Tuck Everlasting

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Tuck EverlastingBabbitt, Natalie. Tuck Everlasting.New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1985.

Do I dare say this book was delightful? I read it in an hour over a tuna sandwich lunchbreak. It’s a cute story about ten year old Winnie Foster and her discovery of a family that has eternal life. At first it seems impossible, but after befriending the strange family, Winnie realizes it’s true. The one complication of the story? Someone else (aka “bad guy”) knows the secret and wants to market it for himself.

Favorite line: “The first week of August was asserting itself after a good night’s sleep” (p 86). I like the imagery of this, of August saving it’s energy during the night in order to roast the day.

BookLust Twist: From Book Lust.

When I Simply Hate You

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Taser JacketI have decided I need this jacket. Thanks to my friend A, this is all I need. I was reliving my Peach story for him (he doesn’t read this blog) and after he got home he sent me information on getting a taser jacket. Imagine the possibilities! Anytime I have that GetAwayFromMe attitude I can follow it up with a nice jolt of electricity! Just kidding. I have a lot of questions like does it work if the perp is wearing gloves? What’s the reaction time from button pushing to electrifying? Does it jolt the wearer? Obviously I haven’t read the details on the website…I’m just playing with the possibilities.

Respectfully Yours

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I was talking to someone dear to me when all of a sudden she said something so truthful to life I nearly lost my breath. It resonated with me hours later, echoing in my head like the fading sound of a rung bell. I don’t remember how we got on the subject, or even why she said it. The initial thought was lost amid the words of chatter, but what remained was, “I would never post anything bad about my husband on the internet.” There it was. What I needed to hear. What I will believe for all eternity. Words taken right out of my mouth.
I know this woman who rolls her eyes and is quick to complain when the subject of her married-for -life partner comes up. It makes me squirm, twisting to get out of the way of vows turned sour. Why does it hurt ME when someone is ugly about someone not me?
Today, I told my husband I was on the verge of mental not wellness. Seriously feeling unbalanced…like I was coming unglued somewhere secret. Telling him was like picking at a scab and letting him peer into the disgusting, bloody wound – just trusting he wouldn’t turn his head. When he didn’t I knew I was right. He has pockets for my secrets.
I don’t understand what makes us take people for granted. What makes us assume they will always love us, no matter what we do? I thought of the woman who criticized and ridiculed her husband. If he did the unthinkable, died or just disappeared, what would she do? Where would the roll your eyes attitude go in the face of abandonment? If I had to crawl into bed with that fear I wouldn’t sleep very well.

Aspects of the Novel

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Aspects of the novelForster, E. M. Aspects of the Novel. New York: Harcourt, Brace & Co., 1940.

I loved holding this book in my hands. Old and musty, it just felt right to read. There is an inscription on the inside cover, “Presented by Miss H. Miller’s Freshman English Classes, February 1941.” My father was four. My mother still had another seven years before even being born. But, anyway.
Aspects of the Novel came out of lectures Forster gave at Cambridge University in 1927. In these lectures Forester divides a novel into six crucial parts: story, people, plot, fantasy, prophesy and pattern and rhythym (counting as one element). Story asks the question what next. The trick is to keep the reader asking that very question. As soon as they can predict the next “they either fell asleep or killed him [the author].”  (p 46). There is a grave price for being predictable in literature.
In the element of character (or people as Forster refers to them) love is an emotion highly questioned. Love can be more complicated than food or sleep and Forster begs the question “How much time does love take?” (p 79). 
In the element of plot readers are not supposed to be asking what next, but rather, why? Why does this happen? They keep reading to find out more.
Fantasy and prophecy are the mythologies, the magic of writing. This is where the reader *thinks* the next twist in the plot should be obvious, but acutally isn’t. It’s the unbelievable made believable. 
My favorite elements are the combined Pattern and Rhythym. I like that Forster draws from art for the description of pattern and music for rhythym and continues with one of my favorite words, symmetry. “History develops, art stands still.” (p 244)

BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust, mentioned twice- Once in the chapter “Commonplace Books” (p 53) and again in the chapter called “The Writers Craft” (p 236).

Insult to Injury

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My husband knows the word “rant” all too well. I’ll go on for hours about something until it becomes nothing – the way writing a single word over and over will start to look strange and lose meaning twenty times later.
First it was about blood work. They wanted my blood and made me make an appointment. They told me when to stick my arm out for the needle. But, when I showed up it was all my fault. “You need to follow up on the appointment.” What? Doublecheck the receptionist to make sure I’m really in the book? “Well, even though you had an appointment you need to make sure the doctor put in the order.” What? So, now I’m following up on the doctor? Let me get this straight so I don’t waste 90 minutes on another day. “You shouldn’t make the appointment so soon after the doctor has seen you.” What? The receptionist told me the opening she had available. I just agreed to show up. Now you’re saying I need to refuse her suggested appointment time. Could I be anymore confused? Insult to injury- the nurse called my machine and said they found the drs order for blood work and I can come in “anytime” (giggle, giggle).
Then it was about my car. When they were done, they wanted to leave it behind the building, locked up, keys in the glove box. They wanted me to pay now and pick it up with my husband’s keys later. Behind the building, locked up. My keys would be in the glove box. It’s not behind the building. It’s not locked up (window is rolled down and door is left completely unlocked). Keys are not in the glove box. Only this is where stupid me, myself and moi come in. We don’t notice this for nearly a week. I call the mechanic six days later. “Do you guys have a spare set of keys lying around?” “Chevy Prism?” “Yup.” “Last name _____.” “Yup.” “Yeah, we got ’em.” “And you couldn’t call me?! Can you bring them to me since you said my car would be locked up with the keys in the glove box and NONE of that happened?” Silence. “Hey. You guys told me you would lock it up and leave the keys in the glove box. Since that didn’t happen you need to bring me my keys.” Who knew I had the brass bra? “*sigh* We’ll see what we can do.” Insult to injury – I was late for work.
Then it was my feet. “Do you have anything in a size 5?” “Nope.” “But I see 5 1/2s here.” “Last year’s stock. We’re not carrying anything smaller than 6 on the adult side. Kids has size 5. Check there.” Insult to injury – size 5 didn’t fit. Neither did 4. I’m a 3 1/2 KIDS if I want to shop at Marshalls.

As I Lay Dying

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As I Lay DyingFaulkner, William. Novels 1930 – 1930: As I Lay Dying, Santuary, Light in August, Pylon. New York: The Library of America, 1996.

As I Lay Dying is terribly sad. Through a stream of consciousness every character tells the tale of Addie Bundren’s dying days. Addie’s five children, husband, neighbors and doctor all chime in. Strangely enough, even Addie expressing herself…from her coffin. I’m not exactly sure what Anse (Addie’s husband) did besides being selfish and greedy but Addie’s final revenge on her husband is to have him bury her in her birthtown of Jefferson – a long and difficult journey. Even the kids have something against their father. In one chapter Cash doesn’t look at pa and in another, Dewey doesn’t look at pa. Eveyone has something bad to say about “pa” but, the one thing I find admirable in Anse is that he sticks to his promise saying, “I give my promise. She’s counting on it” (p 92).

One of my favorite lines is from Addie when she says, “I could just remember how my father used to say that the reason for living was to get ready to stay dead a long time” (p 114).

BookLust Twist: From Pearl’s first lust book, Book Lust in the chapter “Southern Fiction” (p 222).

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!