An Ethnography of an Iraqi Village
by Elizabeth Warnock Fernea
ages: adult
First sentence: “The night train from Baghdad to Basra was already hissing and creaking in its tracks when Bob and I arrived at the platform.”
Support your local independent bookstore: buy it there!

I’m perfectly sure, even with Amira’s high recommendation, that I would have never picked up this book without it being chosen as a book group selection. I am also perfectly sure that, even though it took me a lot longer to read than I wanted it to (for various reasons), it’s a fascinating look at a specific segment of of the Iraqi women population in a specific time in history.

Our author, amazing woman that she is, was brave enough to spend the first years of her marriage in a backwater tribal village in southern Iraq in 1957 and 1958. Her husband, Bob, was there to do some research, and she went along for the ride. It was good, as well, since Bob had no access to half the population: the women. Through trial and error, Elizabeth (or Beeja as they referred to her) made her way through the intricacies of daily life for a Shiite Muslim woman in that particular tribe. It was an interesting insight to the Islamic faith, to the traditions and strictures and customs of both the faith as well as the tribe.

That’s one of the things I had to keep reminding myself: this ethnography (so hard to spell!) is of a particular village in a particular time, and while it’s fascinating, it really can’t be applied broadly. I kept wondering how things have changed, not just for the village, but for women in Iraq in general.

Given that, it was an interesting story. I kept admiring Beeja for her gumption: I’m not sure, newly married, if I would have been that adventuresome. (Yes, I want to travel, but generally “travel” for me includes flushing toilets and mattresses.) But, she did what any sensible person would do: she threw herself into her situation and made the best of it. Can’t ask for more than that. It was interesting to read about her ups and downs of adapting, and how her relationships with the women in the village evolved and flourished in spite of the cultural (and, initially, linguistic) barriers.

But it wasn’t until the end of the book that I found something that truly resonated with me:

How many years would it take, I wondered, before the two worlds began to understand each other’s attitudes towards women? For the West, too, had a blind spot in this area. I could tell my friends in America again and again that the veiling and seclusion of Eastern women did not mean necessarily that they were forced against their will to live lives of submission and near-serfdom. I could tell Haji again and again that the low-cut gowns and brandished freedom of Western women did necessarily mean that these women were promiscuous and cared nothing for home and family. Neither would have understood, for each group, in its turn, was bound by custom and background to misinterpret appearances in its own way.

For better or for worse, this still is the case. And, at the very least, helping bridge that misinterpretation is something good that this book, even out-of-date as it is, can do.

by Phillip Hoose
ages: 11+
First sentence: “Claudette Colvin: I was about four years old the first time I ever saw what happened when you acted up to whites.”
Support your local independent bookstore: buy it there!

When I came across a brief mention of Claudette Colvin in Mare’s War, I knew I needed to (finally) read this book, if only to find out a little bit more about who this girl was.

Told in a combination of narration and quoted memories from Claudette herself, the covers a broad range of history in Alabama, though it focuses specifically on Claudette, following her from early childhood through the late 1950s. It’s a turbulent time in Alabama, and the book doesn’t sugar coat much of anything: the treatment of blacks during the Jim Crow years, the conditions that they lived, worked and went to school in. Claudette had hopes of rising above all that, and she had a remarkable support system. She was opinionated, and curious, and willing to stand up for what she believed in. Which is why, one day, she just decided that she’d had enough of Montgomery’s stupid backward bus laws/customs, and refused to get off her seat. Nine months before Rosa Parks did the same thing.

What surprised me most about this book — and perhaps it shouldn’t have — was how much class came into play during the civil rights movement. I guess I kind of figured that all the blacks were fed up, that all the blacks would support whatever stand against segregation whomever it was that made them. According to the book and Claudette’s memory, that wasn’t so. She made a stand, but she wasn’t the right class, wasn’t the right person, it wasn’t the right time… all among the reasons she wouldn’t made a good poster girl for the cause. I suppose it’s cynical to think so, but everything dealing with government is political, everything needs PR and the right spin, and the civil rights movement wasn’t exempt.

That’s not to say that it wasn’t a worthy cause, just because it was politicized. It was. I just felt bad for Claudette. In many ways, she was courageous, and deserved to be honored for that. But, instead she was shunned and pushed to the side. No wonder she never made it into history books, even though she was the star witness on the lawsuit — Browder v. Gayle — that actually got the city of Montgomery to integrate the bus system. It’s a portrait of an unsung hero, yes, but it’s also a look into the politics of a movement.

Fascinating stuff.

The Hidden World of Islamic Women
by Geraldine Brooks
ages: adult
First sentence: “The hotel receptionist held my reservation card in his hand.”
Support your local independent books: buy it there!

When I read this back in 1995, when it first came out, I remembered being floored by it. It was fascinating, powerful, interesting, moving. It’s what put Geraldine Brooks on the map for me (I loved her husband’s, Tony Horwitz, writing, too), which is not something I regret.

