47: The Gifted Gabaldon Sisters
Finished: November 20
Pages: 272
A slightly transparent narrative of four sisters all named after famous movie stars, each given a gift by their mother: One can tell lies and is always believed, one can help animals, one can give curses, and one can always make people laugh. Through trials, tribulations, and a secret history book, they discover that the secret gifts they were given by their mother is much more than they expected originally.
Mostly, I enjoyed it, but I also got tired very quickly of all the fighting. I'm an only child. This book made me very thankful of that fact. It wasn't terrible, but I spent a good portion of the time wishing that I could punch various characters in the face, just on principle.
It was a bookclub book, and I think I was one of four, tops, who finished it, and I didn't finish in time for the meeting. Whoops.
48: Sarah's Key
Finished: December 29
Pages: 293
tiny chapters make for easy reading. That is my first discovery with this one. While the narrative itself was tight and focused, and a very interesting topic, I found myself emotionally detached from almost all the characters for most of the novel. I wanted to feel for Julia, but I also wanted her to grow a spine and stand up for herself. If your husband is an asshole, you should probably call him on it, rather than just take it and complain about it later. I had absolutely no pity for her idiotic selfish Frenchman of a husband, who was so stereotypical that he seemed flat and pointless.
Oh, I guess you want to know the plot? During the Vichy regime in France, the French police rounded up something like 13,000 Jews in and around Paris and put in the Velodrome d'Hiver (Shortened to Vel d'Hiv in French) for two days in July of 1942. Mostly women and children, they were then taken out of the city to waiting camps, then sent on to Auschwitz, where they were not put to forced labor but simply killed. Because of the French governments complicity in this, the story has been mostly unremarked upon by the French as a whole, and Julia, our heroine, investigates this for a story to mark the 60th anniversary. In the process, she discovers a secret in her husband's family that threatens her marriage, her husband's family, and her happiness. The alternating chapters are the story of Sarah, a young girl who is rounded up in July, and her harrowing tale of a mistake gone terribly, terribly wrong. Sarah is probably the most likable character in the novel, next to Julia's daughter who is constantly spilling the beans about her mother's research.
Although not what I would call an uplifting read, it is a part of history that I had never heard of, and therefore necessary. So much emphasis is placed on the suffering of the Jews in Germany and Austria, but little time is spent on the stories of the Jews in other countries, excepting of course, Anne Frank.
Certainly it is one of those books that is goo to have read because every body and their dog will have read it at some point. Also I think it's being made into a movie and I always like reading the book first.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Showing posts with label bookclub. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bookclub. Show all posts
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Book 30: Water for Elephants
Finished: May 3
Pages: 331
Water for Elephants is one of those books that I didn't read for years because everyone and their dog was reading it and telling everyone else how awesome it was. Don't think for one minute that I read this book because of the movie coming out, that was not the case at all. I never saw the movie, and never really wanted to, mostly because Robert Pattinson is creepy. The action and love story I found a secondary amusement to the deep sensory details that enveloped you as you read the novel. I enjoyed the feeling of the train, the smells of the circus, even the scenes in the nursing home. I enjoyed the unreliableness of the narrator. He was pretty hilarious, in a crotchety way. Although I had the ending ruined for me, I still enjoyed how the ending came to apss. I relaly appreciate the way the book opens, because it sets up the reader for a wonderful twist at the end.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Pages: 331
Water for Elephants is one of those books that I didn't read for years because everyone and their dog was reading it and telling everyone else how awesome it was. Don't think for one minute that I read this book because of the movie coming out, that was not the case at all. I never saw the movie, and never really wanted to, mostly because Robert Pattinson is creepy. The action and love story I found a secondary amusement to the deep sensory details that enveloped you as you read the novel. I enjoyed the feeling of the train, the smells of the circus, even the scenes in the nursing home. I enjoyed the unreliableness of the narrator. He was pretty hilarious, in a crotchety way. Although I had the ending ruined for me, I still enjoyed how the ending came to apss. I relaly appreciate the way the book opens, because it sets up the reader for a wonderful twist at the end.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Book 19: The Postmistress
Finished: April 7
Pages: 326
I didn't think that I was going to like this book, based on the first few pages. It was a very weird beginning. I mean, who starts a book with a woman at the doctor's office getting a certificate to verify her virginity? The first hundred pages or so didn't hold my interest; though I enjoyed the character of Frankie from the beginning, it was easy to put down.
Then you get to the meat of the story, Summer 1941. You see the connections of the people sitting at home listening to the radio, across the wires to the reporters sitting in front of the microphones, hoping to reach someone on the other end. You see the suffering and the pain that comes from being like Cassandra, you talk and talk and no one seems to hear, or even if they hear, to heed the warnings. I guess it seems likely that there would have been signs of what the Nazis had planned for the Jews of Europe long before the concentration camps came to light.
I have always had a love/hate relationship with journalists, because I cannot understand standing by, watching horrible things happen, and doing nothing to stop it. Yes, I understand that the story itself is important. Yes, I understand that if you help one person, then where do you stop? But I can understand why the things that Frankie saw are things that broke her a little, and I can applaud that she felt obligated to try to help people, even though, in the end we see the consequences of those actions. I can feel angry at Murrow and other journalists who ridiculed her lack of objectivity, her lack of immediate identifiable purpose.
Aspects of the story made me so angry, but it was more the immediate realism of the Blitz itself, of what it felt like to be an American in the face of the suffering of people just trying to get to America that really got under my skin. I've heard stories of the Holocaust, I've heard stories of what it felt like to try to get out, of being a Jew in these countries, but not the perspective of what an outsider would feel. As an outsider myself, I appreciate this perspective. I appreciate the burden that Frankie feels in the face of that story.
"They are just sound. Voices without a story. People need to know why they are listening and what they are being asked to hear."
"Or they won't understand?"
