I was skeptical about this book. While I have enjoyed Geraldine Brooks’ writing in the past, I doubted that a book on the plague could be interesting. (Granted, I’d forgotten that I’d really enjoyed Doomsday Book, which is essentially a book about the plague.) Okay, so I was wrong to doubt. Year of Wonders is, while not an exquisite book, a very engaging one.

It follows Anna — a servant in the rector’s household in a fictional English mountain town (based on a real town, Eyam, in Derbyshire) — for a year, from the fall of 1665 to the fall of 1666, while her town battles the plague. Nothing new here, except that the rector — Mompellion — convinces the town to quarantine itself from the neighboring communities, thereby controlling the spread of the plague. And the book deals with the aftermath of that decision. There’s heartbreak (no mother of an infant should read the chapter where Anna’s baby dies. Much too hard.), there’s greed — both taking advantage of the ignorant and the weak; there’s anger; there’s more heartbreak. But in the end, there’s life and hope. Remarkable.

And Anna is an incredibly sympathetic main character. She’s strong, but she doubts. She does good by others, but not all the time. And she has desires, the biggest one being the will to live. Okay, I admit that she was probably more modern than the time period warrants, but for some reason this didn’t bother me. The ending — which was a bit abrupt — did bother me either. Perhaps because I’m lowering my historical fiction standards? Or maybe it was because the storytelling was so vivid that I didn’t let the little things nag at me like they sometimes do.

At any rate, it’s worth the read.

I think I picked this up from Guusje. She mentioned a while back (not going to find the post) that it was one of her favorite books. And, I have to say, it’s not a bad little bit of historical fiction. It’s one of those instances where I actually learned somthing from a fiction book. But, then, the amount of research that Anya Seton did to write this novel was admirable. (Okay, I’ll admit that I don’t have the book in front of me — it was due yesterday — so I’m going off the top of my head.) Reading Middle English, making sure even her minor characters were real people, having someone translate Latin. It made for a very authentic book. (We’ve talked about authentic books here before…)

The basic story: it’s the love story between John, Duke of Lancaster and Katherine Swynford. “Who?” you ask. It takes place in the mid- to late-14th-century, time of Chaucer (who shows up) and the black plague (which also shows up). John and Katherine have a 10 year affair, while John is married and after the death of Katherine’s husband, which results (in the long term) in children who become the parents of several kings of England. Not bad.

It held my interest and I enjoyed it for a long time. But… it’s a long book. And I’m short on time these days. Which adds up to me skimming the last 1/3. It all ends happily for John and Katherine, I’m happy to say. But I didn’t have the time to savor it. Or maybe I was just bored with all the plot twists and uprisings and courtly behavior. Whatever. Maybe I’ll come back to it someday.

I have given my opinion of Orson Scott Card before. And I’ve come to the following conculsions: 1) he just can’t let things end. Rachel and Leah is the third in a series, and there’s going to be a fourth (for the good reason that the story was just too much for one book). Still. He does tend to draw things out. 2) I really like the first book I read in one of his series (Rebekah this time; I read them out of order), but the more I read, the less I like them. Maybe because they’re often the same story retold? 3) Card can’t write ancient women. Just can’t. I don’t know what they’re supposed to “really” be like, but I really doubt they had conversations with their betrothed about bearing children (and how it’s akin to the preisthood). He takes modern women and dresses them up in sandals and calls is Biblical. I felt The Red Tent was more authentic. And I didn’t even really like that one.

The good points: I liked how he balanced the four women. That’s a hard task, one that he did manage to pull off (in spite of my complaints). In my opinion, he tilted the scales in favor of Leah and Zilpah, rather than Rachel, as expected. I liked Leah, in the end, more than Rachel (perhaps that’s what he was going for in order to explain the whole wedding deception thing?). She was more honest, more forthright, more interesting. Maybe that’ll change in the next book.

In the end, I don’t know how I really think about this book. Nothing seems to leap to mind. Which is sad. Because Card can be a vibrant, exciting writer. I guess not just about Biblical women. (Maybe it’s that whole men writing about women thing again…)

I feel like there should be some sort of exclamation point: Zorro! It’s not something you just casually say.

