Flash Fiction – Revelation
Tiffany had the radio cranked so she could hear it above the wind howling across the gaps of the open windows. When it came down to a choice between going deaf and slowly steaming to death in her car, she chose deafness and the small breeze slowly circulating the oppressive air in the car. There was just enough coming in to gently lift the hairs on her bare arms and cool the sweat on the back of her neck.
Her cell rattled in the cup holder next to a bottle of tepid water. She knew it was Andrew calling. Again. She ignored it. Fifteen minutes later the phone started its shivering again. Tiffany gritted her teeth.
When the phone signaled a third call from Andrew in less than an hour, Tiffany suppressed the urge to yell at him while negotiating her way through the eighteen-wheelers and SUVs, and instead simply turned the phone off and put it away.
It could only be one of two reasons for Andrew to be calling and both of them annoyed Tiffany to the point where she was pretty much perpetually pissed off at him. She couldn’t even drive the hour and a half to her parents’ house in peace. She was sick of him and just wanted him to leave her alone for a while.
This distance during the holidays would be perfect for getting the relationship back on track. What was that saying? Absence makes the heart grow fonder? Hopefully her sister wouldn’t say anything in front of her parents. Tiffany hadn’t told them she was seeing Andrew and she didn’t want to be mad at him when she did.
If she was being honest with herself, she was worried they would be disappointed that she and Stephen had never become a couple. They had been good friends growing up and their parents had done a great job of not pushing them together, which couldn’t have been easy considering their longtime friendship.
She would probably see Stephen at his parents’ infamous Christmas party. It would be nice to catch up with him. They had started to drift apart the last few years and Tiffany sort of missed her best friend.
As her excitement grew she caught sight of the phone again. Fury returned and it brought a lump to her throat.
She wasn’t in love with Stephen. True, she had never really thought about what she’d been fighting when she had rejected the hints and winks of family and friends but she was pretty sure that it was only friendship she felt for him. And yet, she was more excited about the prospect of spending an evening with him than of talking to Andrew for a few minutes’ time (and not even a face to face conversation at that).
Tiffany began crying quietly as she let herself feel how miserable she’d become. She would rather be alone than with Andrew and she decided to call him and tell him so… after the holidays.
Book Review – The Help by Kathryn Stockett
Kathryn Stockett’s The Help had been on my to-read-at-some-point list for a while but it was not until I caught a teaser trailer for the film adaptation due out in August that it jumped to the top of my must-read-as-soon-as-possible list. A look at race relations in 1960’s Jackson Mississippi, The Help provides the reader with three perspectives that cover a range of approaches for dealing with and presenting the troubles and everyday lives of women on both sides of a color line drawn through the home.
Three women take turns narrating the events of almost two years in Jackson. Aibileen is a black maid for Elizabeth Leefolt and spends most of her time boosting the self-esteem of Miss Leefolt’s young daughter – and serving Miss Leefolt’s bridge club friends. Aibileen’s best friend and fellow maid, Minny, finds it harder to keep her opinions to herself and tends to be fired when her cooking is no longer enough to make up for her attitude. Lastly, there is Miss Eugenia “Skeeter” Phelan, the white friend of Miss Leefolt and Jackson’ seemingly most influential white woman, Miss Hilly Holbrook.
Though Skeeter went to Ole Miss with her friends, she is the only one who stayed four years and came away with a degree and career goals instead of a husband. When Skeeter first decides to write a book from the perspective of Jackson’s colored maids, she has no idea that it will be so difficult to find willing participants or that it will change the way she looks at her world and her friends. When Aibileen and Minny first agree to participate, they can only imagine what the white community will do to them and their families, and getting fired is only where it starts.
Each of the narrators has a distinct and recognizable voice. Even without contextual indicators, the reader has little difficulty distinguishing between the three voices. Part of what makes this so easy to discern is Stockett’s mastery of dialect and accent. She manages to maintain a readability in her language without compromising by using precise English.
