride a whale (the girls liked that part). See it.

As a result, I was really excited to read the book by Witi Ihimaera. And, on it’s own terms, it’s a good book. I enjoyed learning the Maori legends, I enjoyed the language of the book. But, I had a few quibbles. The book’s point of view is from the girl’s — Kahu in the book, Paikea in the movie — uncle, which didn’t sit well with me. Especially if it’s a story about a girl who can talk to whales. The girl is age 2 through 8 in the book, too, and comes across as more of a mythic character, rather than a pro-active one. I think the point of the book was to focus on the Maori creation legend and to give the book a mythic quality. And I think Ihimaera succeeded at that.

But I think that by refocusing the story to the girl’s point of view, making her older, and making her more proactive rather than reactive the movie told a better story. It’s not often that I think a movie is better than the book, but in this case, it is. One last quibble, though this is with the library: they had this book in the juvenile fiction (ages 8-12) section. It’s not a juvenile fiction book. Not because of content or themes, but because of presentation. I’m not sure my almost 9-year-old would enjoy this very much.

All that said, I still think I’d like to give Ihimaera another try.

After reading Julie’s review of Loitering With Intent, I was really quite intrigued to read a Muriel Sparks book. Unfortunately, being in a small town, the library didn’t have Loitering, so I was on my own to choose which one of the three books the library did have would be a good read. I did reasonably well. Aiding and Abetting didn’t quite live up to the book jacket description; I didn’t find it either “hilarious” or a “witty jab at the upper class”. It was an intriguing, though slightly werid, story though. It’s based on the case of Earl Lucan from 1974. I guess he murdered his children’s nanny, hoping to get his wife, and then has been in hiding for 30 years. Okay. Sparks took off on that and went into motives and means of support for his exile. But there were a couple of odd sub-plots that just didn’t quite fit. What on earth did the story of the stigmata fraud/psychiatrist have to do with anything? Or the whole sub story of Lucan’s old friend and the daugher of another friend going after Lucan to hunt him down? Didn’t get it. In short, I finished the book, but I don’t think I enjoyed it. Next time, I’ll just stick to the book recommended.