By: Eleanor Brown
Finished: March ?
Pages: 369
I bought this book at Book People in Austin, because I can't go to that bookstore and not buy something. This was a New York Times bestseller, which seemed like a good thing, and the tag line "See, we love each other. We just don't happen to like each other very much." made me giggle.
I did, however, think that it was going to be more, well, Shakespeare-y? I mean, yes, there were lots of quotes from Shakespeare, thanks to the scholarly father, but I wanted a little bit more thematic connection and less superficial chick lit. I finished it, but mostly because I felt obligated, and I mean, it wasn't terrible. Definitely not my cup of tea.
That is not to say, however, that there were no redeeming qualities, regardless of the fact that they weren't followed through in a way that I would have liked.
"Our family's vices-disorder and literature-captured in evening tableau. We were never organized readers who would see a book through to its end in any sort of logical order. We weave in and out of words like tourists on a hop-on, hop-off bus tour."
What really irritated me the most was that half the time I couldn't figure out exactly who was narrating the book, since in regards to the sisters it was sometimes from one specific sister's point of view, but at other times a weird "our" and "we" as if all of them were speaking at once that made me want to throw things. It certainly kicked me out of the narrative in a way that present tense never does.
A few other good things:
"She didn't think about God a lot. None of us did. He was just there if we needed him. Kind of like an extra tube of toothpaste under the sink."
Though, let's be honest, do you see what I mean? Who the hell is talking?
One of the sisters talking about how she broke up with a boyfriend after he asked her how many books she read in a year, and her reply was "A few hundred"
"How do you have time?" he asked, gobsmacked.
She narrowed her eyes and considered the array of potential answers in front of her. Because I don't spend hours flipping through cable complaining there's nothing on? Because my entire Sunday is not eaten up with pre-game, in-game, and post-game talking heads? Because I do not spend every night drinking overpriced beer and engaging in dick-swinging contests with the other financirati? Because when I am waiting in line, at the gym, on the train, eating lunch, I am not complaining about the wait/staring into space/admiring myself in available reflective surfaces? I am reading!
"I don't know," she said, shrugging.
This conversation, you will not be surprised to know, was the impetus for their breakup...Because despite his money and his looks and all the good-on-paper attributes he possessed, he was not a reader, and, well, let's just say that is the sort of nonsense up with which we will not put." (78)
It's witty and amusing, and touching at times, but I got tired of the sisters, and I got tired of their problems, and I just think that I am just not the kind of reader that these sort of books are written for. And that's okay.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
5: The Night Circus
By: Erin Morgenstern
Finished: February 27
Pages: 387
"A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world." -Oscar Wilde
I fell in love with the packaging of this book a long time before I actually read it. I suppose it should come as no surprise, since the covers are lined in black and white striped paper, and the intervening pages between chapters and sections look as if you were staring up, out of a striped tent, at the starry sky. This novel is a feast for the senses and the emotions. It fascinates me that a book taking place in a world that is almost entirely black and white can have such detailed and inspired imagery. This is the story of a game, a challenge between two opposing forces, to the death. Okay, that might be a little spoiler-y, but I figured this out really early on and I don't feel bad about saying it. The circus is a world of black and white, even the ground is magically painted, and everything in it, and all the decorations and tents and fascinating illusions are equally white, black, and shades of grey, populated with imaginative and fantastic people, costumes, acts, like Cirque du Soleil on steroids but with magic.
I read this in two sittings, half each time. It reads quickly and poetically to its surprising yet heartwarming conclusion.
"The circus arrives without warning. The black sign painted in white letters that hangs upon the gates, the one that reads:
Opens at Nightfall
Closes at Dawn"
The circus has a huge clock, which tells not only the time, but stories, and changes just as magically as the rest of the circus. It is a beautiful dream of a clock, made by Herr Thiessen, who becomes just as involved int he circus as any outsider can be. Writing about his experiences, he brings together strangers who love the circus as much as he does. "We add our own stories," he says, "each visitor, each visit, each night spent at the circus. I suppose there will never be a lack of things to say, of stories to be told and shared." (223)
The varied cast of characters is my favorite thing, next to the imagery, but the two are intrinsically tied.
There is Celia, the illusionist and one of the two combatants. "She lifts her hand in a delicate gesture at the raven. In response it caws again and spears it s large wings, taking flight and swooping toward the state, gaining speed as it approaches. Descending quickly it dives, flying directly at Celia and not wavering or slowing as it reaches the states, but approaching at full speed. Chandresh jumps back with a start, almost falling over Marco as the raven crashes into Celia in a flurry of feathers. And then it is gone. Not a single feather remains and Celia is once again wearing a puffed-sleeve black jacket, already buttoned over her black-and-white gown. Celia bows, taking the opportunity to retrieve her gloves from the floor" (77)
While her relationship with Marco, the other combatant, is perhaps the more romantic one, I feel that the relationship between her and Herr Thiessen, the clockmaker, is more heart warming and sweet. Communicating through letters and writings about Le Cirque des Reves, they become friends, but do not meet. When they finally do, Freiderick surprises Celia because he doesn't ask about her tricks.