Before I go on, this book is Brooks’ investigation into the lives of women in Islamic countries. It’s something only she can do — obviously, being a woman — and she tries to cover all aspects of how Islam, and the laws in majority-Islamic countries, affect the lives of the women in those countries. It runs the gamut: from veiling, to polygamy, to clitoridectomies, to travel, to politics and education. It focuses mostly on the Middle East: Egypt, Iran, Jordan, Saudi Arabia and a little bit of Iraq and Kuwait. She does dip into Pakistan and Africa, but only incidentally.

The thing that struck me most, this time around, was how much I wish that there was an updated version of all this. How did the Taliban change things in Afghanistan? Or the second Iraq war? How is the situation now, thirty years on, in Iran? The whole book — while still interesting — just felt dated.

Part of that was me, obviously: I think this was the first book I’d ever read on Islam, and while I’m not as well-read as some (like Amira), I do have a basic idea of the religion these days. And so I noticed things this time around that I didn’t last time. Like, while Brooks has respect for the basic tenets of the religion, she really doesn’t have much respect for those who try and interpret the religion. She’s very critical of most Islamic governments, and many of the individual men. It’s firey feminism at its finest, and while it’s justified in many ways (genital mutilation is just wrong, period.), it’s also heavy-handed. It’s not that it’s a bad thing, but (especially for a convert to Judaism, and someone who grew up Catholic; or maybe it’s because of those things), it’s almost like she willfully doesn’t understand someone who could actually submit to the things these women submit to. Or why they would do it happily. It’s like she’s thinking: doesn’t everyone want what a Western secularist wants? And if not, why?

I’m not sure I liked it as much this time around. Then again, I’m not sure how much it matters anymore. Brooks has written better books, and there are more interesting ones on Islam. Though sometimes it’s nice to revisit old books just to see how well they hold up. Even if it’s not all that well.

The Truth About How We Look and Finding Freedom from Self-Hatred
by Toni Raiten-D’Antonio
ages: adult
First sentence: “I am ugly.”
Support your local independent bookstore: buy it there!
Review copy provided by TLC Book Tours

We’ve all seen, and probably read, those image books. How we’re supposed to accept the way we are (or help our daughters do so). How we can be our best selves by doing X or Y or Z. How we can embrace ourselves and stop loathing ourselves.

And yet, none of them really get to the root of the problem: we all fear, on some level, rejection because we don’t measure up to some (unattainable) standard of beauty. Because we are, gasp, ugly. Which is exactly what D’Antonio tackles head-on.

The basic thesis is that we — especially as women, but really everyone — spend so much of our time being afraid of getting/being ugly that it affects everything we do. In the way we relate to people, in the way we treat ourselves. She asserts that it’s the root cause of eating disorders, that it may (not necessarily, but quite probably) be the reason we spend so much time exercising, or on hair dye or fashion. We have taken what should be natural — aging, especially, but also just the way we naturally look — and have transformed it into something unreal.

It’s a comprehensive, if abbreviated, look at the role of beauty through the ages, especially in Western culture. D’Antonio covers everything from the origins of ugliphobia through it’s place in culture, relationships, and self awareness. It’s a bit to glossed over to be truly thorough, and many of the ideas have been written about elsewhere using different language: be true to yourself, improve your character not your appearance. But one has to give D’Antonio some credit: she is blunt and forthright not only about being ugly, but about her own experience with it. This book is almost a memoir: it’s her personal experience with accepting herself the way nature made her and her determination to disregard what society wants her to be. And, hopefully, reach others like her.

And the solution? It’s simplistic, and one I have heard many times before, but possibly could work: give in to your better self, and stop looking at the outside. Improve the inside. And if you do give into the beauty regimen, make sure it’s something you want to do, not one that you feel you have to do. It’s not something that will change the beauty-obsessed culture overnight, but perhaps, one person at a time, we can all become more at peace with who we are.

Thought-provoking, to say the least.

30 Stumbling Mothers Share Glimpses of Grace
edited by Kathryn Lynard Soper
ages: adult
First sentence: “I clambered up the fronts steps of the elementary school, sweaty and panting, with an infant, a toddler, and a preschooler in tow.”
Support your local independent bookstore: buy it there!
Review copy sent to me by the editor.

Writing about motherhood is a tricky thing. How to balance the weight of one’s personal experiences as a mother, and yet not come off as a know-it-all? How does one impart advice to those following after you, with similar problems and not seem arrogant?

The answer I have to give you lies in this book. It’s a series of personal essays on all aspects of motherhood/wifehood: divorce, step parenting, parenting children other than your own, children with disabilities, growing up, teenagers, mistakes, growth, tears, and joy. It’s all faith-based, but not necessarily overtly religious; these are women who are trying to make sense of their lives, of the cards that Fate and God and Choice have dealt them. While reading, it’s easy to relate to and feel for each individual author, learning and growing with her on her journey. Sure, it can be trite: here are the “lessons learned” while experiencing this inevitable trial that came with being a mother. But it never felt saccharine.

Like with Nurture Shock, the essays that resonated with me most were the once on teenagers. They were equal parts terrifying (really? That much running around and sleep deprivation?) and encouraging (they do turn out okay in the end, right?), they gave me hope and courage that not only am I not in this alone, but also that I can do it. I can raise four girls, and end up sane in the end.

