I meant to write these separately, but I figured, since I finished the second book before I had a chance to post the first I’d just combine the two.

So, Manhunt by James L. Swanson. The subtitle gives it away: The 12-day chase for Lincoln’s killer. Interesting, I suppose. But Swanson’s writing is really… odd. Maybe he thought that since it’s a sensationalistic topic — I mean who wants to read a book about the “bad guy” after all? — he’d write a sensationalistic book. It reads like a really bad Gothic novel in parts. Here’s one example:

Marooned in this desolate place, did Booth reminisce about happier days, when he ad his beloved sister, Asia, played as carefree teenagers in the forests of Bel Air, Maryland? Once upon a time, before he became a famous actor and a denizen of America’s great cities, Booth loved to commune with nature… Booth and Herold murmured quietly, most likely talking of their crimes and speculating on their fate. What would they do? What would tomorrow bring? When would they cross the river and find rest on the other side? When Booth smelled the forest scent of the thicket, did its sweet, piney odor take him back to a time of youthful innocence and allow him, briefly, to forget murders and manhunts?

Do I really care?

On on level, albeit a voyeuristic one, I found this book fascinating. I didn’t know it took 12 days to find, and kill Booth (that’s a priceless scene: burning barns, bumbling army sergeants, simpering sidekicks, Booth as the tragic actor, and God-inspired snipers). I didn’t know that before his assassination, Lincoln was only considered a middling president (amazing how history changes itself). But, in the end, I still didn’t really care.

Plain and Simple, by Sue Bender, is a sparse, quick narrative of her journey to Peace and Understanding of Herself. I shouldn’t make fun. She needed it: in the early 80s, she was a teacher, therapist, artist, and — as she says herself — spinning too many wheels in too many directions. She was drawn to some Amish quilts and dolls that she saw, and began to think that life might have Meaning outside of Achievement. She found some Amish women who were willing to send her dolls and became a pen pal with one of them. She also, for two summers, found Amish families to live with. She learns Life Lessons (and writes down nine of them), and discovers that the Amish are 1) not all alike — the first family she stays with is much stricter and less healthy than the second; and 2) they find ways to be accepting and joyful about their life situation without pining for what is missing.

I’m not the target audience — I suppose I’ve already made that journey. Most days I’m happy with my life choice to jump the career track and stay home with my kids. Sometimes I wonder if there isn’t something “more”: I’d like to go back to work someday, but only if I can do something I enjoy. I do recognize that it is a luxury, because we can live off my husband’s income. Granted, that means living with less, but I think it’s worth it. I do agree with what she learned: Home and Community are supremely important; Living in the moment is better than pining for what has gone or what is to come; work and play are the same, if you make it so, and life can be art; there is freedom in limitations; and making a choice isn’t the same as having many choices. I could go on about the last one — it feeds into my belief that we’re totally off base in this country about rights, freedoms and choice, and that more isn’t always better. And in the end, that’s the message of the book (and the Amish): more isn’t better. More is… more. And sometimes the best lives are the ones that are lived simply.

The business of moving is a royal pain, and incredibly time consuming. I have spent the last two weeks running here, there, everywhere. Getting driver’s licenses, the farmer’s market (we’ve found local providers for meat and eggs, yay!), a bank, finding the library (which is better than Macomb, but not as good as Jonesboro), figuring out where everything is. The kids are sick of the heat and the car. Thankfully, the place we rented is in a neighborhood that has a pool (there are two houses for sale in this neighborhood, and the pool is a big incentive to stay) and we’ve visited every day this week. Without that, we’d all be grumpier than we are. I’ve realized that over the five years we’ve lived in smaller towns, I’d become accustomed to that pace of life. Sometimes I’ve felt overwhelmed; swamped by the sheer size of things around here. Then there’s just having four kids around all day at the end of the summer. It’s time for school to start (and thankfully, it does, next week) — they’re at each other’s throats for the littlest things.