"'Why haven't you asked me how I do my tricks?' Celia asks, once they have reached the point where she is certain he is not simply being polite about the matter.
Frederick considers the question thoroughly before he responds.
'Because I do not with to know,' he says. 'I prefer to remain unenlightened, to better appreciate the dark.'" (183)
Then there is Marco, whose studious exterior belies his temperamental and passionate nature. He grows to love Celia even knowing that someone terrible must happen to one of them.
Isobel, the fortune teller who is both Marco's lover, and the circus's temperance.
The twins, born the night the circus opened, with special talents all their own. Poppet who can see the future in the stars, and Widget who can tell the stories of the past, and read the past in people's eyes.
Tsukiko, a mysterious, secretive woman who is the circus's first performer, and a contortionist.
When one of the characters dies, Marco creates a place for Celia, so that she can feel comforted even when he is gone from the circus. It is one of my favorite places in the circus, and one that I wish was real enough to visit.
"The Pool of Tears
Memories begin to creep forward from hidden corners of our mind. Passing disappointments. Lost chances and lost causes. Heartbreaks and pain and desolate, horrible loneliness.
Sorrows you thought long forgotten mingle with still-fresh wounds.
The stone feels heavier in your hand.
When you drop it in the pool to join the rest of the stones, you feel lighter. As though you have released something more than a smooth polished piece of rock." (283)
I think that it would be difficult to read this book and not want to visit the circus. I am so impressed by this first work by what seems to be an up and coming great writer.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Finished: February 27
Pages: 387
"A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world." -Oscar Wilde
I fell in love with the packaging of this book a long time before I actually read it. I suppose it should come as no surprise, since the covers are lined in black and white striped paper, and the intervening pages between chapters and sections look as if you were staring up, out of a striped tent, at the starry sky. This novel is a feast for the senses and the emotions. It fascinates me that a book taking place in a world that is almost entirely black and white can have such detailed and inspired imagery. This is the story of a game, a challenge between two opposing forces, to the death. Okay, that might be a little spoiler-y, but I figured this out really early on and I don't feel bad about saying it. The circus is a world of black and white, even the ground is magically painted, and everything in it, and all the decorations and tents and fascinating illusions are equally white, black, and shades of grey, populated with imaginative and fantastic people, costumes, acts, like Cirque du Soleil on steroids but with magic.
I read this in two sittings, half each time. It reads quickly and poetically to its surprising yet heartwarming conclusion.
"The circus arrives without warning. The black sign painted in white letters that hangs upon the gates, the one that reads:
Opens at Nightfall
Closes at Dawn"
The circus has a huge clock, which tells not only the time, but stories, and changes just as magically as the rest of the circus. It is a beautiful dream of a clock, made by Herr Thiessen, who becomes just as involved int he circus as any outsider can be. Writing about his experiences, he brings together strangers who love the circus as much as he does. "We add our own stories," he says, "each visitor, each visit, each night spent at the circus. I suppose there will never be a lack of things to say, of stories to be told and shared." (223)
The varied cast of characters is my favorite thing, next to the imagery, but the two are intrinsically tied.
There is Celia, the illusionist and one of the two combatants. "She lifts her hand in a delicate gesture at the raven. In response it caws again and spears it s large wings, taking flight and swooping toward the state, gaining speed as it approaches. Descending quickly it dives, flying directly at Celia and not wavering or slowing as it reaches the states, but approaching at full speed. Chandresh jumps back with a start, almost falling over Marco as the raven crashes into Celia in a flurry of feathers. And then it is gone. Not a single feather remains and Celia is once again wearing a puffed-sleeve black jacket, already buttoned over her black-and-white gown. Celia bows, taking the opportunity to retrieve her gloves from the floor" (77)
While her relationship with Marco, the other combatant, is perhaps the more romantic one, I feel that the relationship between her and Herr Thiessen, the clockmaker, is more heart warming and sweet. Communicating through letters and writings about Le Cirque des Reves, they become friends, but do not meet. When they finally do, Freiderick surprises Celia because he doesn't ask about her tricks.
"'Why haven't you asked me how I do my tricks?' Celia asks, once they have reached the point where she is certain he is not simply being polite about the matter.
Frederick considers the question thoroughly before he responds.
'Because I do not with to know,' he says. 'I prefer to remain unenlightened, to better appreciate the dark.'" (183)
Then there is Marco, whose studious exterior belies his temperamental and passionate nature. He grows to love Celia even knowing that someone terrible must happen to one of them.
