Author: gr4c5

I write. I read. I cook. I run. That's me, in a nutshell.

I Go Back

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Olds, Sharon. “I Go Back to May 1937.” The Gold Cell. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1987.

I must have read “I Go back to May 1937” a dozen times. It’s so personal, so haunting, so intriguing. The narrator (presumably Olds) wishes she could go back to the time just before her parents got married just so she could stop them from getting that together. She wants to warn them of the hurt they will cause each other and their child. Instinctively you want to know more – hurt each other how? Physically? Mentally? Is she talking about divorce? She does say “he is the wrong man.” But!But.But, to stop her parents from falling in love and getting married is to undo her very existence. It’s a dilemma of curious proportions.

BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust in the chapter, “Poetry Pleasers” (p 189).

Industrial Valley

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Kitty readsMcKenney, Ruth. Industrial Valley. New York: Harcourt, Brace & Co, 1939.

I love first editions of books. I don’t know why. As a rule I don’t collect books based on what edition they are, first or last. Generally, I like books for what is between the covers. Still. I can’t help but be a little excited by reading the first edition of Industrial Valley. Please don’t ask me why.

The controversy surrounding Industrial Valley reminded me of the controversy Billy Joel faced when he wrote “Allentown.” In the begining townspeople didn’t really care too much for Joel’s bleak description of factory life. Yet, it was the truth. Ashamed or proud, that’s how it was. Same with Akron, Ohio. “Rubbertown” as some would call it.
Industrial Valley was written in a diary-like format. Near daily events, both political and social, between January 1, 1932 and March 21, 1936, recount Akron’s depressed economic state. Some entries seem unrelated to the depression (a boy’s death after being hit by a truck) while others hammer home the effect the ecomony had on daily life in an obvious manner (the suicide of a man who couldn’t feed his family). In the end, it was the historic Goodyear strike that changed the industrial climate. Democracy reined.

Favorite lines: “The bitter realities of unemployment and salary cuts conquered, in the end, any sophorific West Hill could imbibe” (p 60).
“All of Akron jumped like a housewife getting a shock from a loose electric wire on her washing machine” (p 219).

BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust in the chapter, “Big Ten Country: The Literary Miswest (Ohio)” (p 29).

Can’t Explain

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This guy looks like he wants to talk to me. I could sense him leaning on the bar, leaning closer, trying to catch my eye. My friend had asked if I would be okay while she smoked and even though I want to save her lungs and say no, I nod. Really, truthfully, I am nervous knowing he might try to talk to me as soon as she is gone. It has taken me four songs to decide I’m deaf in this rock and roll soaked bar. The bass pulsates under my feet, the drums vibrates my spine. I feel the music and it drowns out my ears. The guy inches closer. Please don’t talk to me because I won’t be able to figure out what you are saying. I won’t even read your lips. Please don’t stand so close to me. I flash a golden wedding ring and turn a cold shoulder. Not confident I pull out my phone and start a wordy conversation. Can I tell him I’m avoiding getting hit on? Can I tell him I’m using him to ignore the subtle advances of another? I didn’t mean to talk to him or him. I wasn’t going to go there because I promised myself I would leave well enough alone. He and they are well enough and I need to be left alone.
My friend returns and the music gets louder. I sip my wine and look casual and in control. Despite myself I keep talking to my phone. Like a drug I cannot stop. I am confident with him because I can ignore everything else. It’s a game we play. Lying. For good measure I send another message. Suddenly, this guy is tapping my shoulder and mouthing something under the music. I shake my head. I don’t understand you just like I knew I wouldn’t. He says it again. Something about do you dance? I don’t. No, I don’t. Not anymore. I am rooted to my barstool. My wine glass is stuck in my hand. I tap my ring against the glass and turn away.

A Month in the Life

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You could say my obsession is my abode. You could say I’ve been too wrapped up in work. You might even say I have been a little fixated on health issues. All of the above I say. All of the above. Luckily, the proof is only in the house. I haven’t been keeping tabs on work or the workings of me. But, here’s the house and how it’s been:

2/23 Closing day. Breasts aside, we are a go.
2/24 Where to begin?
2/25 We have a phone
2/26 Get another truckload from the apartment
2/27 Get another truckload from the apartment
2/28 Get another truckload from the apartment
3/1 Seller here. First visitors. Washer/dryer are in
3/2 First snow storm. How do they handle snow around here?
3/3 Get another truckload from the apartment
3/4 Did first load of laundry
3/5 First cat puke – Get another truckload from the apartment
3/6 Change the freaking locks already
3/7 First day alone
3/8 Get another truckload from the apartment
3/9 Cat comes out
3/10 Ran on tread for the first time – mail didn’t go
3/11 Mail didn’t go
3/12 Mail didn’t go
3/13 mail went- get another truckload from the apartment
3/14 Double apartment trip – in-laws see the place
3/15 Dining room set came – faucet trouble
3/16 Get another truckload from the apartment
3/17 Hate not having the dish
3/18 Really hate not having the dish
3/19 Loving the microwave
3/20 Get another truckload from the apartment – Hello Coldplay
3/21 Get another truckload from the apartment – living room end tables arrive
3/22 Get another truckload from the apartment – Zeke comes home
3/23 This kitchen isn’t working
3/24 This kitchen isn’t working
3/25 This kitchen isn’t working
3/26 Thanks for the manuals
3/27 Get another truckload from the apartment
3/28 fixed the shed window – new security system
3/29 Homeshow
3/30 This kitchen might work
3/31 can we get rid of more boxes?
4/1 Hello chocolate for cheaper!
4/2 You shouldn’t have…
4/3 The first turtles come out. Art comes in!
4/4 More turtles
4/5 Get another truckload from the apartment (when will it end?)
4/6 Art gets its place

Drowning Season

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Hoffman, Alice. The Drowning Season. New York: E.P. Dutton, 1979.

When I first started reading The Drowning Season I was reminded of Yellow Raft in Blue Water by Michael Dorris. Not for the style of writing, the use of language – but rather, the struggle between females within a family. In Yellow Raft you think you should despise the mother because of how she leaves her child. Then you learn of the mother’s past and you think you should hate the grandmother..until you hear her story. It’s all in the hands of perception. Same with The Drowning Season. Esther the Black was born to hate her grandmother. Her father named her as an insult to his mother, Esther the White. Everyone knows you don’t name a child after the living, only the dead. Because Esther the White rules the family with harsh words and a hating heart, even insisting that the family live in seclusion, Esther the Black has had a compromised upbringing. She longs for the day when she can escape not only Long Island, but her grandmother as well. But, then there is the grandmother’s view of the world. She bears resentment for having to raise her son’s child while he fantasizes about suicide every summer and his wife tilts the gin bottle back a little too often. Each generation, grandmother and granddaughter, has her own demons to battle. The Drowning Season is the story of how they go to battle against each other and eventually, when love conquers all, for each other.  

Favorite lines: “Phillip had named his daughter on a hot August day, with an ancient hostility and a smile” (p 5).
“And the beatings began when the house grew too small with winter…” (p49).
“Esther the Black was silent; she wished she could cry, but the sadness never seemed to reach her eyes – it stuck in her throat, unable to be moved” (p 196). 

BookLust Twist: From Book Lust in the chapter called, “A…My Name is Alice” (p 1) and the chapter called, “Families in Trouble” (p 82).

Lone Star

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Fehrenbach, T.R., Lone Star: a History of Texas and the Texans. New York: American Legacy Press, 1983.

I had to keep reminding myself Fehrenbach was not actually in Texas 40,000 years ago because his book, Lone Staris so detailed, so expansive that it felt like he should have been. In 719 pages Fehrenbach details every aspect of Texas one could imagine. From practically primordial beginnings to present day the birth, growth and development of Texas is detailed. Everything from agriculture, architecture and attitude to wars (civil and great) is meticulously described. Other reviews have used the words expansive, panoramic, extensive, vast, comprehensive, detailed…and I would have to agree. Not a stone in Texas is left unturned when it comes to recounting the political, the people, the powers, the progression of the state. What sets this book apart from other histories of Texas is the fact that Fehrenbach is from Texas. One can hear the passion for his home state woven into every knowledgeable sentence.

Favorite quotes: “Yet, such is human ingenuity that no other species ever used the resources of a country more fully: the Coahuiltecans consumed spiders, ant eggs, lizards, rattlesnakes, worms, insects, rotting wood, and deer dung” (p 14), and “…a citizen army had won battles, but it could not be used by its government as an instrument of policy during the peace” (p 243).

BookLust Twist: From Book Lust in the chapter, “Texas: A Lone Star State of Mind” (p 233).