Perhaps all this influenced my opinion of Look Homeward America, by Bill Kauffman. I found it grumpy, sarcastic, and downright mean. I don’t mind sarcasam, and at times Kauffman was funny, but too often I thought he dissolved into arrogance and meanness. His basic philosophy is the same as Crunchy Cons, but where Dreher was doing his best to convince readers that his ideas were worth something, Kauffman holds contempt for those who don’t agree with him. Or, at least that’s the way it read to me. He may have been trying to convince people to be “front porch anarchists and reactionary radicals” but fell way short of the mark.

There was one chapter that I liked: the anti-war, Wendell Berry one. But then, it’s probably because I like Wendell Berry and am a pacifist already. So, it really wasn’t a stretch for me to appreciate his point here. But the rest of the time…

Then again, I could be giving this book the fuzzy end of the lollipop — it has been a stressful couple of weeks.

I wouldn’t recommend going on vacation for three weeks and then turning around and moving 10 days (well, 8 and counting) later. It’s not exactly stress-free. Though it does reduce the OCD-induced depression I get from being surrounded by boxes. That was not fun last year.

I had a pile of books to read on vacation, and only got to three. Something about talking to friends and talking to relatives and being lazy and it being hot.

The other downside of reading on vacation and then not posting, is that I can’t remember all the insightful and pithy things I was going to say about this book by Rod Dreher. Sigh.

In a nutshell: It’s a book written for members of the Republican party (which annoyed me at time; I am not nor will ever be a member of the Republican party), but mostly to convince them of some very reasonable ideas. I should define the terms, first. Crunchy: i.e., granoly, flaky, left, hippy, etc. Cons: conservatives, primarily social. The ideas are presented in a series of interviews and stories (though my husband insists it doesn’t hold together theoretically, but that’s not my forte). Some are great: buying local, mostly organically grown food, for example. Or choosing to live closer in the city in older homes rather than bigger, newer McMansions. The education chapter made me feel guilty (homeschooling is best), but then I feel guilty easily about my kids schooling (and I get it frequently, as most of hubby’s family homeschools). There was a chapter about religion (it’s good) and something else, which I don’t remember right now.

It’s not a great book, but I think it’s an important one, especially if it can get die-hard, big-business, money-grubbing, free-capitalist conservatives to think twice about their lifestyles. The question is, will any of them actually read it?

You have to like a book that has a title like that. Or at least smile. And you know, the book by Bob Tarte is just as good.

It’s essentially the memoir of a pathetic but endearing man and his complete incapability to say no to his pet-loving wife, Linda, whom he can not say no to. In reference to Linda’s ability to gain animals:

“We’ve been down this road before. Linda was driving a steamroller and nothing more substantial than a plywood cutout of a husband stood in her way. I might have succeeded in kidding myself that I had gained vast knowledge of animals over the years, but clearly I didn’t have a clue how to say no to my wife, particularly when the question involved a new pet that part of me secretly wanted, too — and that part was the knot inside my pine head.”

From the first pages, this book had me laughing: it begins a list of all the pets they’ve owned complete with short descriptions. Like “Stanley Sue, gender-switching African grey Timneh” and “Howard: amorous ring-neck dove” and “Turkeys — Hazel: victim of sneak attack/Lizzie: presumed perpetrator of sneak attack.” I could go on. And the pace and the humor keep up through the whole book. Bob’s reluctance and then acceptance of pets in rapid succession — from rabbits to parrots and parakeets then ducks, geese and turkeys — is amusing and, well, endearing (I’m lacking a thesaurus right now).

It’s great even if you’re not a pet-lover (I’m not especially; my idea of a good pet is fish). But, I think if you do love animals, you’ll enjoy this one even more. In fact, I’ve considered getting it for my brother-in-law, not because he loves animals (though I think he does), but because I can see my sister being like Bob’s wife Linda. Maybe it’s a warning for what might be coming in the future.

As for me, I thankfully can sit back and enjoy the life of pet enslavement from a distance. That is, until my husband and girls wear me down and talk me into getting that cow they’ve always wanted…

I’m torn about this book. As a book, it’s less than remarkable — the writing is sometimes gushy and melodramatic, and has an odd rhythm to it. But, as a person, Greg Mortensen is remarkable. His story is what kept me reading this, not the writing by David Oliver Relin.