Isobel, the fortune teller who is both Marco's lover, and the circus's temperance.
The twins, born the night the circus opened, with special talents all their own. Poppet who can see the future in the stars, and Widget who can tell the stories of the past, and read the past in people's eyes.
Tsukiko, a mysterious, secretive woman who is the circus's first performer, and a contortionist.
When one of the characters dies, Marco creates a place for Celia, so that she can feel comforted even when he is gone from the circus. It is one of my favorite places in the circus, and one that I wish was real enough to visit.
"The Pool of Tears
Memories begin to creep forward from hidden corners of our mind. Passing disappointments. Lost chances and lost causes. Heartbreaks and pain and desolate, horrible loneliness.
Sorrows you thought long forgotten mingle with still-fresh wounds.
The stone feels heavier in your hand.
When you drop it in the pool to join the rest of the stones, you feel lighter. As though you have released something more than a smooth polished piece of rock." (283)
I think that it would be difficult to read this book and not want to visit the circus. I am so impressed by this first work by what seems to be an up and coming great writer.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Thursday, February 23, 2012
4: Remember Ben Clayton
By: Stephen Harrigan
Finished: January 12
Pages: 368
Wendy was so very right about this one. This is a book of heart break, war, and loneliness, and the different ways that parents can fail their children. I haven't read a lot of books in my day that make something as boring as sculpture making a fascinating read. I find sculpture beautiful, but I also feel that it would make a deeper connection if there were pictures. However, this novel discusses the art so clearly that the artwork comes to life upon the page.
It is sometimes difficult for me to think that Comanches roamed the plains of Texas little more than a 100 years ago, and that there were people who lived through that time and saw the advancement of Texas to its own country and then a state of the union is a fascinating and fast history. This story follows the lives of three families and how the mutual drive towards a sculpture to remember a boy named Ben also becomes the drive to reconnect the past with the present, and keep the past alive. The first family is a father and daughter pair of sculptors, the father, Gil, a successful but arrogant and prideful man whose choices lead his family to tragedy. His daughter, Maureen, is trying to make it as a sculptor in her own right.
The second family is the aforementioned Ben's, living with regret and loneliness in the hills of west Texas after the war, disagreements, and death separate a man and his son forever.
The third isn't a family. The third is Ben's friend, Arthur, who survives the battle that killed Ben, with horrifying superficial and psychological scars. After the war, he stays in France, helping to fix what had been broken in the war. The task of restoring the soil of France to productivity gave him an abstract satisfaction, but it was not as deep or a genuine as another feeling he could not hold on to for more than a few moments at a time, let alone define. This sensation had something to do with not really wanting the trees to grow again or the birds to be sweeping across the blank gray sky or rising from the reborn fields. he had taken some sort of comfort in the complete deadness of everything, in the silence, in the understanding that the world had been seeking an end for itself and had finally found it. He had been content to share in that stasis of oblivion, and he rested that life was starting to surge on." (82) Arthur has already lost his family back home in Ranger, Texas to influenza, and losing Ben seems to break him. " The last thing he remembered was...staring in stupefaction at Ben's already dead body. He remembered the feeling of betrayal as well, the sense that Ben had purposely left him for some plane of experience that was more interesting...Even the death of his family, which he know should have left him howling with sorrow and shock, was something he seemed to have accepted with fatalistic understanding. It was not that he had ceased to feel, only that he had ceased to be impressed." (91)
Maureen's difficulties with her father originate from a number of problems, mostly her independence, and one of them is her on again off again suitor, a professor from the University of Texas who comes to visit. Vance is an amusing man:
"I don't know, a rough character like myself, lurking around his daughter."
"You're hardly a rough character."
"As if you would know. You didn't see me get into a saloon brawl the other day over Spenser's use of the Petrarchan sonnet." (145)
The most tragic figure, yet the one I understood the least was Ben's father, Lamar, who survived living with Indians, and carving a hard life for himself out of the desolation that is the West Texas Plains, and I both wanted to hug him and smack him upside the head.
"All his life he had treated the things that brought him pride and comfort as if they were shameful secrets--even his love for his own son. There were times when Ben was older, when they were riding fence together or camped out during the roundup, that he had felt such contentment in being with him that he thought he ought to say something out loud about it. But he never had, not that he could recall. he had expected Ben to know his own value to his father just as he had expected Gilheaney tonight to know the quality of his own work. You shouldn't have to tell people what ought to be plain to them already." (189)
The book is staggering in the depth of emotion and sorrow that can be felt from chracters that, at the time, seem like pictures. Thinking back on it brings a tightness in my chest because it is just so real. Listen, you have to read this book to really understand the emotional punch behind the random quotes I stick up here because they stuck out to me while I was reading.