April 2009 is…

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April is the month of settling in, days getting warmer and the promise of good music. March was moving, but April is all about adjustment. In the meantime, it is also about these books:

  • Noblest Roman by David Halberstam ~ in honor of Halberstam’s April birthday
  • The Punch by John Feinstein~ in honor of National Youth Sports Safety month (weird, I know, but it more appropropriate than you think -after “the punch” the NBA changed rules about fighting and how many officials were on the court during a game).
  • The Jameses by R.W.B. Lewis ~ in honor of Henry James’ birthday this month
  • An Omelette and a Glass of Wine by Elizabeth David ~ in honor of National Food month

One of the things that struck me as odd is that this list is almost completely comprised of nonfiction reading. I didn’t plan it that way at all. So, I have added two more fiction books just to round out the reading, if there is time:

  • Astonishing Splashes of Colour by Clare Morrall ~in honor of sibling month
  • Flashman by George MacDonald Fraser ~ in honor of Fraser’s birthday

I did get word of an Early Review book, but I have no idea when I’ll get it – if at all. Since moving my mail has been really sporadic. I don’t know how book rate packages will be handled, if at all.

 

March 2009 was…

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March was all about the new house. Moving, moving, moving. Living in limbo. For books it managed to be:

  • The Concubine’s Tattoo by Laura Joh Rowland ~ fascinating tale that takes place in 17th century Japan (great sex scenes to get your libido revving). So good I recommended it to a friend.
  • The Bethlehem Road Murder by Batya Gur ~ Israeli psychological thriller.
  • The Drowning Season by Alice Hoffman ~ a grandmother and granddaughter struggle to understand one another.
  • Daniel Plainway or The Holiday Haunting of the Moosepath League by Van Reid ~ this was a really fun book with lots of subplots and meandering stories.
  • The Famished Road by Ben Okri ~ I will admit I failed on this one. Magical realism at this time is not a good idea.I need to keep my head grounded, so to speak.
  • The Old Gringo by Carlos Fuentes ~ This was a powerful little book, one that I definitely want to reread when I get the chance.
  • Lone Star by T.R. Fehrenbach ~ The history Texas. More than I needed to know. More than I wanted to know.
  • Saint Mike by Jerry Oster~ an extra book in honor of hero month. I was able to read this in a night.
  • Industrial Valley by Ruth McKenney ~ in honor of Ohio becoming a state in the month of March.
  • The Fan Man by William Kotzwinkle ~ in honor of the Book Lust of others. Luckily, it was only 182 pages.

For the Early Review program:

  • When the Time Comes: Families with Aging Parents Share Their Struggles and Solutions by Paula Span ~ this was gracefully written. Definitely worth the read if you have elderly people in your care.

For fun:

  • Dewey: The Small-Town Library Cat Who Touched the World by Vicki Myron ~ really, really cute story. Of course I cried.

I think it is fair to say work had me beyond busy. But, I will add it was a learning experience and for that, I am glad. Reading these books during the crazy times kept me grounded and for that, I am doubly glad and grateful.

Magic is Coming

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Sean Magic
I have been known to get lazy, to get uninspired, to get quiet, withdraw and quietly disappear. When that happens nothing wakes me, nothing moves me, nothing touches me, nothing makes me anything. Period. Such was my complacent situation recently. People would text. I would untext right back. People would call. I wouldn’t hang up because I didn’t pick up. Invitations would come in. My silence would go right back out. It’s not that I wanted to ignore you. It’s just that I couldn’t help myself. You didn’t need me. And I knew it.

Today is a whole new day. the sun is shining. The clouds have blown away. I not only accepted an invitation I made one of my own. And Magic is coming. For those of you who don’t know, Magic is the name of Sean Rowe’s newest album. Long, long, long anticipated album, I should say. I have been looking forward to this since forever. Forever and a day. Now, it has a drop date. It has an estimated time of arrival. Soon it will be here. Here’s the tracklist (and to think I almost said setlist – don’t I wish):

  1. Surprise
  2. Time to Think
  3. Night
  4. Jonathan
  5. Old Black Dodge
  6. Wet
  7. The Walker
  8. American
  9. Wrong Side of the Bed
  10. The Long Haul

I have to tell you, Jonathan and Wet are my two favorites. Not that I don’t appreciate everything else on the album. I do, I do. (Wrong Side of the Bed and Surprise are my very-close-to-favorite-but-still-second fav songs). It’s just that Wet leaves me breathless and now, having heard the studio version of Jonathan I have chills. Chills and goosebumps to be specific. That song alone is magic. Pure magic. Never mind what happens when it’s more than just the song alone. I don’t want to focus on the singer when the songwriting is more than brilliant, more than amazing. As always, it’s the words that get me, the words that keep me.

I know for a fact I am clearing my schedule for 5/15/09 and 5/23/09 – two Sean gigs “locally.” I have had an awakening. Thanks, Sean.