"They won't listen." (118)
The tragedies for me seemed appropriately poetic. That the doctor didn't meet death in a bomb, but looking the wrong way in traffic was perfect because he had to die, and it should have been that kind of death: typically American. An American student studying abroad when I was in London was hit by a bus just this way. It just makes sense to me. Otto facing all the prejudice made sense to me, and was so tragic because other people refused to acknowledge what they were doing, they were so caught up in fear. I am glad, however, that the final tragedy was not something involving Otto, because that would have been too trite. I loved the addition of the story of Theseus and the black sails, I loved Frankie's understanding and response to that story, and the perfection of that tragedy:
And how true it is, that mistakes, looking left instead of right, running into one bomb shelter instead of the other, meeting a friend and stopping to say hello or going on ahead, happen all the time.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Pages: 326
I didn't think that I was going to like this book, based on the first few pages. It was a very weird beginning. I mean, who starts a book with a woman at the doctor's office getting a certificate to verify her virginity? The first hundred pages or so didn't hold my interest; though I enjoyed the character of Frankie from the beginning, it was easy to put down.
Then you get to the meat of the story, Summer 1941. You see the connections of the people sitting at home listening to the radio, across the wires to the reporters sitting in front of the microphones, hoping to reach someone on the other end. You see the suffering and the pain that comes from being like Cassandra, you talk and talk and no one seems to hear, or even if they hear, to heed the warnings. I guess it seems likely that there would have been signs of what the Nazis had planned for the Jews of Europe long before the concentration camps came to light.
I have always had a love/hate relationship with journalists, because I cannot understand standing by, watching horrible things happen, and doing nothing to stop it. Yes, I understand that the story itself is important. Yes, I understand that if you help one person, then where do you stop? But I can understand why the things that Frankie saw are things that broke her a little, and I can applaud that she felt obligated to try to help people, even though, in the end we see the consequences of those actions. I can feel angry at Murrow and other journalists who ridiculed her lack of objectivity, her lack of immediate identifiable purpose.
Aspects of the story made me so angry, but it was more the immediate realism of the Blitz itself, of what it felt like to be an American in the face of the suffering of people just trying to get to America that really got under my skin. I've heard stories of the Holocaust, I've heard stories of what it felt like to try to get out, of being a Jew in these countries, but not the perspective of what an outsider would feel. As an outsider myself, I appreciate this perspective. I appreciate the burden that Frankie feels in the face of that story.
"They are just sound. Voices without a story. People need to know why they are listening and what they are being asked to hear."
"Or they won't understand?"
"They won't listen." (118)
The tragedies for me seemed appropriately poetic. That the doctor didn't meet death in a bomb, but looking the wrong way in traffic was perfect because he had to die, and it should have been that kind of death: typically American. An American student studying abroad when I was in London was hit by a bus just this way. It just makes sense to me. Otto facing all the prejudice made sense to me, and was so tragic because other people refused to acknowledge what they were doing, they were so caught up in fear. I am glad, however, that the final tragedy was not something involving Otto, because that would have been too trite. I loved the addition of the story of Theseus and the black sails, I loved Frankie's understanding and response to that story, and the perfection of that tragedy:
"Theseus could have fixed it. If only he had known. [...] I've never gotten over the waste of that accident," Iris said quietly.
"But the story knew."
"I beg your pardon?"
"The story"--Frankie nodded, still not quite sure what she was saying--"it knew. The story wouldn't have mattered without the mistake. If Theseus had remembered to change the sails, the things wouldn't have been told. The story would have ended, as they all do, with the hero's triumphant return. But that mistake made the story. That mistake is the story. that's why it's told."
Iris stared. "You can really be so coldhearted."
"It's a myth, Miss James," Frankie went on, exhausted. "Mistakes happen all the time."
And how true it is, that mistakes, looking left instead of right, running into one bomb shelter instead of the other, meeting a friend and stopping to say hello or going on ahead, happen all the time.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Book 10: Almost a Crime
Finished: Gave up on February 15
Pages: I got to page 427
I read more than half, I think that makes it count considering more than half is 400 pages.
If I had to read about one more meeting, or working lunch, or phone conversation about fundraisers and sponsorship, I thought that I was going to die. I should have kept track, because there is no way that I am going back through this stupid book to find out how many I read about. Any time that Octavia complained about being a bad mother, all I could think was "Yes, you are a bad mother. What's wrong with you?" I saw through the affair very quickly, and was disappointed by the trite-ness of it. I mean, the best friend? Really? I think it would have been much better if it had been the best friend's mother, or something like that.
I skipped to the end, I'm not ashamed to admit it, and reading the last 20 pages, I didn't recognize half the characters, and I found that to be rather unfortunate considering the number of characters who had already been introduced.
I think that with good editing this book could have been entertaining, but there was too much extraneous and Dickensonian information that it would never hold my attention.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Pages: I got to page 427
I read more than half, I think that makes it count considering more than half is 400 pages.
If I had to read about one more meeting, or working lunch, or phone conversation about fundraisers and sponsorship, I thought that I was going to die. I should have kept track, because there is no way that I am going back through this stupid book to find out how many I read about. Any time that Octavia complained about being a bad mother, all I could think was "Yes, you are a bad mother. What's wrong with you?" I saw through the affair very quickly, and was disappointed by the trite-ness of it. I mean, the best friend? Really? I think it would have been much better if it had been the best friend's mother, or something like that.
I skipped to the end, I'm not ashamed to admit it, and reading the last 20 pages, I didn't recognize half the characters, and I found that to be rather unfortunate considering the number of characters who had already been introduced.
I think that with good editing this book could have been entertaining, but there was too much extraneous and Dickensonian information that it would never hold my attention.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Monday, January 10, 2011
Book 4: Someday My Prince Will Come
Finished: January 7
Pages: too many..I mean 320
Alright, it's taken me a few days to come to terms with my feelings about this "memoir."
If you want to read this book and even try to enjoy it, pretend that it is fiction, and then it is bearable. Maybe bearable is too nice a word.
Here are the things that I don't understand: almost everyone on amazon and goodreads loved this book. What the hell is wrong with women? Are they trying to live vicariously through a delusional anglophile because they want to live "in a fantasy world?" Yes, most girls do want to grow up and find out that they are secretly princesses, as evidenced by the success of books like The Princess Diary series. However, I feel that there is nothing wrong with growing up and doing something that is in the "real world." Fine says that "Sometimes I think the 'real world' is just a phrase invented by adults to give credibility to the miserable lives they've created for themselves. Feel free to call me delusional, but I was someone on this planet who, no matter how silly it seemed, was actually listening to my heart" (6) but personally, I'm glad that I grew up and live in the real world, rather than a fantasy that leads one to cry outside of Buckingham Palace (because it's just so familiar), or believe a psychic who tells you that you were once a member of the Court of Henry VIII. I'd much rather be a teacher, even if it is less glamorous. I'd much rather live in misery in the real world, than spend my time in a fantasy world that doesn't help anyone else and only seems to make her miserable.