"It was different from the model he had seen in Gilheaney's studio that first time, the one that had startled him so much he had forgotten who he was and where he was. It wasn't like Gilheaney was trying to steal Ben away anymore. Ben was there, in the statue, all by himself. It wasn't like he was put there by the artist, like he was shaped by Gilheaney's hands; it was like he and Poco had just showed up on their own.
It was there in the face, whatever it was: the quality that made Lamar believe that the sculptor had succeeded. He saw the innocence and trust that had been in Ben's eyes when he was a boy, when he had been so proud to ride and work alongside his father. He saw some kind of wanting in that face too, not a lack of anything but an expectation, the bright sort of yearning that Sarey used to have when she talked about what it would be like to see Europe or some other such place.
But there was anger too, and you couldn't miss it. Lamar didn't know how Gilheaney had got it into Ben's expression, but it was there. It was the fury that had been in Ben's face the last time Lamar had seen him, a fury Lamar had never been able to erase from his memory and that Gilheaney had somehow seen and understood and sealed into the sculpture.
The funny thing was that from one moment to the next you did not know what you were looking at: the innocence of a child, the buoyant expectation of a young man, or the anger of a betrayed son. They were all bound up together, like they might be in a living face, impossible to pin down or pry apart." (328)
"If Lamar Clayton had had an artist's vision, if he could have detected the fate of his son as it slumbered in the stone of his own tragic life, there might have been a better ending than this forlorn monument. But even an artist's eye, as Gil had learned, could not necessarily detect what was buried in the hearts of the people the artist was supposed to love." (329)
I leave you with the image as I see it in my mind. Driving on a pretty deserted two lane highway through west Texas. Surrounded by rolling hills, and mesas, and gullys, to the side there is a man standing next to his horse, looking out at the wide free land, one hand resting against the saddle. It seems as if in a moment he will put foot to stirrup, shove off the ground and into the saddle, and ride back into the past from whence he came, but instead the statue that tells no one to remember Ben Clayton stands forever looking into the sunset, and into heaven.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Finished: January 12
Pages: 368
Wendy was so very right about this one. This is a book of heart break, war, and loneliness, and the different ways that parents can fail their children. I haven't read a lot of books in my day that make something as boring as sculpture making a fascinating read. I find sculpture beautiful, but I also feel that it would make a deeper connection if there were pictures. However, this novel discusses the art so clearly that the artwork comes to life upon the page.
It is sometimes difficult for me to think that Comanches roamed the plains of Texas little more than a 100 years ago, and that there were people who lived through that time and saw the advancement of Texas to its own country and then a state of the union is a fascinating and fast history. This story follows the lives of three families and how the mutual drive towards a sculpture to remember a boy named Ben also becomes the drive to reconnect the past with the present, and keep the past alive. The first family is a father and daughter pair of sculptors, the father, Gil, a successful but arrogant and prideful man whose choices lead his family to tragedy. His daughter, Maureen, is trying to make it as a sculptor in her own right.
The second family is the aforementioned Ben's, living with regret and loneliness in the hills of west Texas after the war, disagreements, and death separate a man and his son forever.
The third isn't a family. The third is Ben's friend, Arthur, who survives the battle that killed Ben, with horrifying superficial and psychological scars. After the war, he stays in France, helping to fix what had been broken in the war. The task of restoring the soil of France to productivity gave him an abstract satisfaction, but it was not as deep or a genuine as another feeling he could not hold on to for more than a few moments at a time, let alone define. This sensation had something to do with not really wanting the trees to grow again or the birds to be sweeping across the blank gray sky or rising from the reborn fields. he had taken some sort of comfort in the complete deadness of everything, in the silence, in the understanding that the world had been seeking an end for itself and had finally found it. He had been content to share in that stasis of oblivion, and he rested that life was starting to surge on." (82) Arthur has already lost his family back home in Ranger, Texas to influenza, and losing Ben seems to break him. " The last thing he remembered was...staring in stupefaction at Ben's already dead body. He remembered the feeling of betrayal as well, the sense that Ben had purposely left him for some plane of experience that was more interesting...Even the death of his family, which he know should have left him howling with sorrow and shock, was something he seemed to have accepted with fatalistic understanding. It was not that he had ceased to feel, only that he had ceased to be impressed." (91)
Maureen's difficulties with her father originate from a number of problems, mostly her independence, and one of them is her on again off again suitor, a professor from the University of Texas who comes to visit. Vance is an amusing man:
"I don't know, a rough character like myself, lurking around his daughter."
"You're hardly a rough character."
"As if you would know. You didn't see me get into a saloon brawl the other day over Spenser's use of the Petrarchan sonnet." (145)
The most tragic figure, yet the one I understood the least was Ben's father, Lamar, who survived living with Indians, and carving a hard life for himself out of the desolation that is the West Texas Plains, and I both wanted to hug him and smack him upside the head.