Just Like You

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I met someone today who blew me away. Picked me up, spun me around like a hurricane and got me going in the right direction again. As everyone knows it’s far too easy for me to be angry, to hate, to be glass half empty (and cracked). Far too easy for me to be Negative Nelly. Bitchy bitchy bitch bitch. Then came him and the hurricane. Here’s how it went. I complained, he came back with compassion. I bitched, his was a brighter view. I ranted, he rallied. I was negative, he said never say never. I smirked, he smiled. Back and forth we sparred.

Take this story – I have a hanger-on. Someone who just won’t go away. I was feeling cynical and snide. Loved to be evil, warming up to the hellish conclusion. When I was done I thought he would agree. I thought he would share in my negativity. Instead, he smiled. Smiled and offered me this HaveYouThoughtAboutThisWay? different angle. He cocked his head to the side and said, “from everything you told me I can’t see what the big deal is. I don’t know Your Problem so I can’t judge except to say I don’t see the problem.” It’s the “I don’t know…so I can’t judge…” part that got me. Why am I quick to say weird? Why am I eager to say wrong? Exactly what is the problem?

I’m sorry I have been so mean to you when you weren’t looking. I’m sorry I painted a bad picture when really you are a masterpiece. I’m sorry to have confused you with something sinister. I take it back.

To my new friend. Thank you for being compassionate. For being caring without knowing. For listening to me judge without a jury. While you drove me crazy with your “to be fair” sentence starters I see where you are coming from. And to be fair, I want to be just like you.

Saint Mike

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saint mikeOster, Jerry. Saint Mike. New York: Harper & Row, 1987.

I love it when a book has me scratching my head and asking why in the first chapter. In Saint Mike it actually took the last paragraph at the end of the first chapter before the “huh?” kicked in, but just imagine this: two knights jousting in a field. At the end of the battle one of the knights unscrews his sword to reveal a vial of cocaine. After a good snort he gives it to his jousting mate and tells him they’ll get breakfast afterwards. The kicker is, the scene is neither here nor there in the overall description of the book as described by Nancy Peal in Book Lust, “When Susan Van Meter’s federal narcotics investigator husband is found murdered…she leaves her research position and takes on the task of tracking down and bringing to justice the murderer” (p 6).
I enjoyed every page of Saint Mike. With such a heavy plot (drugs, murder, avenging wife, federal agents) I didn’t expect such playful, witty, sexy language. Granted, there are some really weird scenes (yes, the armor comes back and someone dies by the sword in the most unusual way, but that’s all I’ll say about that). Overall it was an entertaining, fast read.

Favorite scene: I urge every parent of a child on the verge of becoming a teenager to read pages 12-14. Susan is trying to get her daughter up for breakfast, “The sound of drugs and drug paraphernalia and semiautomatic weapons being thrown out the window” (p 13). It’s hysterical.
Favorite line: “Rita tossed her head like a fandango dancer. “It is not just the penis that is flawed; it is the whole organism.”” (p 15).

BookLust Twist: From Book Lust in the chapter called, “Action Heroines” (p 5).

Old Gringo

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Fuentes, Carlos. The Old Gringo. New York: Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 1985.

Everything about this story was deceiving. Despite the fact it was written in 1985 it has an old world language and culture to it. The time frame is supposed to take place in 1914 but to read it, it wasn’t full of new language trying to sound old, elderly, or even ancient. Despite the fact it is only 199 pages long it was packed with histories of places and people, cultures and religions. The language was both accessible and challenging. It reminded me of fun house mirrors. Not everything was as it seemed.
Ambrose Bierce is an American writer and soldier traveling to Mexico to die. He is known throughout the story as simply the Old Gringo. Once in Mexico he meets several characters with equally troubling, mysterious stories. Tomas Arroyo is a Villa general who gives the Old Gringo competition when vying for the attention of Harriet Winslow, another American who came to Mexico to teach English. All the characters have a past they can’t forget and a future they can’t escape. The Old Gringo tells the story of these personalities with the same passion used to describe the Mexican landscape. In the end, the Old Gringo does die, but it is worth the read because there is definitely more to the story than that.

Favorite lines: “But the old man wanted to make life difficult for himself” (p 10), and “If her soul was not different from her dreams, she could accept that both were instantaneous. Like a dream, her soul revealed itself in flashes” (p 48).

BookLust Twist: From Book Lust in the chapter, “Mexican Fiction” (p153).

Guilty Feelings

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“I’m guilty just the same.
Sometimes you’re needed badly so please come back again…”
~Duran Duran Hold Back the Rain

The last month has been a weird sort of hell. While the house has been awesome, getting settled hasn’t been all that fun. We are still moving out at the same time as moving in. Still. We are still living out of boxes. Still. Yeah, yeah. Don’t tell me because I’ve heard it before. These Things Take Time. I should be wearing the words as a slogan across my chest. Or tattooed on my forehead. Something. Yeah, yeah. I know the words. It’s not like I haven’t moved (17 times) before. My frustration lies in the lack of time I have to dedicate. It takes time but I have no time to donate.