She doesn't understand why all these British men would make out with her drunk ass but then not call her again. Albert Einstein said that insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. By that definition Jerramy "feel sorry for me" Fine is crazy as a peach orchard boar (1). I just don't understand why you would write such drivel, when you have the opportunity to write a novel, and you have such interesting characters to draw from as that hippie family, that back country town, going to the psychic, being in London, but it all seems disingenuous and fake.
That is not to say that the book was without any redeeming qualities, or that the narrator was a horrible person bent on ruining everything for everyone. Her descriptions of London, specifically as it relates to meeting British people, I find totally accurate, as they reflect my experiences in London. The only people whose acquaintance I made while there were the teachers that I worked with, and a couple of Canadians who were introduced to me by a friend from TCU. I can understand her wonder at being in London, because I remember wandering by myself for hours through the streets falling over myself trying to see everything there was to see. I can still remember vividly the first time that I saw Big Ben and the realization hit me: I was in London.
It was her social commentary that I found to be lacking in insight and deep thought. She says:
I don't know what kind of crack this woman must have been smoking to think that this is true. Maybe because I'm from Texas, but I feel constantly judged by my accent, and I don't even have much of one, aside from the occasional "y'all" or more embarassing "fixing to." People in the South are often labeled ignorant by others because of their way of speaking.
There were a few moments of clarity and insight when you almost think that she has redeemed herself, where she almost realizes that maybe being royalty isn't everything; that English people are just people, rather than god's gift to the world, but when these realizations are uncomfortable or require a change in behavior she shoves the thoughts aside to continue stalking royalty and crying at buildings. That time that she spent in India, being confronted by the things her parents had always talked about, she could have made a difference there, really showed her royal carriage and distinction she's always talking about, but instead of stopping the car and learning something about suffering, she stays drunk for an entire week and parties every day. I guess she is just like a real princess!
The thing that annoys me the most? At the end of the book she grows as a person, really learns a lesson, and then went out and WROTE THE BOOK ANYWAY.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
(1) "Crazy as a peach orchard boar” (also “madder than a peach orchard boar") is a Southern expression used in Texas and elsewhere. Its exact origin and meaning remains unknown, but a peach orchard boar (or peach orchard pig) allegedly shows wild and unrestrained behavior. The term “peach orchard boar” also means sexual excess. (Appropriate, eh?)
Pages: too many..I mean 320
Alright, it's taken me a few days to come to terms with my feelings about this "memoir."
If you want to read this book and even try to enjoy it, pretend that it is fiction, and then it is bearable. Maybe bearable is too nice a word.
Here are the things that I don't understand: almost everyone on amazon and goodreads loved this book. What the hell is wrong with women? Are they trying to live vicariously through a delusional anglophile because they want to live "in a fantasy world?" Yes, most girls do want to grow up and find out that they are secretly princesses, as evidenced by the success of books like The Princess Diary series. However, I feel that there is nothing wrong with growing up and doing something that is in the "real world." Fine says that "Sometimes I think the 'real world' is just a phrase invented by adults to give credibility to the miserable lives they've created for themselves. Feel free to call me delusional, but I was someone on this planet who, no matter how silly it seemed, was actually listening to my heart" (6) but personally, I'm glad that I grew up and live in the real world, rather than a fantasy that leads one to cry outside of Buckingham Palace (because it's just so familiar), or believe a psychic who tells you that you were once a member of the Court of Henry VIII. I'd much rather be a teacher, even if it is less glamorous. I'd much rather live in misery in the real world, than spend my time in a fantasy world that doesn't help anyone else and only seems to make her miserable.
She doesn't understand why all these British men would make out with her drunk ass but then not call her again. Albert Einstein said that insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. By that definition Jerramy "feel sorry for me" Fine is crazy as a peach orchard boar (1). I just don't understand why you would write such drivel, when you have the opportunity to write a novel, and you have such interesting characters to draw from as that hippie family, that back country town, going to the psychic, being in London, but it all seems disingenuous and fake.
That is not to say that the book was without any redeeming qualities, or that the narrator was a horrible person bent on ruining everything for everyone. Her descriptions of London, specifically as it relates to meeting British people, I find totally accurate, as they reflect my experiences in London. The only people whose acquaintance I made while there were the teachers that I worked with, and a couple of Canadians who were introduced to me by a friend from TCU. I can understand her wonder at being in London, because I remember wandering by myself for hours through the streets falling over myself trying to see everything there was to see. I can still remember vividly the first time that I saw Big Ben and the realization hit me: I was in London.
It was her social commentary that I found to be lacking in insight and deep thought. She says:
While the English are able to determine one another's class within seconds of hearing another's voice, the U.S. has no equivalent to this. Think about it. Your accent--be it from the Bronx, Texas, Wisconsin, or a tiny mountain town in Colorado--doesn't come with any kind of class label and you're not instantly judges or pigeonholed by the sound of it.
I don't know what kind of crack this woman must have been smoking to think that this is true. Maybe because I'm from Texas, but I feel constantly judged by my accent, and I don't even have much of one, aside from the occasional "y'all" or more embarassing "fixing to." People in the South are often labeled ignorant by others because of their way of speaking.
There were a few moments of clarity and insight when you almost think that she has redeemed herself, where she almost realizes that maybe being royalty isn't everything; that English people are just people, rather than god's gift to the world, but when these realizations are uncomfortable or require a change in behavior she shoves the thoughts aside to continue stalking royalty and crying at buildings. That time that she spent in India, being confronted by the things her parents had always talked about, she could have made a difference there, really showed her royal carriage and distinction she's always talking about, but instead of stopping the car and learning something about suffering, she stays drunk for an entire week and parties every day. I guess she is just like a real princess!
The thing that annoys me the most? At the end of the book she grows as a person, really learns a lesson, and then went out and WROTE THE BOOK ANYWAY.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
(1) "Crazy as a peach orchard boar” (also “madder than a peach orchard boar") is a Southern expression used in Texas and elsewhere. Its exact origin and meaning remains unknown, but a peach orchard boar (or peach orchard pig) allegedly shows wild and unrestrained behavior. The term “peach orchard boar” also means sexual excess. (Appropriate, eh?)