"All his life he had treated the things that brought him pride and comfort as if they were shameful secrets--even his love for his own son. There were times when Ben was older, when they were riding fence together or camped out during the roundup, that he had felt such contentment in being with him that he thought he ought to say something out loud about it. But he never had, not that he could recall. he had expected Ben to know his own value to his father just as he had expected Gilheaney tonight to know the quality of his own work. You shouldn't have to tell people what ought to be plain to them already." (189)
The book is staggering in the depth of emotion and sorrow that can be felt from chracters that, at the time, seem like pictures. Thinking back on it brings a tightness in my chest because it is just so real. Listen, you have to read this book to really understand the emotional punch behind the random quotes I stick up here because they stuck out to me while I was reading.
"It was different from the model he had seen in Gilheaney's studio that first time, the one that had startled him so much he had forgotten who he was and where he was. It wasn't like Gilheaney was trying to steal Ben away anymore. Ben was there, in the statue, all by himself. It wasn't like he was put there by the artist, like he was shaped by Gilheaney's hands; it was like he and Poco had just showed up on their own.
It was there in the face, whatever it was: the quality that made Lamar believe that the sculptor had succeeded. He saw the innocence and trust that had been in Ben's eyes when he was a boy, when he had been so proud to ride and work alongside his father. He saw some kind of wanting in that face too, not a lack of anything but an expectation, the bright sort of yearning that Sarey used to have when she talked about what it would be like to see Europe or some other such place.
But there was anger too, and you couldn't miss it. Lamar didn't know how Gilheaney had got it into Ben's expression, but it was there. It was the fury that had been in Ben's face the last time Lamar had seen him, a fury Lamar had never been able to erase from his memory and that Gilheaney had somehow seen and understood and sealed into the sculpture.
The funny thing was that from one moment to the next you did not know what you were looking at: the innocence of a child, the buoyant expectation of a young man, or the anger of a betrayed son. They were all bound up together, like they might be in a living face, impossible to pin down or pry apart." (328)
"If Lamar Clayton had had an artist's vision, if he could have detected the fate of his son as it slumbered in the stone of his own tragic life, there might have been a better ending than this forlorn monument. But even an artist's eye, as Gil had learned, could not necessarily detect what was buried in the hearts of the people the artist was supposed to love." (329)
I leave you with the image as I see it in my mind. Driving on a pretty deserted two lane highway through west Texas. Surrounded by rolling hills, and mesas, and gullys, to the side there is a man standing next to his horse, looking out at the wide free land, one hand resting against the saddle. It seems as if in a moment he will put foot to stirrup, shove off the ground and into the saddle, and ride back into the past from whence he came, but instead the statue that tells no one to remember Ben Clayton stands forever looking into the sunset, and into heaven.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Thursday, January 12, 2012
2: The Paris Wife
By: Paula McLain
Finished: January 10
Pages: 314
A word of advice, my friends. When you are feeling blue, if you don't want to sink deeper into that despair, to let your feelings of sadness and loneliness and general blah surround you, do not, I repeat, do not read a book that you know ends in divorce and suicide. It's just not smart.
If however, you do want to sink into that pit, at least read a book like this one, so that the sadness and the divorce and the suicide are well written.
The story of Ernest Hemingway's first wife, Hadley, who married him when he was nobody and divorced him when he became somebody new. When success had driven him to think that he could be a person that she was not able to be with him. I would like to say that I have never felt as much kindness towards Mr. Hemingway as I did while reading this book. For, although I pretty well dislike him for a number of reasons, I didn't dislike this man that she describes. I could see why she would fall in love with him, and I could see why she would stay longer than maybe I would. I could see what drew all four of his wives to him.
Although fictional, the story is very well researched and you can feel it, but not in a Dante Club kind of way. McLain's turn of phrase is quite nice at times. When in Paris, poor and lonely while Ernest works, Hadley buys fish from a street vendor "The nest of fish was crisp under a coarse snow of salt and smelled so simple and good I thought it might save my life. Just a little. Just for that moment" (79). I can certainly connect myself to a girl experiencing the world for the first time. I remember eating baked potatoes in London and thinking the same thing.
Hadley is there when Hemingway meets F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald and although she has met countless other famous people, she still has the same nervous shyness that any normal person would have, and Fitzgerald is as charming and asinine and ridiculous as any biographer would want him to be, the big baby. "An hour or so later, Ernest and I poured Scott into a taxi. 'I don't like a man who can't hold his liquor,' he said when the car had pulled away" (202).
The true tragedy of the story is that Hadley is friends with the woman who will eventually become Ernest's second wife and with whom he has an affair right under her nose. While talking with a mutual friend, I think they come up with a rule all girls should certainly follow: "'Love is love. It makes you do terribly stupid things.'
