Comfort of Strangers

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McEwan, Ian. The Comfort of Strangers. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1981.

The entire time I was reading The Comfort of Strangers I felt an uneasiness – so much so that the hairs on the back of my neck would stand up from time to time. There was something sinister about nearly every scene, every page (all 127 of them). I can just imagine what the movie is like.

Colin and Mary are unmarried, unhappy lovers on vacation. Bored with each other and frustrated with their foreign holiday destination (probably Venice or Rome), they are constantly having to remind each other and themselves they are on holiday and are supposed to be relaxing and enjoying themselves. Their disdain for each other annoyed me at times. For the couple getting lost in the ancient, winding, narrow streets wasn’t supposed to be a problem because they have nowhere specific to be. Colin and Mary go on like this until suddenly, the story changes gears after a native enters their bored bubble. That chance meeting changes the course of their lives forever. It is a psychological, violent, erotic second half to the book, full of sex and selfishness. From the moment, Robert, the charismatic stranger, comes into the picture nothing seems normal again.

I didn’t find any particular lines that grabbed me. The whole story in its simplicity was enough to shock me.

BookLust Twist: From Book Lust in the chapter called, “Ian McEwan: Too Good To Miss” (p 149).

Beyond Road’s End

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Eaton, Janice Schofield. Beyond Road’s End: Living Free in Alaska. Anchorage: Alaska Northwest Books, 2009.

Beyond Road’s End accomplished a great deal for me. For one, it was a tool of teaching: I learned a great deal about Alaska’s environment, both culturally and ecologically. Eaton’s straightforward, folksy narrative made the didactic chapters blend with the personal ones smoothly. It was interesting to see how her work with herbal remedies began as a curiosity and then grew into a viable career. Simultaneously, her personal life took the same course. Coming to Alaska from New England opened her eyes to a different way of living, a different way of being.
Another Alaskan trait I learned about from reading Eaton’s book was the native people’s generosity. Every neighbor had a story to tell, a meal to share, and a door they kept open to strangers. Many times throughout Beyond Road’s End there was someone there just in the nick of time either with shelter, food, or a helping hand. This giving attitude convinced Eaton to keep her cabin open to strangers while she and partner Ed were away for long periods of time.
The one complaint I had was the absence of dates. There was nothing to ground me chronologically until the Exxon Valdez oil spill. I found myself questioning little details like how long after leaving her husband did she take on the adventure of Alaska? Did this story start in the 1970s? Early ’80s? I found myself distracted by wondering.

Here are the quotes I hope are kept: “There are so many retirement options other than death by television” (p 81).
“Knocking meant you were strangers” (p 113).
“With each surge, king crude conquers territory” (p 350).

Another thing I hope they keep is the series of photos. They were great!

Before the Deluge

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Chetham, Deirdre. Before the Deluge: The Vanishing World of the Yangtze’s Three Gorges. New York: Palgrave, 2002.

What happens to the traditions, the daily existence and essential history of a community and culture when it loses its geography, it’s place and space? What happens when entire cultures are uprooted and removed? Is it still the same as if it had never left? It is hard to imagine such a question until you consider the fate of the villages along the Upper Yangtze’s The Gorges region.
Deirdre Chetham chronicles the path of destruction China’s hydroelectric dam will create once the water levels rise. Originally set to be completed in 2009 this elevation of water will submerge entire cities, villages, towns, as well as historical and cultural areas. Chetham takes a expansive look back at the area’s remarkable history to illustrate what has been in place for centuries such as ancient temples, prayer grounds and burial sites. She also projects what the damming will mean economically for farmers and tourists alike.

Interesting quotes: “In summer hot pink is the favored color for men’s undershirts” (p 20), and “Since the beginning of time, the story of the Three Gorges region has been one of violence of nature topped off by the chaos of people” (p 49).

BookLust Twist: From Book Lust in the chapter called, “Rivers of Words” (p 201).

ps~ It is 2009 and at last word the dam project has been delayed.