Friday, December 10, 2010
Book Sixty-Two: Peace Like a River
Book Sixty-Two: Peace Like a River
Finished: December 9
Pages: 312
Let's be perfectly honest, I didn't actually finish this book, but I read more than half of it, and I read the last chapter, and that is as much time as I plan on giving.
I'm not sure what it was about the book that makes me so certain that I don't want to give it any more time, but there was definitely something. Maybe it was the mystical, supernatural element, maybe it was the heavy handed Christian allegory, maybe it was the obnoxious precociousness of the narrator's little sister, I can't really make up my mind. But, whatever the reason, I'm done with this book, and I'm actually getting rid of it, so whichever sin it was, it was an unforgivable one.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Finished: December 9
Pages: 312
Let's be perfectly honest, I didn't actually finish this book, but I read more than half of it, and I read the last chapter, and that is as much time as I plan on giving.
I'm not sure what it was about the book that makes me so certain that I don't want to give it any more time, but there was definitely something. Maybe it was the mystical, supernatural element, maybe it was the heavy handed Christian allegory, maybe it was the obnoxious precociousness of the narrator's little sister, I can't really make up my mind. But, whatever the reason, I'm done with this book, and I'm actually getting rid of it, so whichever sin it was, it was an unforgivable one.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Book Fifty-Two: The Help
Book Fifty-Two: The Help
Finished: October 19
Pages: 451
I am often hesitant to read books that everyone seemed to love. If too many people hype a book up, I am all the more likely to dislike it. Maybe it's just my indie cred sensibilities that make me want to dislike things because they are popular. Maybe it's that books can rarely live up to our expectations of them. In the same way, I don't want to hype up a book here and have people be disappointed in it, but you're just going to have to bear with me here.
I have been meaning to read this book since it came out. I was drawn first by the cover, the three birds and the yellow background is pretty eye-catching. I was just waiting for it to come out in paperback. Let me tell you, I'm glad that I didn't wait, because man, I'd still have several months to go and this book has been out for almost two years.
The story of three women in the divided South, The Help seems to me to be a story of the times. Although this story is told from the perspective of women, and the issues dealt with are almost exclusively in the realm of women, I think that this is a book that could, conceivably, appeal to anyone. The relationship between white and black women, and between the boss (I wish I could come up with a better word here) and the help is complex and perhaps in some ways glossed over in this book. I think that all people hope that, were we to live in the 1960's or 70's, we would be the "good guys" who were all for integration, and never said anything racist or participated in the active exclusion of others because of their differences. I'm no different. I would like to think that I would stand up against injustice regardless of the social ramifications, but I just don't know if that's the case.
I read several uncomplimentary reviews of this book, mostly due to the reader's dissatisfaction with the negative portrayal of white women, and the overly sweet portrayal of the black women as needing the white women to help them, and being understanding and appreciative of that help when they received it. I suppose I can understand this viewpoint because it did seem insincere at times that a white woman would wish the help black women, and maybe it was hard to understand that a white woman at this point in time would not understand the possible consequences of writing down the true stories of black women who worked in white households, and raised white children.
Some of these stories are so horrifying that they could only be true. There is no other option. And let's be honest, I don't have the least idea of what it means to deal with this kind of prejudice, and so I can't say if the struggles faced by these characters are accurate, or genuine. I can say that the characterization felt realistic to me, and I certainly identified with the characters and their actions at different points in the novel.
I'm certainly buying this for a few friends for Christmas, just so I can have more people to talk with about it.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Finished: October 19
Pages: 451
I am often hesitant to read books that everyone seemed to love. If too many people hype a book up, I am all the more likely to dislike it. Maybe it's just my indie cred sensibilities that make me want to dislike things because they are popular. Maybe it's that books can rarely live up to our expectations of them. In the same way, I don't want to hype up a book here and have people be disappointed in it, but you're just going to have to bear with me here.
I have been meaning to read this book since it came out. I was drawn first by the cover, the three birds and the yellow background is pretty eye-catching. I was just waiting for it to come out in paperback. Let me tell you, I'm glad that I didn't wait, because man, I'd still have several months to go and this book has been out for almost two years.
The story of three women in the divided South, The Help seems to me to be a story of the times. Although this story is told from the perspective of women, and the issues dealt with are almost exclusively in the realm of women, I think that this is a book that could, conceivably, appeal to anyone. The relationship between white and black women, and between the boss (I wish I could come up with a better word here) and the help is complex and perhaps in some ways glossed over in this book. I think that all people hope that, were we to live in the 1960's or 70's, we would be the "good guys" who were all for integration, and never said anything racist or participated in the active exclusion of others because of their differences. I'm no different. I would like to think that I would stand up against injustice regardless of the social ramifications, but I just don't know if that's the case.
I read several uncomplimentary reviews of this book, mostly due to the reader's dissatisfaction with the negative portrayal of white women, and the overly sweet portrayal of the black women as needing the white women to help them, and being understanding and appreciative of that help when they received it. I suppose I can understand this viewpoint because it did seem insincere at times that a white woman would wish the help black women, and maybe it was hard to understand that a white woman at this point in time would not understand the possible consequences of writing down the true stories of black women who worked in white households, and raised white children.
Some of these stories are so horrifying that they could only be true. There is no other option. And let's be honest, I don't have the least idea of what it means to deal with this kind of prejudice, and so I can't say if the struggles faced by these characters are accurate, or genuine. I can say that the characterization felt realistic to me, and I certainly identified with the characters and their actions at different points in the novel.
I'm certainly buying this for a few friends for Christmas, just so I can have more people to talk with about it.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Book Forty-Three: Little Bee
Fourty-three: Little Bee
Pages: 266
Finished: August 30
Like all bookclub books, I wait to review the book until after we meet. While this keeps my fellow bookclub members from being subjected to my opinions too many times, the downside is that I don't always remember everything that I want to talk about. As I was reading this book, I often found myself thinking of a friend of mine who was living in Rwanda during the violence there. I was shocked by my reaction to the emotion and violence in the book, simply because you would think that by now, with all the books that I have read on the subject, that I would be less surprised by the reality of life in some parts of the world.