'I still love Pauline, God help me, but she's very wrong in this. Freedom is one thing, but you draw the line at a friend's husband. You have to'" (263).
Hemingway doesn't necessarily come out on top in this novel, Hadley certainly is luckier in her relationships in the end, but he does seem to be much more human, rather than the mythical hard-drinking, lion-shooting, death-defying man that I had through of him as. "He was such an enigma, really-fine and strong and weak and cruel. An incomparable friend and a son of a bitch. In the end, there wasn't one thing about him that was truer than the rest. It was all true" (311). Hadley certainly got the best of him, or at least the fictional Hadley seemed to. Like so many people, once fame and celebrity hit, it is hard to ignore all the things that people say about you and continue to be the same person. Having an artistic temperament certainly doesn't help in that regard, and Hemingway, with his war-scarred psyche and inevitable mental instability would have been hard placed to defy it.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Finished: January 10
Pages: 314
A word of advice, my friends. When you are feeling blue, if you don't want to sink deeper into that despair, to let your feelings of sadness and loneliness and general blah surround you, do not, I repeat, do not read a book that you know ends in divorce and suicide. It's just not smart.
If however, you do want to sink into that pit, at least read a book like this one, so that the sadness and the divorce and the suicide are well written.
The story of Ernest Hemingway's first wife, Hadley, who married him when he was nobody and divorced him when he became somebody new. When success had driven him to think that he could be a person that she was not able to be with him. I would like to say that I have never felt as much kindness towards Mr. Hemingway as I did while reading this book. For, although I pretty well dislike him for a number of reasons, I didn't dislike this man that she describes. I could see why she would fall in love with him, and I could see why she would stay longer than maybe I would. I could see what drew all four of his wives to him.
Although fictional, the story is very well researched and you can feel it, but not in a Dante Club kind of way. McLain's turn of phrase is quite nice at times. When in Paris, poor and lonely while Ernest works, Hadley buys fish from a street vendor "The nest of fish was crisp under a coarse snow of salt and smelled so simple and good I thought it might save my life. Just a little. Just for that moment" (79). I can certainly connect myself to a girl experiencing the world for the first time. I remember eating baked potatoes in London and thinking the same thing.
Hadley is there when Hemingway meets F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald and although she has met countless other famous people, she still has the same nervous shyness that any normal person would have, and Fitzgerald is as charming and asinine and ridiculous as any biographer would want him to be, the big baby. "An hour or so later, Ernest and I poured Scott into a taxi. 'I don't like a man who can't hold his liquor,' he said when the car had pulled away" (202).
The true tragedy of the story is that Hadley is friends with the woman who will eventually become Ernest's second wife and with whom he has an affair right under her nose. While talking with a mutual friend, I think they come up with a rule all girls should certainly follow: "'Love is love. It makes you do terribly stupid things.'
'I still love Pauline, God help me, but she's very wrong in this. Freedom is one thing, but you draw the line at a friend's husband. You have to'" (263).
Hemingway doesn't necessarily come out on top in this novel, Hadley certainly is luckier in her relationships in the end, but he does seem to be much more human, rather than the mythical hard-drinking, lion-shooting, death-defying man that I had through of him as. "He was such an enigma, really-fine and strong and weak and cruel. An incomparable friend and a son of a bitch. In the end, there wasn't one thing about him that was truer than the rest. It was all true" (311). Hadley certainly got the best of him, or at least the fictional Hadley seemed to. Like so many people, once fame and celebrity hit, it is hard to ignore all the things that people say about you and continue to be the same person. Having an artistic temperament certainly doesn't help in that regard, and Hemingway, with his war-scarred psyche and inevitable mental instability would have been hard placed to defy it.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
3: Falling Together
By: Marisa de los Santos
Finished: January 11
Pages: 358
Like the rest of de los Santos' books, you have the things that make it work in abundance: witty dialogue, likable characters, good description, relationship drama driven plot, and lots of love. While nothing will ever be as good as Love Walked In, Falling Together was a new story from an author who has a good career ahead of her, as long as she doesn't get too trapped in making her characters so witty that they become caricatures. While this one maybe comes close at times, there was still the mistakes and the drama and the realism that kept it from being quite so sticky sappy sweet. I still want to be adopted by the families that she has in her stories, and I want to protective brothers that always seem to be around with the right advice that you don't want to hear but you need to hear at just the right time.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Finished: January 11
Pages: 358
Like the rest of de los Santos' books, you have the things that make it work in abundance: witty dialogue, likable characters, good description, relationship drama driven plot, and lots of love. While nothing will ever be as good as Love Walked In, Falling Together was a new story from an author who has a good career ahead of her, as long as she doesn't get too trapped in making her characters so witty that they become caricatures. While this one maybe comes close at times, there was still the mistakes and the drama and the realism that kept it from being quite so sticky sappy sweet. I still want to be adopted by the families that she has in her stories, and I want to protective brothers that always seem to be around with the right advice that you don't want to hear but you need to hear at just the right time.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Summer Part 3: 45 and 46
45: Truth and Beauty: A Friendship
Finished: August 2011
Pages: 257
I am astonished in myself that I was able to get so far behind in my blogging that I totally forgot about two of the actual good books that I read this summer while I was in Newport, RI. My friend Anna gave me this book for my birthday this year, and I had been putting off reading it for quite some time because I knew the basic premise of the story and didn't really want to read it until I was good and ready. This is the lovely portrait of a friendship from the point of view of Ann Patchett, and discusses the friendship that she had with the writer Lucy Grealy, a woman with a bleak and tragic personal history who, for a while, overcomes the despair and depression and with whom Patchett shares a deep and abiding love. They epitomize the expression that friends are the family you choose. Not an autobiography or a biography, it instead is the story of their intertwined lives, the moments that they share both together and apart, through success, and failure, drugs and alcohol, love and hate, life and death. It was excellent and the ending of the book left me haunted.
