Author: gr4c5

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

Above The Thunder

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Above the ThunderManfredi, Renee. Above the Thunder. San Francisco: MacAdam & Cage, 2004.

Once I started reading Above the Thunder it was like a giant boulder building momentum down a hill. I couldn’t stop turning the pages. I like that it’s all about journeys, big and small. Personal and global. On the surface its four people, on the whole it’s humanity. The plot is simple – it’s about the life of Anna. She starts out being a cynical, bitter widow who “doesn’t want to get involved.”‘ She doesn’t want to get involved in living, period. She has all but disowned her daughter whom she hasn’t seen in 12 years. She has one friend. When her son-in-law and granddaughter return to live with her and she reluctantly agrees to help moderate an aids support group she ends up being the center of a collection of people so diverse and wonderful she can’t help but change and, in the process, grow. Sounds predictable and nice, but it isn’t. There is a harsh reality to this coming-into-the-light story: aids, suicide, divorce, miscarriage and sadness all play an important part in the plot.

The thing I liked best about Above the Thunder are the characters. They are believable. Anna is introduced to us as closed off and inflexible. In time she changes, but when faced with a new tragedy she reverts back her old self and craves solitude where she can grieve in private. In shrugging off the comfort of others she is still the same person we meet in chapter one. Even Jack, a homosexual with problems with fidelity, doesn’t change his desire for sexual freedom once he discovers he is hiv positive. All the characters go through a period of growth and acceptance, but at the core are all still the same unique individuals.
Some favorite lines:

  • “She doubted it was possible to understand someone else’s suffering. Even her beloved husband whose pain had become a private geography on which she couldn’t trespass.” (p 21)
  • “Holy God, man, how long does it take to cook a hot dog? I’ve been in line long enough to break a habit, backslide, and recommit.” (p 183)

And a favorite scene: two homosexual men trying to teach a pubescent girl how to use a tampon for the first time. It’s hysterical and poignant all at once.

BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust in the chapter called, “Maiden Voyages” (p 159). I have always loved discovering someone’s very first novel. Katherine Weber’s maiden voyage is one of my favorite, but Above the Thunder rates right up there, too.

River Wife

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I wanted to write reviews as I was reading this. There were passages I wanted to pass on – lines that I truly enjoyed reading. Maybe after the finished book is finally published I will edit them into this review. For now, this is it.

FROM LibraryThing:
The River Wife is a historical novel by Jonis Agee. While it chronicles the lives of four generations of women and the men who loved them, the timeline meanders back and forth between the early 1800s and 1930s up to 1950 without clear motive. Hedie Rails Ducharme opens the tale in 1930 and through the discovery of diaries the reader is taken back to the women of 1812, Annie Lark Ducharme and Dealie Dare Chabot. Omah Ducharme and Laura Burke Shut Ducharme soon follow. Later, after bouncing back from Hedie again, we are introduced to more women who prove vital to the storyline, Little Maddie Ducharme, Vishti and India Gatto. Then back to Hedie to wrap things up. It would be more appropriate to title this story The River Women since it tells the story of many women all with interesting connections to one man, Jacques Ducharme.

When describing the natural elements of location, such as the Mississippi river and Missouri farmland, the writing is lyrical and fluid – reminiscent of Barbara Kingsolver’s Prodigal Summer. Yet, the characters fall a bit flat. Jacques Ducharme is a contradiction full of mystery. At once he is both a ruthless, dangerous, thieving murderer, and a tender, playful, loving husband. This night and day personality makes it difficult for the reader to fully trust Jacques, or in some instances, even like him. The same contradiction applies to his grandson Clement. This example of history repeating itself, of living dangerously yet loving passionately does nothing to arouse sympathy when both characters leave the story. Even the women lack reality. There is something exaggerated in their passions, their desires to be strong.

One interesting element of the River Wife is the mingling of fact and fantasy, for example, using real events (the New Madrid earthquake and the Civil War) and people (naturalist John James Audubon) against evidence of working witchcraft (Jacques inexplicable youth) and the sighting and interaction with Annie’s ghost (Annie’s ghost saves Omah).

Because the timeline jumps around and key elements are either withheld or shrouded in mystery, The River Wife seems mimic one constant in the story, the Mississippi River. Both meander, have twists and turns, both are calm yet powerful, beautiful and dangerous, full of mystery and depth.

PS~ I trust that Ms. Jonis will credit Maud Irving and JP Webster for the poem on page eight. “Wildwood Flower” was actually written in 1860, nearly 40 years after Annie Lark Ducharme’s death and made famous by the Carter Family.

guiding me home

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Dear Dad,

Happy Father’s Day. This is your daughter telling you I thought of you today. If I were home I would lay flowers at your name. Red roses for remembrance. I remember you. Instead I paused to smell the blooms still on the bush, crushed the silky petals between my fingers and pretended to be running wild with mud speckled bare feet, tangled hair flying behind; I heard you calling me home. I’m late for dinner again.