I was very impressed with Chris Cleave's skill in writing a female voice. Often when a male author attempts to write in a female voice it comes off strange, or awkward. That was not the case here. Although he is writing as two very different women drawn together by a mutual experience, neither character seems forced or unrealistic. I enjoyed the narrative style of Little Bee, the titular character, for a number of reasons that I have a tough time articulating. Let me just give you an example:
This is why I love Little Bee, both the book and the character, because there are paragraphs like this one. Little Bee is a survivor, and there is something in the earnestness of her words that makes me want to take care of her.
I really don't want to talk too much about this book, and what happens in it, because I wouldn't want anyone to be spoiled, even though I've never really cared too much about that sort of thing. One thing I will say, I hope that, if push comes to shove, I am more like Sarah than Andrew. I want to think that I am that sort of person, that I wouldn't rationalize the choices that I make. I worry that I would though.
I leave you with a quote. "I ask you right here please to agree with me that a scar is never ugly. That is what the scar makers want us to think. But you and I, we must make an agreement to defy them. We must see all scars as beauty. Okay? This will be our secret. Because take it from me, a scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I survived" (9).
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Pages: 266
Finished: August 30
Like all bookclub books, I wait to review the book until after we meet. While this keeps my fellow bookclub members from being subjected to my opinions too many times, the downside is that I don't always remember everything that I want to talk about. As I was reading this book, I often found myself thinking of a friend of mine who was living in Rwanda during the violence there. I was shocked by my reaction to the emotion and violence in the book, simply because you would think that by now, with all the books that I have read on the subject, that I would be less surprised by the reality of life in some parts of the world.
I was very impressed with Chris Cleave's skill in writing a female voice. Often when a male author attempts to write in a female voice it comes off strange, or awkward. That was not the case here. Although he is writing as two very different women drawn together by a mutual experience, neither character seems forced or unrealistic. I enjoyed the narrative style of Little Bee, the titular character, for a number of reasons that I have a tough time articulating. Let me just give you an example:
One of the things I would have to explain to the girls from back home, if I was telling them this story, is the simple little word horror. It means something different to the people from my village.
In your country, if you are not scared enough already, you can go to watch a horror film. Afterward you can go out of the cinema into the night and for a little while there is horror in everything. Perhaps there are murderers lying in wait for you at home. You think this because there is a light on in your house that you are certain you did not leave on. And when you remove your makeup in the mirror last thing, you see a strange look in your own eyes. It is not you. For one hour you are haunted, and you do not trust anybody, and then the feeling fades away. Horror in your country is something you take a dose of to remind yourself that you are not suffering from it.
For me and the girls from my village, horror is a disease and we are sick with it. It is not an illness you can cure yourself of by standing up and letting the big red cinema seat fold itself up behind you. That would be a good trick.
This is why I love Little Bee, both the book and the character, because there are paragraphs like this one. Little Bee is a survivor, and there is something in the earnestness of her words that makes me want to take care of her.
I really don't want to talk too much about this book, and what happens in it, because I wouldn't want anyone to be spoiled, even though I've never really cared too much about that sort of thing. One thing I will say, I hope that, if push comes to shove, I am more like Sarah than Andrew. I want to think that I am that sort of person, that I wouldn't rationalize the choices that I make. I worry that I would though.
I leave you with a quote. "I ask you right here please to agree with me that a scar is never ugly. That is what the scar makers want us to think. But you and I, we must make an agreement to defy them. We must see all scars as beauty. Okay? This will be our secret. Because take it from me, a scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I survived" (9).
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Book Thirty-five: Five Quarters of the Orange
Book Thirty-five: Five Quarters of the Orange
Finished: June 21, 2010
Pages: 336
I have read one of Joanne Harris’s other books, Chocolat. That book is certainly similar in a number of ways to Five Quarters. Both set in France, with strange names for many of her characters, and food. Food always plays a huge role in her books. Little wonder that she has put out a couple of cookbooks.
Set during the German occupation of France, this story deals with the lives of three French children, their mother, and their interactions with a German soldier. The children (Boise is nine at the time, the eldest, Cassis is not even sixteen) spy on their neighbors in order to gain favor with Tomas: “We were wild animals, just as Mother said, and we took some taming. He must have known that from the start, the clever way he set out to take us one by one, making each feel special…Even now, God help me, I can almost believe it. Even now” (108). Over the course of the book, the relationships between all the various characters come to light as Boise, now an old woman, discovers her mother's recipe book and all the secrets it contains.
Many of the issues the characters face are ones that are of their own making. Although you would think that I would place the blame on the Germans, and the secrecy that didn't allow for free expression which led to the tragedy in the book, but I don't. I place the blame on the shoulders of all the characters, especially Boise. She causes a lot of the trouble in the book through her own choices to be trouble herself. Although in the end she regrets some of these actions, “Of course, by then there were to be no more oranges, ever again. I think even I had lost my taste for them” (222), I felt that she was not as remorseful as much as avoiding blame and consequences.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Finished: June 21, 2010
Pages: 336
I have read one of Joanne Harris’s other books, Chocolat. That book is certainly similar in a number of ways to Five Quarters. Both set in France, with strange names for many of her characters, and food. Food always plays a huge role in her books. Little wonder that she has put out a couple of cookbooks.
Set during the German occupation of France, this story deals with the lives of three French children, their mother, and their interactions with a German soldier. The children (Boise is nine at the time, the eldest, Cassis is not even sixteen) spy on their neighbors in order to gain favor with Tomas: “We were wild animals, just as Mother said, and we took some taming. He must have known that from the start, the clever way he set out to take us one by one, making each feel special…Even now, God help me, I can almost believe it. Even now” (108). Over the course of the book, the relationships between all the various characters come to light as Boise, now an old woman, discovers her mother's recipe book and all the secrets it contains.
Woke at six this morning, for the first time in months. Strange, how everything looks different. When you haven’t slept it’s as if the world is sliding away bit by bit. The ground isn’t quite in line with your feet. The air seems full of shiny stinging particles. I feel I’ve left a part of myself behind, but I can’t remember what. They look at me with such solemn eyes. I think they’re afraid of me. All but Boise. She’s not afraid of anything. I want to warn her that it doesn’t last forever.