Daydreamer

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McEwan, Ian. The Daydreamer. New York: Scholastic, Inc., 1994.

Here’s how I got around to reading this (in two hours) – I had just finished Braun’s The Cat Who Saw Red and realized I had a small dilemma. I had nothing to read for the weekend. No new books had come in from other libraries nor were they going to by the time Saturday rolled around. So. I cheated. The Daydreamer wasn’t scheduled to be read for at least a year (there is something else in honor of McEwan’s birth month already picked out), but there it was. So, on a lazy Friday afternoon I was able to get through it.

The Daydreamer is an extremely cute book about a boy named Peter Fortune. He’s a good boy except he has a wicked imagination. His ability to daydream himself out of reality gets him into trouble all the time. My favorite “dream” was when he is finally, finally allowed to ride the bus to school. His parents have decided he’s not only old enough to take himself to school (at ten years old), but he is mature enough to take his seven year old sister, who goes to the same school, as well. Everything goes according to plan until Peter starts thinking about how he would protect his sister from anything…including a pack of hungry, drooling wolves. First he would take out his hunting knife, then his pack of matches, then he would…and before Peter knows it he is in the land of imagination, fighting off wild wolves. He is no longer riding a bus with his little sister on their way to school. It’s halarious.

Favorite lines: “That night Peter did not sleep, he ran. He ran through his dreams, down echoing halls, across a desert of stones and scorpions, down ice mazes, along a sloping pink, spongy tunnel with dripping walls” (p 89).
“She was one of those rare unhappy grown-ups who are profoundly irritated by the fact that children exist” (p 118)

BookLust Twist: From Book Lust in the chapter, “Ian McEwan: Too Good To Miss” (p).

This Boy’s Life

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Wolff, Tobias. This Boy’s Life. New York: Perennial Library, 1989.

This Boy’s Life was spellbinding. Tobias Wolff’s personal memoir is not tremendous. It may even sound familiar to anyone who came from a broken home, had trouble with a step-parent, or had a mischievous streak growing up (who hasn’t?). What makes This Boy’s Life such a page turner is the honesty that radiates from every page, every sentence. It is not an overwhelming tragic tale, but it is painful and very real. Wolff does not paint a picture of hero, nor victim. It’s just an account of a troubled childhood. The writing is so clear, so unmuddied, that we can easily see bits of our own childhoods reflected in every chapter.

Probably one of my favorite parts was when Tobias (going by the name ‘Jack’ at this point) talks about altering his less than stellar grades in school. Report cards were written in pencil and ‘Jack’s’ admission of guilt is simply, “I owned some pencils myself” (p 184). It’s sly and smile evoking.

BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust in the chapter called, “All in the Family: Writer Dynasties” (p 5).

Cat Who Saw Red

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Braun, Lilian Jackson. The Cat Who Saw Red. New york: Jove Books, 1986.

Only 183 pages long The Cat Who Saw Red  was a really quick, really fun read. Although it had all the elements of an on-your-toes thriller: a possible murder, intrigue, scandalous affiars, missing persons, and too many possible suspects to count, it was what I would call a “gentle” mystery. A quiet, light suspense ripples throughout the plot. There is just as much humor as danger.
James Qwilleran is an award winning journalist sent on assignment to write a food column. As a former cop Qwill, as he is known by everyone, smells as mystery sooner than a burning souffle. Sniffing out leads, it is not long before he is using his restaurant experiences to wine and dine clues out  of unsuspecting suspects.
As an aside: every chapter begins with a sentence that mentions James Qwilleran. I found that to be a weird thing to notice.

Tidbit of trivia: I find it amazing that Lilian J. Bruan first started her “The Cat Who…” series back in the 1960’s and then vanished for eighteen years. Her triumphant return was with The Cat Who Saw Red.