We spent the day on the water and I remembered a boat of a different shape, remembered water of a different color. I thought of skin bruised red by the sun, salty to the tongue. We picnicked on the waves and I thought of you, your laughing eyes behind dark sunglasses, your pocket knife hooked at the hip, your military issued blue shirt stained with grease as only a mechanic could. How you let me steer our way home. A spur of the moment navigation lesson.
We flew over the water and the spray was just the same. I could have been hanging over the Atlantic instead of a river. I leaned out to touch the flying droplets, searching the water’s surface for murky secrets, ghosts in the spray. As usual I didn’t find anything. I never find anything.
Tying at the dock I had one more brush with your past. “1500 hours, driven in by the rain. Lunch on the water aborted. Headed for home. 1512.”
Dear Dad, this is your daughter telling you I missed you today. Happy Father’s Day.

Spring and Fall

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Hopkins, Gerard Manley. “Spring and Fall: To a Young Child.” The Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins. London: Oxford University Press, 1967. 88.

Short and sweet, bitter and sad, Hopkins seems to be telling a child (Margaret), “don’t question the death of things too quickly. Life will be over before you know it. Enjoy what you have.” While the child is easily upset by the falling of leaves Hopkins doesn’t belittle the child’s distress, nor does he cater to it. He calmly explains that more disappointments in life will follow and that is the nature of life.

BookLust Twist: More Book Lust in the chapter “Poetry Pleasers” (p 188).

Memory Lane

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I signed up to come here again and I’m not exactly sure why. If ever there was a mental illness about a place, it’s held here. There are embarrassments hidden behind every porte francaise, athletisch fangen Sie auf regrets. Tweny years is a long time but yet, I still feel this way.
This is the mulligan of my memories; the doozy of all do-overs; the greatest saga of second chances ever told. It’s not that I squandered my time here and need lost youth back. I’m not in search of childhood games. It’s not that I want to present a different face to this lost land. It’s that I came here, to this place, confused and misguided. The blinders of another life were still covering who I was meant to be. I lived by a belief system that was fundamentally flawed. I was a tangle of torment, but it didn’t have to be that way.
So. So, why go back? I don’t know. I haven’t a clue. This is my place of hurt. This is my place of shame. But, it’s also my place of unraveling. I came here in knots. This is where life loosened a little for me. In the end, the threads weren’t so complicated. I made one of the dearest friends I’ll ever have. I learned that snow is sh!t. I followed a pickle jar into peanut butter. I became Sweetpea and learned how to drive.
I don’t know if I’m strong enough to go alone. I was reliving my trip to West Cornwall with a friend. She asked if I brought anyone with me and her eyes grew wide when I said no, I went alone. She understood that to go back to a time of hurt, by myself, was huge. What would she think of this?

Sounder

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SounderArmstrong, William, H. Sounder. New York: Harper & Row, 1969.

Haunting. I find this story haunting on so many different levels. Haunting and tragic. Where do I begin? Where can I begin? The copy of Sounder I picked up had the words “now a motion picture!” emblazoned across the cover with photographs of scenes from the movie inside. Of course, I studied the photos before I read a single word and saw pictures of an obviously poor black family. One picture showed the mother with three kids as a father, handcuffed, is being led away by white, mean looking “authorities.” Another picture depicts the “criminal” as he is about to be struck by a prison guard…

But, the tragic pictures couldn’t prepare me for the quiet yet strong story. The raw undercurrent of something more ominous buzzed constantly. No one in the story has a name except the family hunting dog, Sounder. The father is accused of stealing a ham and is sent to jail, the mother cracks walnuts and sells the meat in town. There are three children and the story is told from the oldest’s perspective.
During the father’s arrest, Sounder is shot. Everyone in the family thinks Sounder is dead. What amazes me is the oldest son is more worried about the dog than his own father. His father’s guilt is plain, simple and true when his mother returns what was stolen, yet because Sounder’s body cannot be found, it’s all the boy can think about. “If the deputy sherrif had turned around on the seat of the wagon and shot his father, the visiting preacher and somebody would bring him back and bury him behind the meetin’ house, the boy thought. And if Sounder dies, I won’t drag him over the hard earth. I’ll carry him. I know I can carry him if I try hard enough, and I will bury him across the field, near the fencerow, under the big jack oak tree.” (p34)

I can’t do the storyline justice, but the writing is beautiful. Here are a few of my favorite lines:

  • “And Sounder, too, settin’ on his haunches, would speak to the moon in ghost-stirrin’ tones of lonesome dog-talk” (p 38).
  • “Now the cabin was even quieter than it had been before loneliness put its stamp on everything” (p 76).