This book by Isabel Allende has made the rounds (well, a couple other people have read it): both Allison and Lisa have reviewed it. In fact, it was Allison’s review that sent me searching for the book. I figured it fit right in with my light and fluffy regiment. And, I was right.

I really enjoyed the first half of the book. To sum up: it’s the Zorro origin story. Deigo de la Vega, the son of a Spanish soldier (who becomes a wealthy landowner in California) and a Native Amerian. He grows up respecting both Spanish and tribal culture, yet sees the injustice in the way the Spanish treat the native populations. He’s educated in Barcelona, makes a couple of enemies, has to vacate quickly, makes a long voyage back to California, and once there, saves his father from prison. Whew. (All in a day’s work, right?)

I enjoyed the childhood of Diego de la Vega. There were strong female characters, Diego was an interesting person, and I liked his relationship with Bernardo. But… as he got older, it got less interesting. The whole escape from Barcelona was just forced, and long. I did like parts, but I found I had to force my way through chapters. And then it quickly wraps up in the end. Too much buildup, not enough pay off. Still, the ride was enjoyable, for the most part.

Lisa said that it wasn’t nearly as good as Allende’s other one, House of Spirits. I’ll see if I can find that one. Because Zorro wasn’t a bad book. I guess I just wanted something more.

I couldn’t resist picking this one by Phillipa Gregory up, since I enjoyed The Queen’s Fool so much. I wasn’t disappointed, really, but I didn’t enjoy it as much as I had the earlier book. As far as historical fiction goes, it’s okay — it’s got lots of soap-opera style stuff, from war, to love and lust, adultry and jilted wives, and ambition… gotta love the 16th century, right? Still, it lacked a sympathetic character. Queen Elizabeth was a bit of a pushover — in love with Robert Dudley and completley at loose ends during her first two years of her reign (the time period of the book). Dudley, himself, is a bit of an arrogant prick, and not at all likeable. His wife, Amy, is — probably true to her time — weepy, boring, and garners no sympathy when she ends up dead. The only really likeable character is William Cecil, and even then, he’s not exactly endearing, being manipulative and harsh on everyone (though by the end, he’s the only one acting like an adult, and I was grateful for that). Still, it’s not a bad read — I’ve read, and finished, books I’ve liked less — it’s just that The Queen’s Fool is much better.

Laura mentioned she liked this one a while back; I looked for the specific post, but granted not very hard, so I didn’t find what excatly she wrote about it that led me to check it out. At any rate, I’m glad I did. It’s a beautiful, simple book. There really isn’t much to say about it: it’s a fictional (based on one of the author, Nancy Taylor’s, ancestors) journal of a woman, Sarah Prine, from 1881 to 1901. There isn’t anything really remarkable about the story; it’s just her jottings from life. Yet, she is one remarkable woman. She is honest, just, fair, hard-working, admirable in just about every way. And yet, she isn’t lofty or unreachable. Sarah is a woman I’d love to know and spend time with. And I was with her through all her trials, her marriages (she was married twice; her first husband died!) and loves and births and deaths. And I admire a writer who can capture that.

Books like this are wonderful for the soul.

This was another one of my Chinaberry reads. I guess I was in the mood for some historical fiction, and (surprisingly — I never cease to be amazed) our library had this one by Phillipa Gregory.

It’s set in 16th century England — the time of Queen Mary and Elizabeth vying for the throne. The main character is a girl, Hannah, who also happens to be a Jew (running, with her father, from the Inquisition in Spain) who has the Sight — she can see visions of things to come. She, mostly inadvertently, gets involved with Lord Robert Dudley, who begs her off as a fool to King Edward before he dies. From there, she becomes a companion/servant/fool to Queen Mary and from there a companion to Princess Elizabeth. You see Hannah grow up over the years — following her relationships not only with her masters, but with her betrothed (an arranged marriage). She’s an incredibly sympathetic character, traditional enough to make her fit into the time period, but modern enough to relate to her and her plights and predicaments.

