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.

One Woman’s Sweet Journey from Unhappy Hollywood Executive to Contented Country Baker
by Gesine Bullock-Prado
ages: adult
First sentence: “I saw the devil at age three and he gave me chocolate.”
Support your local independent bookstore: buy it there!

I needed something light, something foody, something not-YA, yet something interesting, and when Andi reviewed this, I knew that this had to be my next book. And, thankfully, it was everything I wanted it to be.

One part memoir of a childhood, one part food-lover’s delight (including recipes!), one part Hollywood insider (sans names, except for older sister Sandra, though), this book follows Gesine (pronounced Geh-see-neh) Bullock-Prado’s path from high-powered Hollywood executive to the owner of Gesine’s Confections in Montpelier, Vermont. It’s not a comfortable journey; baking increasingly becomes self-described social misanthrope Gesine’s obsession before she left Hollywood, and the store had some fits and starts before becoming a smoothly operating business. And the book isn’t exactly even either: told in hour increments mirroring the arc of Gesine’s day, it’s often uneven, sometimes telling the same stories more than once, and often the lack of chronology in the stories is quite jarring.

But, given that, Gesine’s a likable person and, Hollywood gossip aside, it’s an interesting story. She grew up in Germany and with her descriptions of food and customs and traditions, made me long to visit there again. I know I have to try every single recipe (well, not the carrot cake) in the book. It was comforting to read about of someone who adores baking, someone who finds satisfaction in creating something delicious to eat. And, no, it’s not the best-written book ever, though she is often funny, sometimes sentimental, and occasionally wandering, you can’t help but love her and want to sit down with her, eat something delicious and chat a while.

Which, I’d like to think, is what she wanted you to think when she wrote this book.

Walk Together, Children, and Don’t You Grow Weary
by Elizabeth Partridge
ages: 10+
First sentence: “The first time Joanne Blackmon was arrested, she was just ten years old.”
Support your local independent bookstore: buy it there!

I’m sure this was on my radar before SLJ’s Battle of the (Kids) Books began, but the decision of Gary Schmidt prompted me to delve into it.

And he’s right: it’s a remarkable book.

It’s the story of the Selma, Alabama marches in 1965 as told through the eyes of the children and teenagers that were involved. Partridge’s words and photographs from the time paint a vivid picture of the stories of these children, their parents, and the general plight of African Americans in the south before the mid-60s. The sacrifice that these people made to get what many people now take for granted is awe-inspiring. Sure, the civil rights leaders show up — Dr. King, Rosa Parks, among others — but the real heart and soul of the book are the children that faced the billy clubs, cattle prods, tear gas, and were consistently arrested and rearrested. It’s enough to bring one to tears.

Honestly, two thoughts kept going through my mind while I was reading. First was that I think that this book couldn’t come at a better time. Sure, it was 40 years ago, but I think we need to constantly be reminded of, and remember to teach our children about, the sacrifices that were made. I think — and this just may be me talking — that we tend to become apathetic about what we have, and forget all the people that worked to make it all possible.

Second was that if I wasn’t a voter, I’d be very ashamed. In fact, the next time someone tells me they don’t vote, I’m going to hand them this book. It’s a right, it’s a privilege, and — dang it — we should take advantage of that.

Enough soapbox. The book really is worth your time.

The Darwins’ Leap of Faith
by Deborah Heligman
ages: 12+
First sentence: “In the summer of 1838, in his rented rooms on Great Marlborough Street, London, Charles Darwin drew a line down the middle of a piece of scrap paper.”
Support your local independent bookstore: buy it there!

I’ve read a couple of books on Darwin and his theory — not enough to consider myself in any way an expert (or even incredibly interested) — but this one took an approach that intrigued me. It’s not so much about Darwin, his history and his theory, as it is about Darwin and his relationship with his wife, Emma, and their constant tension between her belief in religion and his belief in science.

It’s a fascinating story — the ebb and flow of their relationship, anchored in their love and respect for each other, as well as respect for their philosophical differences. It’s fascinating because it humanizes Darwin (he’s too often demonized!), as well as puts his evolutionary theory in context with his life and the times. The book isn’t preachy: both religion and science are given fair time, and its possible, I think, to see how the two could compliment each other, as Charles and Emma did. Most of all, though, I think it champions free-thinking, accepting differing opinions as just that: differing opinions. I think, too often, that we forget that people can still be likable, even if we disagree with them strongly. And this is a story of two people who disagreed and yet loved each other.

On top of that, the book is really very well written. It’s aimed toward a younger crowd, and so was a bit simpler and choppier in areas than I would have liked. But, if it gets young people interested in Darwin, and gives them a reasonable base for the study of evolution and science, then it’s done its job. And, the fact that it’s an interesting story is just an added bonus.

by Lynn Truss
ages: adult (but it’s not inappropriate for anyone really interested in punctuation)
First sentence: “To be clear from the beginning: no one involved in the production of Eats, Shoots & Leaves expected the words “runaway” and “bestseller” would ever be associated with it, let alone upon the cover of an American edition.”
Support your local independent bookstore: buy it there!

I am just geeky enough to truly love this book.

I loved it when it came out — Hubby bought it for me in hardback (and its sequel) — and, even though I haven’t picked it up in years, I found that I still laugh hysterically at the examples, and I find myself still being a complete and total stickler when it comes to punctuation. (Am I the only one who edits my friends’ Facebook statuses, if only in my head?)

So this is not quite a review. More of a love letter to Truss and her oh-so-funny look at punctuation. (And yes, I’ve gone back and checked and double-checked to make sure it’s all right. And it’s probably not.)