Many of the issues the characters face are ones that are of their own making. Although you would think that I would place the blame on the Germans, and the secrecy that didn't allow for free expression which led to the tragedy in the book, but I don't. I place the blame on the shoulders of all the characters, especially Boise. She causes a lot of the trouble in the book through her own choices to be trouble herself. Although in the end she regrets some of these actions, “Of course, by then there were to be no more oranges, ever again. I think even I had lost my taste for them” (222), I felt that she was not as remorseful as much as avoiding blame and consequences.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Book Twenty: Mudbound
Book Twenty: Mudbound
Finished: April 20th
Pages: 340
There are no words to express the anger, frustration, tears, and surprising hopefulness that I feel after finishing this book.
I will not even attempt to.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Finished: April 20th
Pages: 340
There are no words to express the anger, frustration, tears, and surprising hopefulness that I feel after finishing this book.
I will not even attempt to.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Book Sixteen: The Somnambulist
Book Sixteen: The Somnambulist
Pages: 353
Finished: March 25
I really, really liked this book. I don’t think I can fully articulate why I liked this book so much, but god, it was just so entertaining. Just as the narrator says on the very first page, “Be warned. This book has no literary merit whatsoever. It is a lurid piece of nonsense, convoluted, implausible, peopled by unconvincing characters, written in drearily pedestrian prose, frequently ridiculous and wilfully bizarre.”, but that doesn’t stop it from being a wildly entertaining page turner that was methodically researched and ridiculously funny. There came a point that I was glad my students were reading articles just so I could finish the thing. I loved all the literary allusions: Coleridge, and Shelley, and Wilde. Not to mention that I was thinking of Robert Downey Jr.'s Sherlock Holmes doing magic for the entire book. I don’t think that I can tell you all the things that I loved without spoiling the mystery of the book completely.
Oh wait, I forgot, I don’t care about spoiling things for you, my illustrious fans, because, to be honest, you have all read the book.
Anyhow, I loved the narrator, and I loved the narrator’s twisting nature. When you find out the true identity of the narrator? I nearly dropped the book and my jaw, I almost yelled out loud. I wasn’t expecting it at all. I think mostly because I was reading without really thinking about the bigger picture, instead just enjoying being wound up in the mystery. There were many times when I stared at the book in confusion but then it always resolved itself, though I am still confused about so many things, but we will talk about that in a bit.
Here are some of my favorite parts of the book:
On page 194, I love this exchange between Inspector Merryweather and Mr. Moon:
“Coleridge,” Moon said mysteriously.
“Is there some significance?”
“Are you a poetry-lover, Inspector?”
“Not seen a word of the stuff since school.”
“Then at least you’ve learnt one valuable lesson today.”
“What’s that?”
“Read more.”
Later that evening, lulled by the rhythmic snoring of his wife, just as he was about to go to sleep, Inspector Merryweather would think of rather an amusing retort to this. But he would know that the moment had passed, and would roll over instead and hope for pleasant dreams.
I also loved the tone of voice that the narrator employs:
“Forgive me if the above sounds condescending—I add this last detail only for the benefit of the ignorant and for tourists. I should hope my readers educated enough to recognize the significance of Wren’s achievement without it being explained to them, but regrettably it remains the case that one must always make allowances for dullards. I cannot police the readers of this manuscript and it is a sad and tragic truth that I have never yet succeeded in underestimating the intelligence of the general public” (92). I mean, how great is that? I also love that he blatantly lies to the reader on more than one occasion, and I find myself liking characters either in spite of his warnings, or because of his little warnings throughout the book. For example, when he says that we will like the albino before the end of the book, I find myself liking him in spite of his proclivities toward arson and intimidation. I also found myself liking Mr. Moon, himself, just to spite the narrator.
The characters of Hawker and Boon were disturbing and twisted, and yet I found the Prefects to be very funny, which it would seem, would be quite the mistake to make were I to ever meet these two characters. They were easy to picture, and they were easy to see as the dues ex machina that even they professed (accurately, I might add) to be.
I enjoyed Mr. Cribb, whose very existence confuses and baffles me much as it did Mr. Moon. Is the ugly little man the spirit of the city, or something else entirely? Why does he live life backwards? I don’t know and I dearly wish to, much as I feel about many parts of the book. Why are so many things left unexplained? Like Barrabas, and how he once was Moon’s partner, and then the Fiend? Why is the book called The Somnambulist? Who is the Somnambulist anyway? What was up with the end of the book. I need explanations, Mr. Barnes! I want to know so much more, but instead we get all these little glimpses into all the little lives of all these little characters that, in the end are either completely valuable and you are glad to know them, or they are completely invaluable, and you never know until the very end.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Pages: 353
Finished: March 25
I really, really liked this book. I don’t think I can fully articulate why I liked this book so much, but god, it was just so entertaining. Just as the narrator says on the very first page, “Be warned. This book has no literary merit whatsoever. It is a lurid piece of nonsense, convoluted, implausible, peopled by unconvincing characters, written in drearily pedestrian prose, frequently ridiculous and wilfully bizarre.”, but that doesn’t stop it from being a wildly entertaining page turner that was methodically researched and ridiculously funny. There came a point that I was glad my students were reading articles just so I could finish the thing. I loved all the literary allusions: Coleridge, and Shelley, and Wilde. Not to mention that I was thinking of Robert Downey Jr.'s Sherlock Holmes doing magic for the entire book. I don’t think that I can tell you all the things that I loved without spoiling the mystery of the book completely.
Oh wait, I forgot, I don’t care about spoiling things for you, my illustrious fans, because, to be honest, you have all read the book.
Anyhow, I loved the narrator, and I loved the narrator’s twisting nature. When you find out the true identity of the narrator? I nearly dropped the book and my jaw, I almost yelled out loud. I wasn’t expecting it at all. I think mostly because I was reading without really thinking about the bigger picture, instead just enjoying being wound up in the mystery. There were many times when I stared at the book in confusion but then it always resolved itself, though I am still confused about so many things, but we will talk about that in a bit.
Here are some of my favorite parts of the book:
On page 194, I love this exchange between Inspector Merryweather and Mr. Moon:
“Coleridge,” Moon said mysteriously.
“Is there some significance?”
“Are you a poetry-lover, Inspector?”
“Not seen a word of the stuff since school.”
“Then at least you’ve learnt one valuable lesson today.”
“What’s that?”
“Read more.”