46: Graveminder
Finished: August 2011
Pages: 336
An excellent plane read, the story centers around a small town where the dead will rise up from their graves if they are not given the attention that they deserve. As Kathy put it, "Not charming, ghostly poltergeist havoc, but ghastly cannibal zombie havoc."
Obviously some terrible and terrifying things begin to happen when the old graveminder is murdered and the new one doesn't know what to do. It takes a really long time to figure out what is going on, and the supernatural implications. I never really felt like it was explained in a way that I was comfortable. There is also a sort of love story, the relationship between Rebekkah and Byron is one of fate and is more than a little obnoxious as they stumble around each other. The narrative speed was one that I think was helped by the fact that I was on a plane and needed to distract myself from the fact that I was so high up in the air. An interesting premise, I was reading an advance copy that had many typographical errors that I hope were fixed before it was released. I also don't think that it was particularly "adult fiction" but rather normal YA fiction with slightly older, but not more mature, characters.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Finished: August 2011
Pages: 257
I am astonished in myself that I was able to get so far behind in my blogging that I totally forgot about two of the actual good books that I read this summer while I was in Newport, RI. My friend Anna gave me this book for my birthday this year, and I had been putting off reading it for quite some time because I knew the basic premise of the story and didn't really want to read it until I was good and ready. This is the lovely portrait of a friendship from the point of view of Ann Patchett, and discusses the friendship that she had with the writer Lucy Grealy, a woman with a bleak and tragic personal history who, for a while, overcomes the despair and depression and with whom Patchett shares a deep and abiding love. They epitomize the expression that friends are the family you choose. Not an autobiography or a biography, it instead is the story of their intertwined lives, the moments that they share both together and apart, through success, and failure, drugs and alcohol, love and hate, life and death. It was excellent and the ending of the book left me haunted.
46: Graveminder
Finished: August 2011
Pages: 336
An excellent plane read, the story centers around a small town where the dead will rise up from their graves if they are not given the attention that they deserve. As Kathy put it, "Not charming, ghostly poltergeist havoc, but ghastly cannibal zombie havoc."
Obviously some terrible and terrifying things begin to happen when the old graveminder is murdered and the new one doesn't know what to do. It takes a really long time to figure out what is going on, and the supernatural implications. I never really felt like it was explained in a way that I was comfortable. There is also a sort of love story, the relationship between Rebekkah and Byron is one of fate and is more than a little obnoxious as they stumble around each other. The narrative speed was one that I think was helped by the fact that I was on a plane and needed to distract myself from the fact that I was so high up in the air. An interesting premise, I was reading an advance copy that had many typographical errors that I hope were fixed before it was released. I also don't think that it was particularly "adult fiction" but rather normal YA fiction with slightly older, but not more mature, characters.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
1: Run
By: Ann Patchett
Finished: January 9
Pages: 295
Looking over goodreads, it seems that people are of two opinions, you can only either hate or love this book. I can say that I loved this book, and I don't particularly care about the complaints that others have about it. Patchett is a beautiful writer. I think that she could write about anything, and as long as her turn of phrase stays the same, I will probably read it, and I will definitely enjoy it.
Run is poetic and a little stalker-y. I like books that connect characters in interesting ways. The idea of the interconnected character isn't new, per say, but I didn't see all the twists and connections coming. Although I could see where the story drew inspiration from the Kennedys, it didn't distract me from the narrative. I liked the characters. All of them. Even "terrible" Sullivan and all his mistakes had redeeming qualities and tries so hard to do the right thing and still manages to be smarmy and wonderful at the same time. I love tat all these disparate men: ex-mayor of Boston and father Doyle, ichthyologist Tip, loving goof off Teddy and his mentor and role model Father Sullivan, the aforementioned fuck up Sullivan were all drawn back together by the sacrifices of a mothers love and the needs of an unknown sister. I would have been disappointed if the book had turned out any other way, even if it was more than a little obvious from the beginning where it was going.