Stockett is able to bring a sense of humor to a novel that could easily get weighed down with the grave realities of its setting and subject matter. Letting the characters tell their stories allows for the injection of the humor that maintain the novel’s pacing and flow yet without going so far as to undermine the book’s overall message.
With an engaging story that strikes notes both humorous and poignant with perfection, only one thing bothered me while reading (and that only mildly). The timeline could be unclear, especially when moving from one narrator to the next. The jumps only become more noticeable and disorienting towards the end of the novel.
And as for the all important ending, it was realistic, subtle, and bittersweet. It wasn’t the cliché that it could have been but stayed true to the characters and their spirits.
Though The Help is only Kathryn Stockett’s first novel, I hope that there will be more to come.
Book Review – Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh
Evelyn Waugh’s novel Brideshead Revisited is impossible to pigeonhole into any category. Set in the years between World War I and World War II, there is an echo of the “Lost Generation” but it is one generation removed and fails to dominate the text.
Though its prologue and epilogue are during World War II, they take place a few years after the latest events of the novel’s body and have little bearing on the rest of the story except to set up the premise and to confirm the timeline. Similarly, questions of religious belief and what it means to be Catholic in particular are forced from background action to the front between Part One and Part Two. To top it all off and make the situation more ambiguous, Brideshead Revisited reads more like a rambling memoir than a plot-driven novel. While this approach makes perfect sense during the process of reading, upon reflection it leaves the reader with more conflict than resolution (though in a very realistic form).
Charles Ryder meets Sebastian Flyte while at Oxford and becomes fascinated with him and soon after Sebastian’s whole family by extension. When Sebastian’s parents married, his father, Lord Marchmain, converted to Catholicism for the sake of his wife, but by the time Ryder meets them Lord Marchmain has left his wife and her faith and thrown the family into an unending religious turmoil. Charles, having grown up with little religion, finds the Flytes’ troubles confusing and intriguing.
Having been raised Catholic, much of Brideshead Revisited was just an eloquent rehashing of ten years of CCD classes with the “twist” of an outsider’s perspective. For those unfamiliar with the workings and beliefs of the Catholic Church, Brideshead Revisited could be an intriguing examination of how a Catholic’s faith can be testing. It might just be me, but it felt like that religious discussion dominated the novel and overshadowed the other aspects that I found interesting.
Waugh’s allusions to the approaching World War II are haunting in their subtlety and balance well with the reverberating hints of World War I. The two great wars bookend the action of the novel but don’t quite touch it directly. The effects of the just past and oncoming wars permeate without becoming the focus, most notably through Waugh’s use of Julia Flyte’s significant other, Rex, and his political aspirations. More could have been included in those sections but it might have tipped the balance from subtle to blatant.
Ultimately, Brideshead Revisited feels like a personal memoir. There are those stories that seem to entertain the teller more than the listener and those where the teller stops just as the listener gets hooked. I was surprised at how little emotion Ryder projects on the telling. In the epilogue especially, given the circumstances of Part Two, the apparent disconnect between Ryder and his past is startling. Perhaps this is a result of time and the war. Perhaps it’s meant to be an example of the British stiff upper-lip. It could also be construed as a façade that Ryder has carefully constructed. But the novel is non-committal and leaves the decision up to the reader.
Book Review – Life of Pi by Yann Martel
Yann Martel’s unconventional tale of one teenage boy’s survival on the high seas following the sinking of the cargo ship on which he, his family, and their zoo animals were crossing the Pacific uses observations of the social interactions of those animals and the common goals of competing religious ideologies to examine human nature at its core. This approach helps Life of Pi’s narration stand out from other tales of struggling survival in dire circumstances (and teaches the reader more than they likely ever thought possible about animals and how to train and house them).