Last week They were on campus. They are the same They I talked about in my Entitled to Tell You So blog. They stormed the gates again and this time I took it personally. Here’s another yeah yeah moment. I KNOW they weren’t talking about MY job performance. I KNOW they weren’t talking about ME when the listed the library as a concern, as a weakness to the institution. Nothing they announced was new. So, why do I take it so personally? I’ll tell you why. I have been busting my azz to say We Need This- We Need That. My words went nowhere. But, talk is cheap. Words are well, just words. think of all those sayings – put your money where your mouth is, talk is cheap, actions speak louder than words…blahblahblah. I felt like I was screaming into the wind when I should have been learning to harness that wind and fly. DO something.

I have stressed so much about the upcoming, inevitable failings that I have blown off friends and family. I owe my mother a phone call. I owe my nephew an apology. I owe just as much as I woe. My head has been up my azz looking for the sh!t that makes work work. If that makes any sense. Because now that it’s done I feel dumb. I worried for nothing because They didn’t tell me anything new, nothing I didn’t already know.

Now it’s done. I’m done with the rant, too. I got it out. I got over it. Now, it’s time to do something. It’s time to start flying.

Bethlehem Road Murder

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Gur, Batya. Bethlehem Road Murder. New York: Harper Collins, 2004.

I have a confession to make. Bethlehem Road Murder is the last book in a series recommended by Pearl. I should have read this one last. Dead last. Instead I read it first. Oh well.

I read Bethlehem Road Murder at the same time as The Concubine’s Tattoo and immediately I was struck by a huge similarity between the two stories (besides the fact they are from the same chapter in More Book Lust). Both books are centered around the murder of a woman. Both women were strikingly young and beautiful. Both women had experience as fighters (one in the army, one as a samurai). Both women had secret lovers and complicated histories. Both women were in the early stages of pregnancy at the time of death (which always throws a wrench into the question of motive).

Bethlehem Road Murder takes place in Jerusalem in a community locked in the ancient culture of Israeli society. They have their own way of governing; their own way of thinking. In the middle of this community lies a mystery. A beautiful woman is brutally murdered. Chief Superintendent Michael Ohayon must investigate the crime and solve the mystery while keeping within in line with the constraints of the rules of a close-knit community. Political and religion tensions between Jews and Arabs only serve to complicate the case. Of course, no murder mystery would not be complete without a little romantic intrigue and psychological guess work. Gur does not disappoint.

Favorite lines: “Each time he stood over a corpse…he imagined he felt every bone of his body and his skull laughing derisively beneath his flesh” (p 7). “Don’t you know that all real estate agents are crooks?” (p 9). I had to laugh at that one because just having gone through the process of buying a house for the first time my realtor is a saint!

Note: I think this was the first book I have ever read that included a no-nonsense account of most every detail of an autopsy.

BookLust Twist: In More Book Lust in the chapter called, “Crime is a Globetrotter: Israel” (p 58).

Gone Daddy Gone

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Last night was one of those toss and turn nights. Insomnia, my old friend. Back for another round of fun with me. Maybe it was the bug with a million legs crawling across the floor right before bed. Maybe it was the midnight wind that howled. Maybe it was the dream of him. Doesn’t matter which. Sleep was gone.

Okay, so there weren’t a million legs on the bug. More than eight is more than enough legs for me. When it came running out from under the cat I was running for higher ground, screaming like the girl that I am. Kisa killed it with knightly heroics. I still crouched above the toilet while brushing my teeth, afraid to let my toes touch the tiles.
Then, there was the wind I didn’t know was coming. Who ordered this wind? It banged up against the house and made the strange sounds of an unfamilar place that much weirder.
But, the dream was the weirdest of all.

I remember telling him all I wanted to do was tell him this one thing. Just one thing, I kept saying. We got tangled in a wedding procession. Joyous music crashing around us. Noise. Lips moving without sound. Really, all I wanted was a quiet place to tell him this one little thing. He disappeared for awhile and came back wearing excuses, babbling reasons. Really, I didn’t care. I just wanted to say one thing and let him go. It took forever and when, at last at last he was standing quiet before me, I couldn’t get the words out. I couldn’t say that one little thing I wanted to say which was to say No one talks to me the way you do. But, like the bug and the wind, when I woke the words were gone. Gone daddy gone.