Later that evening, lulled by the rhythmic snoring of his wife, just as he was about to go to sleep, Inspector Merryweather would think of rather an amusing retort to this. But he would know that the moment had passed, and would roll over instead and hope for pleasant dreams.
I also loved the tone of voice that the narrator employs:
“Forgive me if the above sounds condescending—I add this last detail only for the benefit of the ignorant and for tourists. I should hope my readers educated enough to recognize the significance of Wren’s achievement without it being explained to them, but regrettably it remains the case that one must always make allowances for dullards. I cannot police the readers of this manuscript and it is a sad and tragic truth that I have never yet succeeded in underestimating the intelligence of the general public” (92). I mean, how great is that? I also love that he blatantly lies to the reader on more than one occasion, and I find myself liking characters either in spite of his warnings, or because of his little warnings throughout the book. For example, when he says that we will like the albino before the end of the book, I find myself liking him in spite of his proclivities toward arson and intimidation. I also found myself liking Mr. Moon, himself, just to spite the narrator.
The characters of Hawker and Boon were disturbing and twisted, and yet I found the Prefects to be very funny, which it would seem, would be quite the mistake to make were I to ever meet these two characters. They were easy to picture, and they were easy to see as the dues ex machina that even they professed (accurately, I might add) to be.
I enjoyed Mr. Cribb, whose very existence confuses and baffles me much as it did Mr. Moon. Is the ugly little man the spirit of the city, or something else entirely? Why does he live life backwards? I don’t know and I dearly wish to, much as I feel about many parts of the book. Why are so many things left unexplained? Like Barrabas, and how he once was Moon’s partner, and then the Fiend? Why is the book called The Somnambulist? Who is the Somnambulist anyway? What was up with the end of the book. I need explanations, Mr. Barnes! I want to know so much more, but instead we get all these little glimpses into all the little lives of all these little characters that, in the end are either completely valuable and you are glad to know them, or they are completely invaluable, and you never know until the very end.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Book Thirteen: A Reliable Wife
Book Thirteen: A Reliable Wife
Pages: 304
Date Finished: February 4
Book club finished about an hour ago, so here is my review.
I am surprised that the cover of this book was not a picture of a woman with heaving bosoms and a shirtless man with abnormal abdominals. Once the author ceased to explain the raving lusts of our main characters, and settled down to the mystery of would she or wouldn’t she kill her husband, I rather enjoyed the book. Certainly it was full of detail, and description and everything else that a good historical mystery romance needs. Did the husband kill his first wife? How much of this was planned ahead of time? How did the son manage to find the father’s advertisement?
But there were many things about the book that I didn’t appreciate. I understand that a man wrote the book. I also understand that men think about sex a lot of the time. I do not really need this illustrated so violently or graphically. I don’t want to read about someone else’s dirty thoughts for a hundred pages. Or if I did, I would go to the romance section. I did like the reason behind his lustful thoughts; his mother was a crazy person. To not love a child because you can see the sin inside them, or to stab them with a pin to illustrate the suffering waiting for them in hell: that is just plain crazy. I can understand his predisposition towards sin with memories like that to begin his life with.
I can certainly admit that the writing in the book was captivating. I don’t have to like the story itself to appreciate the skill involved with writing something with that level of description and detail. And there were portions of the book where I was impressed by the insights that he was able to draw in these characters. For example, and the beginning of the book our heroine has this thought, which struck a chord with me, as well as many of the women in my book club:
“She believed in the miraculous. Or she had, until she reached an age when, all of a sudden, she realized that the life she was living was, in fact, her life…it shocked her now, like a slap in the face" (17).
However, when there are sections of text like this on page 151:
The twists and turns of the book are very transparent. You can see each revelation, and I didn’t find very many of them shocking even when they occur. I am glad that I read the book until the end, but the ending of the book is flat, and feels very rushed. I would have liked the book better if there had been more time given to the part of the story after Catherine’s return from St. Louis, and less given to the sexual repression and then sexual exploits of these characters.
I also think it would have been interesting to have the book narrated by different characters, rather than only Ralph and Catherine. Just an idea. It incited a lot of discussion from the book club, which to me is the mark of a good book club book, if not necessarily a book that I would give to other people.
As a side note, I just want to mention that I hate the interview portion in the back of books these days. It is dumb. I don’t really want to know these things about the author, and quite frankly often the author comes off as either pompous and self-absorbed, or they sound much less eloquent than their book. Both of these things are understandable, and I can’t blame the author either way. If someone cam to interview me right after I found out I was publishing a book I would be very excited to talk about my book and my ideas. And if I was put on the spot I would certainly sound less intelligent than I would in a book that I spent tons of time revising and fixing. Nevertheless, I wish that publishers would stop doing this. If I wanted to read more things from the author I would go to their website, or read other books.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Pages: 304
Date Finished: February 4
Book club finished about an hour ago, so here is my review.
I am surprised that the cover of this book was not a picture of a woman with heaving bosoms and a shirtless man with abnormal abdominals. Once the author ceased to explain the raving lusts of our main characters, and settled down to the mystery of would she or wouldn’t she kill her husband, I rather enjoyed the book. Certainly it was full of detail, and description and everything else that a good historical mystery romance needs. Did the husband kill his first wife? How much of this was planned ahead of time? How did the son manage to find the father’s advertisement?
But there were many things about the book that I didn’t appreciate. I understand that a man wrote the book. I also understand that men think about sex a lot of the time. I do not really need this illustrated so violently or graphically. I don’t want to read about someone else’s dirty thoughts for a hundred pages. Or if I did, I would go to the romance section. I did like the reason behind his lustful thoughts; his mother was a crazy person. To not love a child because you can see the sin inside them, or to stab them with a pin to illustrate the suffering waiting for them in hell: that is just plain crazy. I can understand his predisposition towards sin with memories like that to begin his life with.
I can certainly admit that the writing in the book was captivating. I don’t have to like the story itself to appreciate the skill involved with writing something with that level of description and detail. And there were portions of the book where I was impressed by the insights that he was able to draw in these characters. For example, and the beginning of the book our heroine has this thought, which struck a chord with me, as well as many of the women in my book club:
“She believed in the miraculous. Or she had, until she reached an age when, all of a sudden, she realized that the life she was living was, in fact, her life…it shocked her now, like a slap in the face" (17).