BookLust Twist: From Book Lust and the chapter called “Three-Hanky Reads.” Sounder is paired with other dog books for children like Beautiful Joe and Goodbye, My Lady (p 237).

Twenty-One Balloons

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21 BalloonsDu Bois, William Pene. The Twenty-One Balloons. New York: Viking Press, 1947.

I like coincidences. I was nearly finished with Zelda Fitzgerald’s biography when I picked up Twenty-One Balloons. I’ve gotten into the habit of reading prefaces and author’s notes before diving into a story. In the past I would skip over them but now I like the little tidbits if information before getting to the heart of the plot. It was a huge surprise to read that Du Bois’ publisher noted “a strong resemblance” to F. Scott Fitzgerald’s story called, “The Diamond as Big as the Ritz.” Du Bois states in his note, “The fact that F. Scott Fitzgerald and I apparently would spend our billions in like ways right down to being dumped from bed into a bathtub is altogether, quite frankly, beyond my explanation. William Pene Du Bois January 16th, 1947.” I find this compelling and made it impossible for me to delay reading Twenty-One Balloons!

Twenty-One Balloons is the clever children’s story of Professor William Waterman Sherman. He taught arithmetic for 40 years and decided he was in need of a vacation of solitude. He decided ballooning would be just the thing and masterminded the invention of a balloon that could take him around the world. Except he doesn’t make it and the adventures that follow are more exciting than had he actually made it around the world. This book is delightfully illustrated by William Pene Du Bois as well.

Some of my favorite moments are when first, when Sherman first crashes (on Krakatao) he is told, “you may think that your landing on this island was all by accident…” setting the scene for something little more ominous. It’s followed up by the escape which is equally fun.

BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust  and the chapter on Krakatau. Pearl says, “Du Bois’s book is a glorious fantasy…” (p 183). Indeed!

Problems with the Equipment

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                                               pedometers

I have become a pedometer snob. It started slowly since I haven’t always worn one. A little over two years ago I joined the walking nation and clipped on a pedometer to count my steps. I dropped the habit when I started running. Lately, I’ve turned back to walking. It’s a little nerdy and a lot productive. On Mother’s Day I signed myself up for another walking challenge – a virtual walk across the country. It was during this time that I decided I needed a new pedometer. I’ve tried many makes and models – some with radios and headphones, others with heart monitors and calorie readouts. I’ve spent anywhere from $5 to $15, testing the step counters. The current one I am joined to the hip to is one of my earlier purchases. The interface is starting to fade, it’s clunky, boxy and awkward. Soon I was on the hunt for something a little more “glamorous.”
I found Gaiam’s sleek model in Barnes and Noble and shelled out the most ever for what turned out to be the cheapest product ever. I was in love with its sophistication (heart rate monitor included), its capabilities (alarm clock and stop watch!), even it’s color (gray-blue and silver). It even came with a cd (as if I didn’t know how to put one foot in front of the other and simulate walking). I loved it until I walked with it. Basically, I sneeze and suddenly I’ve walked seven steps. Sit down, stand up and I could add another sixteen steps. In the instruction manual they warn against this “overcounting.” Their solution is turning & tightening some screw counter clockwise. That screw must tighten the mechanism that measures movement. Well, I tried that and okay, it helped a little. Sneeze and I’ve only walked four steps. Standing up and sitting down only adds ten. But still! There is no other way to regulate the sensitivity of the product and it drives me crazy!
All is not lost. My old GoWalking pedometer works just fine. It’s still clunky and the numbers are fading, but at least it works!

Zelda: A biography

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ZeldaMilford, Nancy Winston. Zelda: A biography. New York: Harper & Row, 1970.

I want to be Zelda. Zelda as a young girl, that is. From the time she was a small child and all through her teens she was a strong-will, independent, defiant, do-as-I-like girl. She was wild and free, not confined to WhatWillTheyThinkOfMe thoughts. We do have something, one thing in common, “Zelda did not have the knack for forming close friendships with girls her own age” (p16). I can relate but unlike Zelda, it’s not to say the similarity didn’t cause me considerable angst.