I think I liked this book solely because of Hannah; there weren’t many other sympathetic characters in the book (many interesting ones, though). It’s not a pretty book. It could have very easily gone the way of the train wreck — everyone just falling apart and it’s not very enjoyable to watch. Gregory doesn’t spare the details of life, war, the purging of heretics, tragedy, sex, gossip, animosity, and love/lust at this time. However, she does it in a way which actually adds to the book and makes it more believable. And all the decadence at court was a great juxtaposition to Hannah and her innocence and trust and charity.

In the end, I couldn’t put it down.

I found this one while searching for The Secret Life of Bees; it was right on the shelf where the Bee book (which I will get around to reading, someday; I’ve been meaning to for ages, so many people have talked about it, but it’s never in. I know, I know: why don’t I put a hold on it? I don’t know. ) was supposed to be.

Anyway, it’s a thin book, about two couples in Kabul under the Taliban written by Yasmina Khadra (which turns out is an alias for Mohammed Moulessehoul, who was an Algerian army officer). Sounded interesting. And it was. It’s beautifully written and very evocative. I could vividly picture an Afghan summer and the oppressive heat that mirrors the opressive actions of the Taliban. It’s a great English class image. Where the book fell short was in the characterization. Two couples — Atiq and Musarrat and Mohsen and Zunaria — are dealing with trials, life under the Taliban, and failing marriages. They both manage in different ways, and I’m not sure I got the motivations behind all their actions. Atiq was bursting with rage toward everything, but I’m not sure I understood why. Mohsen was an incompetent and confused. He was a bit easier to understand, but I’m not sure if I fully grasped the meaning of his actions. Zunaria was full of suppressed anger towards the Taliban and took it out on her husband. Musarrat was dying, and was, really, the only humane character in the book.

I think the author was operating on the assumption that his readers would understand more about Islam as a religion and a life than I do. Perhaps if I did know more, I would have enjoyed this book more. Still, I’m not sorry I read it.

Okay, so this book was really popular 4 years ago. And it’s been on my “list” (neverending as it is) to read for about that long. As has the movie. But with a nudge from the book group (which is why I like them), I finally got around to reading Girl With a Pearl Earring by Tracy Chevalier. It was well worth it, too.

I have seen Vermeer’s paintings, once. Unfortunately, I was suffering from morning sickness and the gallery was over crowded (it was at the National Gallery in early 1996, right after they re-opened after the famed Government Shutdown) so I really didn’t get a really good look at them. Still, I do remember some of them.

That’s important for this book. Because it’s written like a Vermeer painting. It’s all about description and feeling and atmosphere rather than action. Usually, that turns me off… I’m a plot person. But, there’s enough here to make me want to dwell on the pages, savoring each word. Chevalier does an excellent job of describing the paintings, the process of painting (at least how she imagined it for Vermeer) and a painter’s relationship to his subject. That’s what I found myself wondering about as I finished the book, and I mean to ask my artist brother next time I see him: how does an artist look at the subject he/she paints? Is it as a person, or mainly as the form, line and color they represent for the painting? Because, in the end, it’s that relationship that drives the novel.

It really is an excellent book.

As I was reading Sarah, by Orson Scott Card, I began wondering what I really liked about Rebekah. Honestly, I couldn’t remember. I then decided I needed to be a lot more specific about what I do and don’t like about the books I read. Otherwise, it does me no good. Right?

So. I liked Sarah, but I wasn’t estatic about it. I liked the story Card wove; as seen through Card’s imagination, Abram and Sarai had an interesting life.

But, I also have problems. Because while Abram and Sarai were in an ancient surrounding, they were very modern. And, well, Mormon. It seemed to me that you could just pluck Abram and Sarai out of the book and put them into any ward as Brother and Sister so-and-so and their actions and language (from their prayers to the way they interacted with each other) wouldn’t seem out of place. It’s not that it bothered me while I was reading the book. But whenever I put it down, that’s what I dwelt on. It’s a good story. It’s also a very Mormon re-telling of the story. Though, I have to admit, that I’m quibbling with Card writing from his experience and for his audience here. Honestly, even though I found these at my library here (which I was suprised by), who else is going to read these books?

It is a good portrayal of a strong, faithful woman. Sarai was a strong woman with doubts and questions and yet is always willing to come back to her faith in God. She’s an honest and good woman, who loved her husband and was willing to stand up to and by him. And for that, I think it’s worth reading.