Though this odd book gets off to a rather slow and halting start, both figuratively and literally with Pi’s recounting of the topic he researched while working for his zoology degree, the sloth, the quick switch to tales from his childhood in India help build the readers’ interest and gain their attention. I found young Pi’s fascination and devotion to not one but three religions amusing and a great way to keep faith in the tale (a quintessential factor in his surviving the ordeal) without crossing the line into preaching at the reader. Pi’s innocence and embarrassment when each of his religious figureheads try to claim him exclusive as their own is eye opening in unexpected ways.
At times the narrator’s diversions into excessive detail created a drag on the narrative’s pacing. Some of Pi’s lists of supporting examples felt like they were only there to add length and sound impressive. For the most part, though, the novel is well paced for maintaining the reader’s attention. There is just enough of Pi’s first week adrift at sea before Martel segues into a summary of the rest of Pi’s time on the lifeboat for the reader to be spared the tediousness that the character suffered. It’s actually amazing how little boredom passes from the character to the reader considering the subject.
Told mostly by Pi, there are brief breaks where a secondary narrator takes over, someone who knows Pi from his life in Toronto. These breaks were missed during Part Two, the section entirely devoted to the shipwreck (it was nice to have the secondary narrator’s brevity to contrast with Pi’s surplus verbiage). It was a relief when the narrative strategy shifted again in Part Three.
Life of Pi is yet another novel with an above satisfactory ending. The third and final part of the book challenges the readers’ impressions of the rest of the novel and forces them to revisit, to reexamine what they thought they were reading. It forces you to look at your gut reactions and see how they change when your understanding of the circumstances changes (and what does it say about you).
Though I loved the ending of Life of Pi, I’m still not completely sure how I feel about the novel as a whole. I enjoyed it. I certainly learned a lot (if I’m ever stranded in a lifeboat or inherit a zoo, I am much better prepared than before). But I’m not sure I’ll be picking up Yann Martel’s Beatrice and Virgil, at least, not for a while.
Flash Fiction – Camelot
“Bring forth the prisoner!”
Hands bound behind his back, the ragged captive was shoved forward. The king sat in judgment on his throne. Sun shone through the many windows in the stone walled room. It played with the jewels encrusted on the heavy golden crown and a rainbow of lights reflected onto the walls. It was the coldest room in the palace. With nothing but a few rags stuck to the prisoner’s body by dirt and grime, he visibly shook.
The guard on his right smacked him in the head.
“Hey! That hurt!”
“Shut up. You’re not supposed to talk yet.”
The boy rubbed his head as best he could with his bound wrists. Luckily his sister’s jump rope was plastic and had some give to it.
“How dare you, knave. Avert your eyes. It isn’t your place to look upon the king.”
The first guard poked the prisoner in the back and this time he took a step forward. Each successive poke elicited another step forward, towards the foot of the throne. A gesture from the king caused the guards to halt the prisoner.
“Of what crime is this man accused?” the king enquired.
“Thievery, your majesty,” one of the guards spoke up. “He stole livestock from the farm of a neighbor.”
The injustice of the statement horrified the prisoner.
“The cow escaped from the pen because the fence was rotted. It wasn’t the first time she got out. I was bringing her back to—“
The guard struck the prisoner again. “Don’t speak before the king,” the guard threatened.
The prisoner crouched down in the dirt, rubbing the exposed skin on his arm where he’d been hit as best he could, bound as he was. The guard made a motion to hit him again as he started to get up.
“Don’t even think about it, Adam.”
The guard halted his movement and looked up at the king. “My liege…” he pleaded.
The king jumped to his feet. “The prisoner is found guilty of the crime of thievery by the crown. He is sentenced to death. Take him away.”
The two guards leaned in to grab the prisoner’s arms, but the rope binding his hands fell to the ground. The guard on his left took hold of his upper arm and the prisoner swung at him, making contact with the side of the guard’s head. With the prisoner slightly off balance and the guard on the floor, the king was forced to assist in calming the pitiful man down.