Funny conversation: “…’This is crummy soup.’
                                             ‘Is it canned?’
                                              ‘No, worse! It tastes like I made it.'” (p 101)

BookLust Twist: From Book Lust in the chapter called, “Cat Crazy” (p 52).

Bigamist’s Daughter

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McDermott, Alice. A Bigamist’s Daughter. New York: Random House, 1982.

A Bigamist’s Daughter is Alice McDermott’s first book. Even though I read it in less than 24 hours I thought it was wildly imaginative and thought-provoking. Elizabeth is editor-in-chief for a vanity publishing house in Manhattan. while the title sounds impressive she knows she’s not fooling herself. In fact, the central theme of A Bigamist’s Daughter is all about false impressions. Her father, never home, always leaving for somewhere (or someone?) else, is perceived to be a bigamist. Even in Elizabeth’s adult life she is confused about who her father was or what he meant to her. Marriage becomes a mirage as she tries to make sense of relationships both past and present. When Elizabeth meets an author who hasn’t finished his book (about a bigamist) the questions become harder and the answers more complicated.

Favorite lines: “She’s been divorced from Brian for nearly seven years now, but his name still haunts her conversations; she seems to hold it in her mouth like a dog with a bit of coattail: the only part of the thief that didn’t get away” (p 11).
“If cancer can be said to have any compensations, surely it is in the cliche of time allowed. Time to say what can no longer wait to be discovered. Time when death is not merely a thought to put your teeth on edge, to be dismissed with a swallow, when life is marked clearly by beginnings and endings, by spoken words that mean something and change everything” (p 127).
“She could treat her vagina like a hungover roommate: I don’t care what you did last night, I’m going to the library” (p 137).
There are a ton more, but I’ll leave the discovery up to the reader.

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

If No One Ever Marries Me

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weddingday
My faith in marriage has been rocked. Everything I believed in previously is a myth, a lie, a mirage set up to hurt and disappoint and destroy.

What do you do when you marry with the understanding, the trust that what you are doing is forever and suddenly you find out it has been one big, humongous lie? The house with the heavy mortgage is really built out of cards, not love. Suddenly there is a big bad wolf at your door ready to huff and puff and steal your happiness away. Your 9-5 to support your loved ones was a waste of time. Working hard for the failing.

They say hurtful things like I Never Loved You. I Used You. I Have Been Waiting For Someone Else. Someone Else. All This Time. Ten Years Means Nothing To Me. I Will Get The Kids And The House. Mine. All Mine. Head spinning. Heart in a tailspin. Is there any way to pull out of this freefall? Is there a way to snap out of this stunned disbelief and wake from the nightmare?

Friends shake their heads in shock. Didn’t see this coming we all mutter. Who sides with whom? Rumors of the evil kind circulate among the unkind. Cocaine. Cheating. The accusations are so outrageous how could anyone not see it coming? It’s just right there if you know where to look.

Kisa and I look at each other differently. That thing we argued about yesterday seems so petty today. We tiptoe around our relationship like it is a sleeping child. What we once considered a rock is now a wispy, translucent spider’s web. What we once took for granted is back in consideration. We are considerate. Nothing lasts forever.
There was a reason I stood behind my veil and shook like a leaf. There was a reason why I kept him waiting at the alter. Kept him waiting, but didn’t leave him. I waited for the nerves to calm, the strength of love to flood my veins. In light of recent developments I can’t help but be reminded of that day I almost said I don’t.

We say no one saw this coming. Doesn’t matter. We are all in still in shock.
Or are we?

Living High

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Burn, June. Living High: an Unconventional Autobiography. New York: Duell, Sloan and Pearce, 1941.

I like books that make me ask questions. I like books that leave me wanting more. Not more of the story. Usually, the ending is adequate enough and I don’t need to know more about that. I am left wanting to know more about the author, about the life of the author at that time. Such was the case with June Burn. When I read Living High I held in my hands a first edition copy signed by June herself. Maddeningly, there were no pictures to guide my imagination. How old was she when she finished Living High? Where were her parents? What did she looked like? I pictured a fiery redhead with an unmatchable zest for life. But, I wanted the truth of who she was.