I think what I loved most was her examples. Sure, she pulled examples from literature, but she also would just throw things in as she went along. Like this (it’s my favorite):

Assuming a sentence rises into the air with the initial capital letter and lands with a soft-ish bump at the full stop, the humble comma can keep the sentence aloft all right, like this, UP, for hours if necessary, UP, like this, UP, sort-of bouncing, and then falling down, and then UP it goes again, assuming you have enough additional things to say, although in the end you may run out of ideas and then you have to roll along the ground with no commas at all until some sort of surface resistance takes over and you run out of steam anyway and then eventually with the help of three dots … you stop.

How can you not love that? Or this:

So it is true that we must keep an eye on the dash — and also the ellipsis (…), which is turning up increasingly in emails as shorthand for “more to come, actually … it might be related to what I’ve just written … but the main thing is I haven’t finished … let’s just wait and see … I could go on like this for hours …”

I also loved that, while it’s funny and accessible, you actually learn things. Or, at the very least, you’re reminded of things. Like the uses of apostrophes (or not). Or when to use the dash versus when to use parentheses. Or exclamation points! Or… (yeah, those things, too.)

Most famously of all, the apostrophe of omission creates the word “it’s”:
It’s your turn (it is your turn)
It’s got very gold (it has got very cold)
It’s a braw bricht moonlicht nicht the nicht (no idea)

But, learning aside, the best part of the book is really the geeky part. Truss is persnickety about punctuation, and it makes me laugh.

Now there are no laws against iprisioning apostrophes and making them look daft. Cruelty to punctuation is quite unlegislated: you can get away with pulling the legs off semicolons; shrivelling question marks on the garden path under a powerful magnifying glass; you name it.

Sticklers, unite!

The Frightening New Normalcy of Hating Your Body
by Courtney E. Martin
ages: adult
First sentence: “I have carried this book around inside of me for years.”
Support your local independent bookstore, buy it there!

I was conflicted while reading this book. On the one hand, it’s chock full of useful and relevant insights — my library copy is fairly dog-eared, and at times I thought that this would be one that I’d like to own. On the other hand, I felt like a foreigner in a strange land. Martin kept talking about “my generation” and “my parents generation”, and I’m sandwiched between the two. I can relate to some of the issues with the body that Martin pointed out as “common” among women — either in myself or in my friends — but, either I/we are in a much better place than “most” women, or maybe it’s just with the women Martin knows and younger that these issues of hating ones body are prevalent.

That said, this book did scare the hell out of me when it comes to raising my girls. There’s SO much that can go wrong with raising girls, and much of it is placed on the shoulders of the mother. (Though, much to my satisfaction, there’s a chapter on the influence fathers have in the lives of their daughters. Which I made Hubby read.) And so, while I was reading it, I was hyper sensitive to everything my girls did. (I even asked them straight up what they thought of their bodies; both M and C looked at me funny and asked if I was feeling okay.) I have to give Martin credit for tackling all the tough subjects: not just the out-and-out eating disorders, but all the gray area in between. Porn, guys expectations, pressure we women give each other, the drive for perfectionism, exercise, college, high school, sex, faith (or lack thereof). It’s all out there, candid and honest, and Martin discusses how all of it relates to how we look at our bodies.

This book is imminently accessible, which is both a positive and a negative. Positive, because it’s mostly a series of personal essays, vignettes about Martin, her friends, and the girls (and men) she talks to. This approach makes a tough subject interesting, or at least not-boring, and she keeps you turning pages. However, the drawbacks are that Martin lacks authority, which makes the book easier to brush off. Sure, she quotes psychologists and scientists, but the book lacks weight. It’s easy to feel as I did: these are other people. These are people she knows; it isn’t my world.

I’ll leave you with a little taste of the book, a few quotes from the many pages I turned down:

Our bodies, our needs, our cravings, our sadness, our weakness, our stillness inevitably become our own worst enemies. It is the starving daughter within who must be shut down, muted, ignored… eventually killed off.

Being thing may get you noticed, but it will not get you seen, and it will never get you truly, fiercely loved. Only all four dimensions of your beauty — spirit, soul, mind, and, yes, body — will get you that. Both men and women are trapped in this maze of self-scrutiny, weight or shape preoccupation, preening and primping, searching and spending. But love doesn’t dwell at the end of this maze, even if you do find your way through…. There is no one-size-fits-all beauty, no perfect girl, no ideal guy. There is only a fit, plain and simple and miraculous.

True health is “the middle path,” along which control is sometimes lost, sometimes won, without much fanfare. There are unexpected and delightful detours along the way. There is no “good” or “bad”, only “right now” — tastes, moods, the occasional craving, like different kinds of weather, all welcomed and satisfied without judgment,. True health is balance. Balance is freedom.

You know what is really, powerfully sexy? A sense of humor. A taste for adventure. A healthy glow. Hips to grab on to. Openness. Confidence. Humility. Appetite. Intuition. A girl who makes the world seem bigger and more interesting. A girl who can rap. A loud laugh that comes from her belly. Smart-ass comebacks. Presence. A quick wit. Dirty jokes told by an innocent-looking lady. Hooded sweatshirts. Breakfast in bed. A girl with boundaries. Grace. Clumsiness. A runny-nosed crier. A partner who knows what turns her on. Sassy waitresses. Pretty scientists. Any and all librarians (okay, maybe this is my issue). Truth. Vulnerability. Strength. Naivete. Big breasts. Small breasts. Doesn’t matter the size, they all fascinate. A girl who can play the blues harp. A girl who calls you on your bullshit but isn’t afraid to love you inspite of it. A storyteller. A genius. A doctor. A new mother. A woman who realizes how beautiful she is.

Here’s to accepting our bodies.