However, when there are sections of text like this on page 151:
He put her hand on his sex and held it there. She felt it move beneath her hand, now soft, pliant as a fish, rising and falling like breath, “Swear.”
“I promise you.”
He got up, grabbed a towel and began to clean himself off. There was a wet pool in the bed where he had been. He never came inside her. He was terrified of children.
The twists and turns of the book are very transparent. You can see each revelation, and I didn’t find very many of them shocking even when they occur. I am glad that I read the book until the end, but the ending of the book is flat, and feels very rushed. I would have liked the book better if there had been more time given to the part of the story after Catherine’s return from St. Louis, and less given to the sexual repression and then sexual exploits of these characters.
I also think it would have been interesting to have the book narrated by different characters, rather than only Ralph and Catherine. Just an idea. It incited a lot of discussion from the book club, which to me is the mark of a good book club book, if not necessarily a book that I would give to other people.
As a side note, I just want to mention that I hate the interview portion in the back of books these days. It is dumb. I don’t really want to know these things about the author, and quite frankly often the author comes off as either pompous and self-absorbed, or they sound much less eloquent than their book. Both of these things are understandable, and I can’t blame the author either way. If someone cam to interview me right after I found out I was publishing a book I would be very excited to talk about my book and my ideas. And if I was put on the spot I would certainly sound less intelligent than I would in a book that I spent tons of time revising and fixing. Nevertheless, I wish that publishers would stop doing this. If I wanted to read more things from the author I would go to their website, or read other books.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Friday, January 8, 2010
Book Four: The Year of Fog
Book Four: The Year of Fog
Finished: January 5th
Pages: 466
Photographer and soon-to-be stepmom takes girl to the beach, loses sight of her, and spends a year trying to find her again.
I'm not particularly sure what I feel about this book. I didn't particularly like it, but I couldn't stop reading. What does that mean? I had to find out what happened to Emma, the little girl, but at the same time wanted to punch everyone: the narrator, the predictable police officer, the angry dad, the stereotypical helpful neighbor, the random surfer girl.
I can understand, objectively, the feeling of guilt that drove Abby to search endlessly for Emma. I can even understand that the guilt of losing someone's child would change you into an obsessive crazy person. But I just don't understand why this book had to be 466 pages long. I think that the idea was a good one, but execution was not what I would have done at all.
I enjoyed the chapters devoted to how memory works, and would have liked to see more of those. As a photographer, I found the discussion of photography to be lacking in sincerity and overly technical, and the details given too specific for most non-photographers to have any clue what she was talking about.
If I had written the book, I probably would have numbered the chapters after the number of days that Emma was missing, while not numbering the chapters about photography, or memory, or the chapters that repeat the day that she disappeared without really adding anything else to the narrative.
Certainly, after reading The Gathering, and even The Hours, there are so many ways to make a story more emotionally impactful than simply repeating the same action over and over. I think that there were risks that the author was not willing to take.
Do I need to put spoiler alert here? Haha, no, I love ruining things for other people.
The ending was safe. The ending was trite. It was as if the author was afraid of taking the step that would have been braver: to let Emma die. It seemed almost convenient, "everyone has given up except for me! I will find her! Let's go to Costa Rica?" What makes Abby so smart, so willing to take risks, and then to simply find her on a beach? It felt like Richmond wanted a happy ending more than she wanted a realistic ending. Did I appreciate that Jake and Abby's relationship fell apart? Yes. That was necessary, that was real. Do I understand why he wouldn't let Abby see her even after she went to all those lengths to find her and save her? Not really, but I suppose if someone lost my child I would probably never want to see them again either, and certainly if someone else found my child for me, after I believed that they were dead, I wouldn't want to see them either, because the sight of them would have me feeling guilty that someone else had the strength to go on believing when I didn't.
I'm not going to say that this was the worst book I've ever read, or even the worst book that I had to read for book club, I mean, The Dante Club and Firefly Lane are both much worse, but I don't think that I would recommend this book to anyone, and that's certainly saying something.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Finished: January 5th
Pages: 466
Photographer and soon-to-be stepmom takes girl to the beach, loses sight of her, and spends a year trying to find her again.
I'm not particularly sure what I feel about this book. I didn't particularly like it, but I couldn't stop reading. What does that mean? I had to find out what happened to Emma, the little girl, but at the same time wanted to punch everyone: the narrator, the predictable police officer, the angry dad, the stereotypical helpful neighbor, the random surfer girl.
I can understand, objectively, the feeling of guilt that drove Abby to search endlessly for Emma. I can even understand that the guilt of losing someone's child would change you into an obsessive crazy person. But I just don't understand why this book had to be 466 pages long. I think that the idea was a good one, but execution was not what I would have done at all.
I enjoyed the chapters devoted to how memory works, and would have liked to see more of those. As a photographer, I found the discussion of photography to be lacking in sincerity and overly technical, and the details given too specific for most non-photographers to have any clue what she was talking about.
If I had written the book, I probably would have numbered the chapters after the number of days that Emma was missing, while not numbering the chapters about photography, or memory, or the chapters that repeat the day that she disappeared without really adding anything else to the narrative.
Certainly, after reading The Gathering, and even The Hours, there are so many ways to make a story more emotionally impactful than simply repeating the same action over and over. I think that there were risks that the author was not willing to take.
Do I need to put spoiler alert here? Haha, no, I love ruining things for other people.
The ending was safe. The ending was trite. It was as if the author was afraid of taking the step that would have been braver: to let Emma die. It seemed almost convenient, "everyone has given up except for me! I will find her! Let's go to Costa Rica?" What makes Abby so smart, so willing to take risks, and then to simply find her on a beach? It felt like Richmond wanted a happy ending more than she wanted a realistic ending. Did I appreciate that Jake and Abby's relationship fell apart? Yes. That was necessary, that was real. Do I understand why he wouldn't let Abby see her even after she went to all those lengths to find her and save her? Not really, but I suppose if someone lost my child I would probably never want to see them again either, and certainly if someone else found my child for me, after I believed that they were dead, I wouldn't want to see them either, because the sight of them would have me feeling guilty that someone else had the strength to go on believing when I didn't.
I'm not going to say that this was the worst book I've ever read, or even the worst book that I had to read for book club, I mean, The Dante Club and Firefly Lane are both much worse, but I don't think that I would recommend this book to anyone, and that's certainly saying something.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
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