Living High is called an “Unconventional Autobiography” and I would have to agree. Not because it doesn’t cover a life from the sunrise of birth to the sunset of death, but because it has a moral to the story. There is a lesson to be learned within Living High’s pages and that lesson is live life to the fullest. Enjoy every single moment of each and every day. June is elegant and adventurous when describing living on the gumdrop island of Sentinel off Puget Sound with her husband, Farrar; or remembering walrus hunting and dogsledding in Alaska; or later, bombing around the west coast in the Burn’s Ballad Bungalow with Farrar and two kids (named North and South, I kid you not).

Best quotes: “Be thrifty with the things that count and you won’t have time to worry about whether your wallet is fullor not” (p 7), “To go on an island and pull the ladder up after us and live, untroubled by anything – that would be heaven” (p 11), and “the wind came howling out of the north, with icicles in its whiskers” (p 150). My favorite is, “When you walk you are somewhere at every step” (p 264).

Interesting side note: June changed her name and so did her second son, South. One day he decided he was Bobby or Bob.

BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust in the chapter called, “Living High in Cascadia” (p 149). Go figure.

Three Farmers

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Powers, Richard. Three Farmers on Their Way to a Dance. New York: Beech Tree Books, 1985.

Three Farmers on Their Way to a Dance centers around a clever theme: a photograph. It begins with a contemporary first person account from a man traveling across the country. Seeking to occupy his time during a five hour layover in Detroit he visits an art museum and discovers a photograph that hijacks his imagination. It is a 1914-1915 photograph of three men identically dressed, identically posed, walking down a muddy road. The story then moves to third person as the narrative crawls inside the photograph and relives the three brothers’s perspective on the brink of war. The final aspect of The Farmers is another contemporary story of a Boston based computer writer who finds the same photograph in his family heirlooms. While the story centers on a photograph, the central theme is technology and it’s contribution to World War I. Three Farmers on Their Way to a Dance intertwines fiction with nonfiction, mixing real people and events to a fictional landscape.

Favorite line: “You ride a bicycle instead of an auto, and you tel lies for a living. I cannot think of a worse combination” (p 26).

BookLust Twist: From Book Lust in the chapter, “Richard Powers: Too Good to Miss” (p 192).

Soul of Me

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  • RebeccaBreathe
  • Home
  • Tell Kyle
  • Bring on the Rain
  • Erina Rose
  • Miss You
  • Yours
  • Oh Nashville
  • On Your Way Down
  • Goodbye For the Last Time
  • No Such Fairytale
  • Hold Me
  • Sonnet #30

There is something about outdoor music, especially when the weather is perfect and the bugs are held at bay. People pull out snacks, snap open lawn chairs and spread out blankets, complete with coolers and cameras. Laughter bounces off conversations and excitement mingles with anticipation. We are ready for music. The Soul of Me cd release party was like this – a combination of family and friends getting together like a gigantic gourmet picnic in the park and the thrill of new music. Hugging and catching up between sips of wine and bites of food. A backyard oasis of tiny white lights and chocolate covered strawberries. And That Voice.

The above setlist is not from the cd release party. I wasn’t willing to spend my time writing each song down… in the dying light and approaching dark. Instead, this is the track list for Rebecca’s new cd, Soul of Me. Rebecca sang all the songs except “No Such Fairytale” “Goodbye for the Last Time” and “Hold Me.” I was relieved she didn’t sing “Hold Me” because I was ripe for a good cry and I didn’t need to be turning on the waterworks at that particular time! She did throw in some extras like a cover mix, an oldie from Memories of Their Love and a little something about Gene Simmons in her grocery store…

Side story: When Rebecca introduced Chris from ‘The Everyday Visuals’ there was a moment of deja vu. How do I know you? Where do I know you from? Do I know you or is my mind playing tricks on me? As Chris began to sing and tell stories the nagging thought I had seen him before simply would not leave my mind. Turns out ‘The Everyday Visuals’ played in the Boston Pop’s cafe the same night Natalie played at Edgefest (the ticket to Natalie got you in to see ‘The Everyday Visuals’ as well). TEVs were the band I could have seen had my family been interested in a little more music after Natalie…

All in all it was a great night and I wish I could have stayed to see Rebecca’s after-show antics! Maybe next time.