In a nutshell: Three Cups of Tea is the story of how Greg Mortensen went from being a mountain climber (who only held down jobs in order to finance his next climbing expedition) to being the director of the Central Asia Institute, with the primary function of building schools, especially for girls, in rural Pakistan and now Afghanistan. And it’s remarkable what he went through in order to accomplish this goal. He started small — building one school for a village that helped him recover after a failed attempt at climbing K2 (in the Karakoram mountain range, I think).

The baby’s crying, so this will be short… it’s a remarkable book if only for the story. At the very least, it’s a remarkable cause, which makes for a remarkable story.

I was reading this book, and C came in, read the title, and said, “But Mommy, you’re not a dummy.”

That had nothing to do with anything, but I thought it was funny.

I’ve been up to my ears in home-buying stuff for the past week and a half, ever since my husband took a job at Friends University in Wichita, Kansas. Yes, we’re leaving the small town living of the past 5 years and moving back to the big(er) city. It’s both exciting and kind of stressful, and here’s where the really helpful dummy book comes in.

We really wanted to buy a house right off the bat, but after reading this book (true, we did get tons of advice from family and friends that helped!), we’ve decided to wait. It’s a great book (I’ve never read any of the Dummies books before) — helpful, in plain English, resourceful, and chock full of good advice. Much of which we’re going to take.

In the end, I got what I wanted out of this book; I now know a bit about what it takes to buy a home for the first time. And, unfortunately, it’s got me a bit stressed out. On top of that, I’m a visual person; I can’t read something and be calm about it. I didn’t understand the whole preganancy and labor thing until I went through it the first time. Reading the What to Expect When You’re Expecting book didn’t do much for me. It’s the same reason I’m down on parenting and self-help books. They really don’t help me much. But, for something like buying a house, while I still have to experience it to fully understand it, it’s nice to have a bit of a guideline to help me along. I think I’d like it even better if the authors — Eric Tyson and Ray Brown — would come to Wichita and hold my hand while we do this.

I guess that’s what family and friends are for (even if it is via email). 🙂

Okay, so I broke my “rule” and read a non-fluffy book. It didn’t put me to sleep (must be getting more sleep!), and it was worth the effort.

I tend to think I’m a pretty good parent (albeit an arrogant one!), and because of that tend to shy away from self-help books, except in certain circumstances. One of those being when my mom sends me a book saying I really ought to read it. Then I (usually) do, though usually with some skepticism. I’m really glad I read this one, by Gary Chapman and Ross Campbell, though.

The basic premise is that everyone has five “love languages”: quality time, words of affirmation, gifts, acts of service, and physical touch — but that we all prefer one (or two) languages over the others. The goal as parents is to learn to “speak” your child(ren)’s primary love language. By doing that, you ensure that they actually recognize and feel your love for them, and as a result not only behave better, but are actually more secure in their self-esteem and therefore grow up to be more secure, loving adults. Kind of sounds hokey, but I think it might work. For example, M has been having a hard time sleeping, coming out complaining of headaches, stomach aches, whatever, until we lose patience with her. After reading this book, I determined that her primary love language is physical touch, and have been giving her more hugs and kisses and just touching her more. And, sure enough, she’s been falling asleep better at nights. I think C’s primary love language is words of affirmation (either that or quality time). I’ve been trying to tell her she’s wonderful and doing a good job whenever I can. She seems to play better by herself and throw less tantrums, too.

Anyway. I’m not sure if this will work in the long run, but it’s at least a very interesting concept to think about. And, hey, more love around the house won’t hurt.

I actually haven’t ever really been interested in Islam as a religion, or culture. I’m sure we discussed it in my Religions of the World class at college, but I have absolutely no memory. That said, some time back I realized that if I’m going to be an intelligent, informed person these days (at least on a world scale) and if I’m ever going to understand the reason people want to strap bombs to themselves and blow up others, I ought to learn a bit about the religion that’s driving the events in that part of the world.