“Let me go! I said let go!” Kicking and thrashing about, the prisoner knocked the crown from the king’s royal head. It fell to the ground and landed in a puddle where the cardboard quickly absorbed water and became soggy. The king bent down and retrieved his lost glory, rubbing the outer papery layer with the hamburger chain logo with his thumb.
“Hey!” he exclaimed but his cries were drowned out by those of another.
“Arthur! Time for dinner!”
Book Review – The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood
With The Handmaid’s Tale, Margaret Atwood first showed us a world terrifying in its plausibility. A frightening precursor to the devastated land of Oryx and Crake and The Year of the Flood, Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale is more focused on the rights of women, though the environmental concerns that would color some of her later work is present as well.
The narrator is known only as Offred (though she tells others her old name, her true name, she never shares it with the reader). Offred recalls the time before she was made a handmaid under the new regime and she struggles to maintain whatever connection to her past she can before her current identity can erase it and she loses her sense of self entirely.
Flitting back and forth in time, Offred forces herself to tell the reader what she can remember of life before, how the new regime took power and what they went through for indoctrination. She adds to this with events of her daily life and minor insights and episodes of the religiously tinged ceremonies that create the boundaries of life. The religious origins of many of the regime’s main teachings are haunting in their possibility.
The feminist leanings of the novel are undeniable and are embodied by Offred’s most tangible link to the past, her best friend from college, Moira. A fighter, Moira protests the most during indoctrination and soon parts ways with the narrator but her words and spirit help Offred as she pushes through from one day to the next. Her contrasting perspective provokes Offred in her own insights.
Though the relationships between Offred and her Commander and Nick show some male/female interaction, the novel’s main focus is the female/female interaction, the way the different positions and expectations for each group of women impact their relationships with one another. Their roles are more than rigidly defined, they are imprinted on the women through the color coded regulation clothing they must wear. The green of the Marthas, blue of the wives, and red of the handmaids divides the women into cliques in the larger society that carry over into the way the households they share are run.
A compelling story from those first pages, it was, once again, those last pages that brought my appreciation for this novel to another level. This epilogue of sorts was an original way to compensate for the limitations inherent in a first person narrative. I believe it helps to take an ending that can be ambiguous and pushes it towards the optimistic possibilities. It answered almost all of the questions that remained unanswered through much of the novel and left me wishing I had read this two years ago so that I could have used it in a particular term paper. Atwood was able to weave tactics and elements of historically notorious regimes seamlessly into the events observed by Offred.
Since The Handmaid’s Tale is a self-contained story and there is still no release date for the rumored Maddaddam, I will simply have to dive deeper into Margaret Atwood’s other works for the time being.
Flash Fiction – The Commute
The fog relaxed in the ditches along the sides of the road and in the lowlands of neighboring yards. It played with the light of the rising sun as it waited for the cars to come along. With each vehicle that passed, some of the fog would find itself pulled away until all that was left of the hazy morning was fine mist that windshield wipers cleared with a quick one-two while stopped before the commanding gaze of a red light.
Joyce tapped her fingers on either side of the steering wheel as she contemplated the vanishing fog. She enjoyed watching it slink into the shadows where it clung to the trunks of trees and the twigs as the base of bushes.
In the intersection ahead of her a school bus turned just before the light reverted to green. Joyce didn’t notice. She was still contemplating the fog. The horn of the car behind her jarred her back to attention and she eased her way through the intersection.
A glance in the rear view mirror displayed a disgruntled driver behind her who was not afraid to tap the horn at the slightest provocation (or beat it into submission as the case may be). With a roll of her eyes, Joyce turned the radio up and ran through the stations until she found one that was playing music. There were few things she found more frustrating in the morning than listening to talk radio.
It began with the finger tapping and advanced to a little swaying, some head-bobbing, and tapping from her left foot until a rogue tap of the right foot almost sent her into the back of the paused bus in front of her, the vehicle behind her whining as she pounded the brake.
She stopped her tapping and began to sing along. It was safer even though no one had been hurt. Mostly she didn’t want the idiot behind her to have any reason to take down her plate number and report her. He had that look about him.