RebeccaII

 

 

Don’t Look Back

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Fossum, Karin. Don’t Look Back. Orlando: Harcourt, Inc. 2002.

This is one of those mystery books you read on a rainy Saturday afternoon in one sitting. The story flows in a simplistic but compelling manner; An easy read with a great story line. As someone from LibraryThing once said suggested for a genre, “a bring-to-the-beach kind of book.” In that case Don’t Look Back was summer fare read too early (for me). It is the mystery of the death of a teenage girl. Known throughout her small town she was loved by nearly everyone. How could someone so charming, so lovable, so perfect die so young? Inspector Sejer is the lead investigator on the case. With calm and quiet tenacity he unravels a seemingly sweet life only to reveal lies and suspicions. This is the kind of mystery that keeps the pages turning as things become more and more complicated. Originally written in Norwegian and translated by Felicity David, Don’t Look Back urges the reader to keep turning the pages until compulsively, the entire book has been read from cover to cover.

Favorite lines: “Puberty was a really rough time. She was a sunbeam until she turned thirteen, then she began to snarl. she snarled until she was fourteen, then she began to bark” (p 71). ”

BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust in the chapter, “Crime is a Globetrotter: Norway” (p 59).

Edited to add: I read this back in 2009 but what I just discovered five years later is that it is also included in Book Lust To Go in the chapter called “Norway: the Land of the Midnight Sun” (p 163). So there!

Slow Dancing on Dinosaur Bones

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Witt, Lana. Slow Dancing on Dinosaur Bones. New York: Scribner, 1996.

I don’t understand the title of this book. It should have been something about ghosts or Indians or something like that. Aside from the random primordial slime comment, dinosaurs don’t really factor into the title, figuratively or literally. And aside from the title confusion I loved, loved, loved this book! It provided me with laughs, cries, anger, confusion, fear, and even triumph. It was the kind of book that I couldn’t put down, yet I was terribly afraid of what would happen next.

Slow Dancing on Dinosaur Bones is a quirky story about a small town community. There is Gilman, the singing, bootlegging, gruff-but-loveable mechanic; Gemma, the town beauty with a viper’s heart; Ten-Fifteen, Gilman’s best friend; Tom, the from-out-of-town philosopher-turned-carpenter; and Rosalyn, the torch singer with a nasty secret. It’s that secret that supplies the suspense. Rosalyn has an ex-lover looking for her. Fearing harm, her friends hide her and take turns protecting her and falling in love with her. Meanwhile, to add to the drama there is a big, nasty, corporate coal company threatening to drill on Gilman’s land and a skeleton waiting in a prayer chamber for a shot of whiskey. There’s good old fashioned sabatoge and danger mixed with ancient love and laughter.

Best moments: “He remembered the exact moment he had decided to leave the beach and look for trouble, this decision coming from his belief that something and nothing are the same thing” (p 85).
“Sometimes you want to ask a person something, but it can’t be said in words, and you don’t know if he would understand it, anyway, so you think of other things to say, except the words won’t come out because they are trapped behind the question you want to ask” (p 114).
“I confused her when I gave her a glimpse of who I really am. Maybe a person should never try to be honest to their parents” (p 119).

BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust in the chapter called, “Small-Town Life” (p 202).

Green Peace?