Zelda, as Mrs. F. Scott Fitzgerald, seem to have it all. As a couple, they roamed America and Europe carefree and extravagantly. One of their friends made a prediction, “I do not think the marriage can succeed. Both drinking heavily. Think they will be divorced in 3 years” (p67). Even parenting didn’t slow down the partying. Scottie, their daughter was pawned off on nannies most of the time.
In the summer of 1929 Zelda quietly went mad. “…Zelda sank more deeply into her private world, becoming increasingly remote from Scott and Scottie” (p 155). Her turmoil during a stay in a mental institute is well documented through letters to Scott. It was heartbreaking to read and I decided I didn’t like F. Scott and maybe I didn’t want to be Zelda anymore. But, what I am now is fascinated with Zelda’s life. I want to read her book, Save Me the Waltz. I suppose it will have to wait until after the BLC.

Probably the thing that disturbed me the most about this biography is F. Scott. He blatently took Zelda’s life as subject matter for most, if not all, of his novels. When Zelda tried to do the same thing he became jealous and domineering, demanding she edit certain parts (which she does). It’s as if he is unable to accept the possibility that his wife has talent as a writer. The inequality in their relationship speaks volumes.

BookLust Twist: From Book Lust and the chapter “People You Ought to Meet” (p 183). She called the book “compelling” and I would say she forgot to add “tragic” because by the end of Milford’s biography of Zelda I was heartbroken.

One Morning in Maine

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One Morning in MaineMcCloskey, Robert. One Morning in Maine. New York: Puffin Books, 1989.

Who doesn’t love Robert McCloskey’s books? For starters, all the illustrations are great. For another, I always loved One Morning in Maine because I could compare Sal’s life to my own growing up…She lived on an island in Maine, boat trips were something to get excited about and she had a younger sister…the differences were her family lived close enough to row over to the mainland (when their boat engine died) and her family could go digging for clams right outside their house. Our boat rides took over an hour, full steam ahead and I hunted for periwinkles in tide pools.
Even her parents reminded me of my own – always playing the Big Girl Card. Compared to my sister I was supposed to be more mature, more responsible. They used my elder status to get me to behave, “but you’re growing into a big girl and big girls don’t cry about things like that” (p37).

BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust. Pearl mentions in the intro (p ix) she started her obsession with reading with books like One Morning in Maine. Me too!

On the Other Side

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Prompted by a return to ThatSpace, I have a few things to say about who my friends are…and will be.

I’ve been trying to put myself in your shoes; trying understand where you are coming from. It hasn’t been easy. In fact, it’s downright difficult. It’s not that I’m closed-minded or deliberately, absolutely, stubbornly blind. I truly cannot see your side of things and that saddens me. It’s the means to an end. You say things that simply are not true. You assume things to be the way they actually are not.
I’ve shrugged you off like a winter coat in July. Not because I don’t love you, but because I don’t need you. There is a difference. Like that Bodyguard song goes, I will always love you. People grow up, grow out of love (with obsessions) and grow apart. I think they call that natural progessions. I was dedicated for five years and I think that was loyalty enough. The way I see it there are plenty of others (thanks to me) to take my place. There is no need aside from want. Want I do not have (in your new kind).
It doesn’t hurt me to move on. Your shoes don’t fit. Like a bad ex-football player trial I’m free from the obvious verdict. I can see the other side – I look through and see how it is. But, here’s the thing: I’d rather burn that bridge than try to cross it.

International Campaign for Tibet

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map of TibetOver the vacation I received another prayer flag garland from the International Campaign for Tibet with another letter from the Dalai Lama. It reminded me that the Dalai Lama was in my town not that long ago. Someone I know actually bumped into him on the street and, knowing her friends would never believe her, snapped a picture of him with her cell phone (she even stalked the poor man while he was trying to have lunch, but that’s another story entirely). In the Dalai Lama’s letter he mentions coming to the United States and how he enjoys these visits. I’d like to ask him how he liked my friend nearly knocking him over!

Something I just noticed with this fourth letter from ICT is the list of famous people involved.  Harrison Ford is on the International Council of Advisors. Richard Gere is on the Board of Directors (okay, he nearly IS the Board of Directors). How did I miss these famous names before? I wonder if their involvement improves ITC’s chances of fund raising?

Planning Your Escape

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Sunday we planned our July island trip. Kisa & I met Bri & Stace for coffee, huevos rancheros, coffee, sunflower oatmeal toast, coffee and a little island planning. A leisurely two hour brunch. Not much to plan except what boat to take, what night to order lobsters and who’s in charge of pancakes for breakfast. Talking food was fun. Stace is going to make chicken parm, I mentioned a chili lime corn on the cob cooked on the grill…lobster in rolls or steamed straight up? Make-Your-Own-Tacos with lots and lots of ingredients. We are close enough to town to roll out of bed for chai and scones if no one wants to tackle the griddle, close enough to Sue’s amazing pizza for lunch.

My only other dilemma is what to books to bring…