No god but God: The Origins, Evolution and Future of Islam by Reza Aslan is the perfect book for that. It’s essentially a history book — he begins at the beginning with Muhammad and follows the history of Islam up through current times. I’m not sure if it’s at all accurate — having no other exposure to the history of Islam — but given that Aslan’s devoted his life to this (aside from being a Muslim) I’m pretty confident he’s not spouting tales. Anyway. I found myself fascinated by the origins of Islam, the prophet Muhammad in particular. I kept drawing parallels with my religion, and wondering what (if any) place the Muslims have in God’s plan. Needless to say, it made for some interesting discussions with my husband. The middle section — after Muhammad dies and Islam dissolves into several competing factions — weren’t as interesting. I’m still not sure if I’ve got Sunni, Shi’ah and Sufi Muslims all straight in my mind. But I guess it’s helpful to know that the conflicts between the three (or more) factions aren’t new. The last two chapters are worth reading for anyone (even if you already have a pretty thorough knowledge of the rest of the stuff) — that’s where he gets down to what’s going on currently. And he has a fascinating take on it. In short: Muslims are fighting internally for control of the religion and how best to interpret an Islamic state. The West just happens to be a bystander. Not to make the events of 9/11 seem less, but, in his view (if I got it correctly), they just happened to be a byproduct of a bigger conflict, not a direct assault on the west in general and the US in particular. What is more important to al-Qaeda is the “near enemy” (as Aslan puts it): the unbelievers (or those who don’t believe the way they do).

He spent a good deal of space talking about how an Islamic democracy isn’t an oxymoron. Essentially, Islam is supposed to be able to be diverse. And moral. Which both support democratic ideals. However, extremists (like al-Qaeda) refuse to see that point. He’s actually very harsh on the factions of Islam (throughout history) that have suppressed the various individual sects. He blames colonization, and the US for some of it, but mostly he points to the limited interpretations that have been held by a few (not the majority) throughout history as warping the ideals of Islam.

In the end, though, Aslan’s hopeful that something good will come out of all this bloodshed.

Fascinating.

So, I read two memoirs this week. Well, read one, tried to read the other. Which actually got me to thinking about memoirs and what makes a good one. And yes, my random thoughts were fueled by the A Million Little Pieces debacle, though only in part.

The one I got through — Journey from the Land of No by Roya Hakakian — was an interesting, introspective, delightful yet haunting look at the Iranian revolution through the eyes of a young girl who just happened to be a Jew. I checked it out because it looked interesting (the subtitle is “A girlhood caught in Revolutionary Iran”), but I got something much more than I was expecting. I got reflections on a country changed, reflections on her faith and culture and how they didn’t always mesh. She experienced anti-Semitism, and lived through it. And, interestingly enough considering my last book group, she dealt with the rule to wear head-scarves and her feelings about it (she compared it to a uniform; something which she had to wear, but never quite felt like herself in it). It was beautifully written and an excellent book.

The other — Cursed by a Happy Childhood by Carl Lennertz — wasn’t so great. I liked the premise (or at least the title); if I ever wrote a memoir it’d be something like this. Especially since my childhood/young adulthood was neither traumatic, dramatic or remotely engaging in any way. (Sorry Mom and Dad — happy homes don’t necessarily make good books!) Still, reading the 30 pages I got through in this book was a trial, to say the least. The book tried to be witty and pithy and just fell short, at least for me. No new observations (like “Visit a library; it’s wonderful” or “My daughter is discovering that my music isn’t that bad”). No real insights. I was complaining to my husband, who (very accurately, I supposed) said, “You’re beyond this book. It’s for people who haven’t realized these things.” Yes, but who might that be? Maybe I’m just miffed because he’s already written my memoir (except I’m a woman, who lived in suburbia and will have four daughters instead of only one).

So, what makes an engaging memoir? Is it life experiences — this is where A Million Little Pieces comes in: the bigger, the badder, the more desperate makes for the great book? I know conflict makes the story (it’s only words and fluff without it), but what is it that would drive someone to make up experiences in order to sell the book? Why do we want to read about people’s lives who have been desperate (or sick, or traumatized or whatever) and have overcome? Why do we look at the ones who didn’t, and say, “Well, that’s nice, but I really don’t want to read about it”?

I wish I knew.