Joyce settled into the stop and start pattern that comes with following a school bus. After the third stop with the bus beginning to fill up, she started noticing the children riding at the back. The children began to notice her too.
A finger pointed, a hand covered a mouth to conceal light laughter, and then the mocking commenced with hearty laughter on full display.
Joyce was mortified. It was impossible for them to hear her but she halted her song mid-note. She let her sunglasses fall from their perch on her forehead and assumed a much sterner expression. The laughter in front of her grew less boisterous but continued as the children turned face-forward.
There was nothing she could do to make the children stop. She fought the urge to flip them off (which would have been completely inappropriate) and waited for the bus to make its turn from the main road to one of the residential offshoots.
Book Review – The Girl Who Played with Fire by Stieg Larsson
The second novel of Stieg Larsson’s Millennium Trilogy manages to combine the wonderful pacing that made The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo such a compelling read with the back story of the trilogy’s most mysterious and intriguing character, Lisbeth Salander. The Girl Who Played with Fire, while almost a hundred pages longer than Stieg’s first novel, could go on for another hundred pages and it still wouldn’t lose the reader’s interest.
Picking up almost two years after The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo leaves off, Lisbeth Salander has cut ties with most of the people in her life but none more definitively than Mikael Blomkvist (with no explanation or good-bye, of course). Though Blomkvist is puzzled by her insistence on cutting contact, he and the Millennium staff have been busy in the wake of the Wennerström Affair.
A young journalist, Dag Svensson, has a book and several articles about sex trafficking in Sweden and he wants Millennium to publish them. The staff design a whole issue around the subject and intend to release the book simultaneously, following the same plan that mad the Wennerström Affair a tactical success. Their plans come to an unexpected halt when Svensson and his longtime girlfriend are murdered weeks before the intended release and only days before the deadlines for going to print. The Millennium staff are devastated by the loss but Blomkvist is shocked when the police begin searching for Lisbeth Salander as a suspect in the murders.
The novel can be broken pretty well into three sections. The first third of the book builds up to the murders, the second deals with the immediate investigation and the explosion the search for Salander causes in the media, and the third dealing with the pieces of the puzzle falling together and what little resolution the novel allows (unlike The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, this novel ends quite abruptly and with the clear intention of there being another book to come). Each section has its own pacing.
The second section can drag a little but it’s clearly designed to be that way. The absence of Lisbeth Salander and her unique way of viewing the world screams at the reader. Almost all of the section is about her but she only makes a handful of sort-of appearances. It’s amazing to me how well the book works with Blomkvist and Salander spending so much of the novel not only apart, but not even speaking to one another. To keep the plot that coherent and cohesive takes great skill.
The most satisfying aspect of The Girl Who Played with Fire is the answers to some of the bigger holes in Lisbeth Salander’s background. Flashbacks in The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo are fleshed out. Characters from her past return with a vengeance (however short-lived it may be) and others that we only got a small glimpse of in the first novel become characters in their own right.
Once again, Reg Keeland has done a fantastic job with the translation from the original Swedish. I’m both looking forward to and dreading reading the final novel in the trilogy because it is the last with no hope of more. I can only do my best to savor it when I get there. And the next time, I’m definitely going to print off a map of Sweden so I can get a better grasp of the geography. There was a lot more traveling in The Girl Who Played with Fire and based on how it ended, I’m guessing the final installment will have at least as much.
Flash Fiction – Blackout
“And the eliminated player this week is…”
The screen went black, the lights went out, and the music that had been blaring from Jake’s room cut out. Kara screamed in the bathroom where she was showering and there were no windows. “Not funny guys!”
No one noticed Kara’s shouts. Tom and Abby had rushed to the windows and drawn back the blinds. Shouting could be heard coming from the quad as well as from the apartments up and down the hall. Doors opened in a flurry and slammed shut again. Muffled voices muttered about the emergency generators that were keeping the hallways and common rooms faintly illuminated.