The language in Patchett's books are what I really appreciate, more than her apparently shoddy discussions of race relations and religion (comments from goodreads, not my own opinion there) and I'm going to put my favorites down so I don't forget them.
Tennessee, the mother, while listening to Jesse Jackson speak:
And then one of the many reasons for the title of the novel:
I love that the book starts off with a family legend. I love that the next paragraph blows the legend out of the water. I like that it's predictable in dealing with the fact that the ex-mayor of Boston adopted two black children, and that it's awkward to talk about. I like that the idea of family is fluid and also a little bit of politics. For the first book of the year, I think I made a good choice. I hope they are all just as good.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
Finished: January 9
Pages: 295
Looking over goodreads, it seems that people are of two opinions, you can only either hate or love this book. I can say that I loved this book, and I don't particularly care about the complaints that others have about it. Patchett is a beautiful writer. I think that she could write about anything, and as long as her turn of phrase stays the same, I will probably read it, and I will definitely enjoy it.
Run is poetic and a little stalker-y. I like books that connect characters in interesting ways. The idea of the interconnected character isn't new, per say, but I didn't see all the twists and connections coming. Although I could see where the story drew inspiration from the Kennedys, it didn't distract me from the narrative. I liked the characters. All of them. Even "terrible" Sullivan and all his mistakes had redeeming qualities and tries so hard to do the right thing and still manages to be smarmy and wonderful at the same time. I love tat all these disparate men: ex-mayor of Boston and father Doyle, ichthyologist Tip, loving goof off Teddy and his mentor and role model Father Sullivan, the aforementioned fuck up Sullivan were all drawn back together by the sacrifices of a mothers love and the needs of an unknown sister. I would have been disappointed if the book had turned out any other way, even if it was more than a little obvious from the beginning where it was going.
The language in Patchett's books are what I really appreciate, more than her apparently shoddy discussions of race relations and religion (comments from goodreads, not my own opinion there) and I'm going to put my favorites down so I don't forget them.
Somewhere along the line Teddy's love for his mother had become his love for Father Sullivan, and his love for Father Sullivan became his love for God. the three of them were bound into an inextricable knot: the living and the dead and the life everlasting. Each one led him to the other, and any member of the trinity he loved simply increased his love for all three. The question wasn't did her ever think of his mother. The question was did he ever think of anything else. (76)
Tennessee, the mother, while listening to Jesse Jackson speak:
She wanted to ask Jackson a question but she never raised her hand...I do appreciate your inspiration and leadership, she wanted to say, but I need some more specific advice. I need to know how to keep my child safe in public schools, safe from guns and chipped lead paint and pushers and bullies who have been bullied too much themselves. I need to know how I can walk her straight to the door of her classroom in the morning and still get to work on time and how she can learn enough to get to college when there are thirty-five other children in the room and half of them did not get breakfast. Can we talk, sir, about those things? All these speeches were so inspiring, yet every time she left the building with no more information than she had come in with. Politicians never mentioned the details of life because of course the details that appealed to one person could repel another, so what you would up with in the end were a long string of generalities, stirring platitudes that could not buy you supper. (114)
And then one of the many reasons for the title of the novel:
She wasn't racing anything but the sight of her mother being hit by the car...It was her plan to outrun all of that, and somewhere in that running she had started to fly. She no longer felt like touching all the dirt and the much she had so patiently submitted herself to so that people would think she was a very nice girl. She was not such a very nice girl. Nobody who was very, very nice would ever work this hard to take something they wanted only for themselves. Nice girls did not demand that everyone stop what they were doing and look at them but that was exactly what she asked for and what she got. All the other runners on the track had stopped now, the way dancers will stop when the soloist steps forward to dominate the floor...Anger and sadness and a sense of injustice that was bigger than any other thing that had happened stoked an enormous fire in her chest and that fire kept her heart vibrant and hot and alive, a beautiful, infallible machine. They were no longer waiting to see how fast she could go, they knew how fast she could go. Now they wanted to see how long it would be before she crashed, and if that was what they were waiting for they might as well sit down and get comfortable. (242)
I love that the book starts off with a family legend. I love that the next paragraph blows the legend out of the water. I like that it's predictable in dealing with the fact that the ex-mayor of Boston adopted two black children, and that it's awkward to talk about. I like that the idea of family is fluid and also a little bit of politics. For the first book of the year, I think I made a good choice. I hope they are all just as good.
Good Reading,
Caitlin
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