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front doorWho would have thought I would enjoy digging in the dirt so much? Hand me a house complete with a hoe and I’m a happy girl. Who knew? Every morning I find myself standing on the stoop, checking the vital signs of my transplants, keeping tabs on the roses. I pluck wilting blooms from the hanging planter, willing more flowers to take their places. Bring on the color. Every night on my way to check the mail I double check my geraniums. My fight-breast-cancer pink blooms. Check for bugs. Check for dry soil. Do you need anything, I ask them. Water? Bug spray? Food? There is peace in all this puttering and pampering.
In the middle rhododendron bush a mother robin had built a nest. I had a perfect view of her from my window. Over time as I watched her sit on her eggs I would myself just how many babies did she have? I spied every day, hoping to catch a glimpse of her skyblue family. They hadn’t hatched by the time I went away, but when I came home three loud mouthed, scrawny, bald babies squawked from their cozy perch. Strange how a family of common birds could fill me with such caring. I kept a careful watch over them until one day the nest was silent. Empty. The babies had flown. Or so I hoped.
Out in the back there is a spindly dogwood (“It’s a tree and a bush, sir.”) that I have been mothering. When my mother was in town we noticed a strange vine had wrapped its tendrils around its fragile limbs. Invasive and attacking, this vine was literally choking the life out of my dogwood. We, my mother and I, set to work with a fierce counterattack. Armed with sharp (pink!) clippers we chopped and slashed our way through the vines and freed the dogwood tree from captivity. Since then I have been diligent in keeping the vines at bay. I hack anything that comes near.
A good friend has a garden of herbs on her front steps. I envy her because she grows all my favorites: cilantro, italian flat leaf parsley and basil. Could I do the same? the thought crosses my mind nearly everyday. What about the cats? The rabbits? And someone said something about a wild boar…something I need to think about.

So for now I will tend to my dusty miller, my roses – trees, bushes and flowers. This garden that has brought me a different kind of relaxation, a separate peace, if you will. Who knew?

And the Band Played On

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Shilts, Randy. And the Band Played On: Politics, People, and the AIDS Epidemic. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1987.

This book has always intimidated me. For three decades I have heard words like “powerful,” “scary,” “depressing,” and even “a necessary evil” to describe And the Band Played On. I was afraid to really know That much about “the gay man’s disease.” I was squeamish about the how vivid I imagined the details to be. I anticipated TMI – Too Much Information – about deviant sex and the agonies of dying. In other words I was in denial and afraid.

And the Band Played Onhas got to be one of the best pieces of journalism I have read in a long, long time. Shilts’ reporting of every aspect of the AIDS epidemic is nothing short of mesmerizing. From the very beginning controlling the spread  of AIDS never stood a chance. AIDS was to be ignored by everyone. If you were heterosexual you didn’t want anything to do with the gay man’s disease. If you were homosexual you didn’t want someone telling you how to have sex, disease or no disease. Shilts does a fantastic job bringing to light the political power struggles that kept education and research about AIDS in the dark for nearly a decade.

Intriguing lines: “A group of drag queens, dressed as nuns and calling themselves the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, had picked the day for their debut” (p 14). “Being gay in New York was something you did on the weekends, it seemed” (p 27). “When a London gay switchboard’s lines broke down because they were so overwhelmed with AIDS calls, telephone company employees refused to fix them because they were afriad of contracting AIDS from the wiring” (p 565).

PS~ Remember my statement about being afraid of TMI, of learning something I realllly didn’t want to know? Well, Shilts did not disappoint. Not only did I get the full description of what fisting (with the whole frickin’ arm) was all about, but I learned of the practice called rimming. Politely put, it’s the human to human equivalent of licking an overflowingly full porta-potty. Good lord.

PPS~ What changed everything for me: learning that Randy Shilts took an HIV test while writing And The Band Played On; that he insisted on not knowing the results until the book was finished so as not to bias his writing; that he learned he was HIV positive on the day he sent his manuscript in…and finally, that in 1995 he died just like the AIDs patients he vividly described in his book.