I’m not exactly a reflective person; I tend to take life as it comes and let it flow over me. But this book helped me stop and think and enjoy, for a moment, a little bit of what being a mother and wife can possibly be. Which is exactly why there are books like these.

(Full disclosure: I do know and like the editor, though we have not met in person, and I do know several of the authors of the stories. I’m not sure that affected the way I read the book, but you never know.)

by Pamela S. Turner
Photographs by Andy Comins
ages: 9+
First sentence: “THe sun is just peeking over golden Wyoming hills as Dr. Tyrone Hayes wakes his team.”
Support your local independent bookstore: buy it there!

I’m really kind of at a loss as to what to say about this book. Really, the only thing is: I think it’s very cool. I think it’s cool because it’s about an African-American research scientist. How many books are there out there about minority scientists? (Then again, I’m not sure I’ve read many books about scientists; maybe there are tons.) I think it’s cool because the photography is fabulous, even if it is mostly just frogs. Then again, I think it’s cool because it takes frogs seriously, and actually makes the study of them sound fascinating and appealing.

I think it’s cool because it connects the study of frogs to the environment and gives the science behind it all relevance. I think it’s cool because it is quietly environmentalist, without being preachy. I think it’s cool because while being a scientist isn’t really cool or hip or sexy, it is interesting.

But most of all, I think it’s cool because it’s accessible to kids. Simple text, without a lot of science speak, but it never talked down to the readers. Here’s hoping that someone, somewhere reads this book and wants to become a frog scientist.

Now, that would be cool.

by Elizabeth Gilbert
ages: adult
First sentence: “When you’re traveling in India — especially through holy sites and Ashrams — you see a lot of people wearing beads around their necks.”
Support your local independent bookstore: buy it there!

I — honestly — expected to be underwhelmed by this book. Really. I’m highly suspicious of anything really popular, especially if they spawn parodies like this one. It can’t be everything everyone says it is. Right?

Well, call it the blessing of low expectations. Or perhaps it was a good time in my life to read it (who knows what I would have thought if I’d read it when it first came out), but I liked it. Not super-love, going-to-change-my-life like, but it was enjoyable to read. And fun. And, yeah, it made me want to go to Italy. And take a yoga-influenced vacation (though maybe not quite spend a month at an Ashram). (Bali didn’t make much of an impression on me, mostly because it was almost too personal on her end for me to truly relate. Though I’m glad she found peace and love.) It made me grateful for the friends I have. And that I’m in a good, healthy marriage. It made me think about the way I talk to God, the way I approach my spiritual life. And it made me want to do good in the world.

Since I’m reading this so far after it came out (catching the second wave with the movie coming out later this summer; yes, I am curious to see what they do with the book), you probably all know about Liz’s (I’m sorry to be personal here, but after finishing the book, you feel like she’s your best gal pal that you’ve managed to hang out with for a while) year-long journey where she, in short, eats for four months, prays for four months, and then spends four months trying to find a balance between the two and falls in love.

So, I’m going to leave you with some quotes and ideas that really struck me.

First is too long to type out. But, when Liz was in Italy, she made friends with an American, Maria, and her husband Giulio. Liz was contemplating that while she loves Rome, she could never really fit in there. And Giulio puts forth this idea that it’s because her word doesn’t fit with Rome’s word.

“He went on to explain, in a mixture of English, Italian and hand gestures, that every city has a single word that defines it, that identifies most people who live there. If you could read people’s thoughts as they were passing you on the streets of any given place, you would discover that most of them are thinking the same thought. Whatever that majority thought might be — that is the word of the city. And if your personal word does not match the word of the city, then you don’t’ really belong there.”

I love this idea. I don’t know why, really; perhaps it’s an urge to identify things, to label things, to stick them in a box, but I love the idea that you can boil any city, any family, any person down to one word. (And yes, I have thought of mine.) It is, in Liz’s words “a kooky theory, impossible to prove” but it has captivated my fancy.

And a couple that aren’t too long:

AS you. If there is one holy truth of this Yoga, that line encapsulates it. God dwells within you as you yourself, exactly the way you are. God isn’t interested in watching you enact some performance of personality in order to comply with some crackpot notion you have about how a spiritual person looks or behaves. We all seem to get this idea that, in order to be sacred, we have to make some massive, dramatic change of character, that we have to renounce our individuality. This is a classic example of what they call in the East “wrong-thinking.”… To know God, you need only to renounce one thing — your sense of division from God. Otherwise, just stay as you were made, within your natural character.

and a quote from Ketut, the wonderful, wise, funny, healing man from Bali:

Why they always look so serious in Yoga? You make serious face like this, you scare away good energy. To meditate, only you must smile. Smile with face, smile with mind, and good energy will come to you and clean away dirty energy. Even smile in your liver. Practice tonight at hotel. Not to hurry, not to try too hard. Too serious, you make you sick. You can calling the good energy with a smile.

Hubby asked, while I was reading it, if it was a self-help book? It is but only to the extent that she is helping herself and is inviting us along for the journey. It really is, in the end, just that: a book about one woman’s journey. And it’s an interesting journey, with an interesting (if a bit self-indulgent) woman. You can’t get much better than that.