Kara emerged with a towel wrapped around her and her hair dripping on the floor. “What the Hell happened?”
“Not sure,” Abby said quietly. Something about the dark had her instinctively whispering. “It’s not just our building though. Looks like it’s all over campus. The street lamps are out along the walk. Adams across the way doesn’t look like they even have the emergency lights.”
Kara held the towel around her tighter. She went back to her room and grumbled something about hating to get dressed in the dark. Jake popped his head out of his room as she approached causing her to jump. ”Just use your laptop for a light,” he suggested. “The battery should last for a while.” She grasped at the towel with one hand and gave his head a small shove back into his room.
“Get a good enough peek?”
“Actually…” he started to say with a grin. He pulled his head in and closing the door before she could find him in the dark to smack him.
Abby had left Tom at the window and was peeking out the door into the hallway. “There’s a girl down there trying each and every one of the outlets with her hair straightener,” she said laughing as she brought her head back in the room.
Jake checked to make sure Kara was still in her room before he headed for Abby’s side at the doorway. “Are they playing board games? I want in.” He headed down the hallway to but into a ring of several board games that had started up under the main emergency lights near the elevators. There were a handful of girls taking turns applying makeup at a mirror propped up on the heater against the wall, making adjustments to one another’s hair.
Kara came up beside Abby dressed in pajamas and drying her hair with a towel. Tom kept vigil at the window. “I think someone’s playing laser tag over in Monroe,” he chuckled.
Kara pushed her way past Abby and joined Jake and some friends switching between cheering on a Scrabble battle and shouting out answers to a Pictionary match that persisted in spite of the light.
“You joining them out there?” Tom asked.
“Nah.” Abby sat next to Tom watching the floating lights in the other buildings. “I’ll catch them at the next fire drill.”
Book Review – Fire by Kristen Cashore
The world Kristen Cashore created in her first novel, Graceling, proves to be more extensive and contains more wonders than just the Gracelings. In her second novel, Fire, Cashore takes the reader a few decades back in time and to a country over the mountains from the Seven Kingdoms introduced in Graceling. In a land relatively unmentioned in her first novel, Fire focuses on the political strife of the Dells where there are colorful monster-animals that enthrall and threaten the scattered population almost as much as the feuding lords trying to topple the royal family.
The vibrantly hued monster-animals are a particular threat to Fire who, since the death of her father, is the last of the powerful and alluring human-monsters. The Dells are a kingdom perpetually on the brink of war after the late King Nax’s selfish and lavish tendencies along with those of Cansrel (Fire’s father and Nax’s closest friend and advisor) drove the kingdom into disrepair and vulnerability. Living in the shadow of her father’s violent and lasting memory, Fire learns to develop the mental powers that come with being a monster but she fears what using those powers might lead her to become. She fears becoming manipulative and destructive like her father and sometimes goes to uncomfortable extremes when that fear creeps up on her.
From the novel’s prologue, it’s clear that the mysterious and dangerous Leck from Graceling will make an appearance in Fire, but the role he plays is more understated and secondary than the first impression of the prologue. Showing his early childhood, Leck is instantly recognizable and proves to be less complex than expected. A few of the questions about Leck that arose in Graceling are answered in Fire, but the Leck is really the only connection between the two novels, and with what turns out to be only development to his back-story and no real insight into the psychology of his character, it seems like an unnecessary link to have included.
Though the premise of the monsters that roam the Dells is more than enough to raise eyebrows at first, but once you’ve suspended your disbelief, the political strife of those hills captures the attention. Small skirmishes make way for a great deal of spying and intrigue in the capitol city as preparations for the oncoming war unfold, with Fire grasping at just what her role will be in protecting her county. Where the more important plot advancements in Graceling felt rushed to the point where they were over before you could fully realize what had happened, the pacing of Fire is much more even.
The characters of Fire are just as much a driving force of the novel as those of Graceling were. With Fire, Cashore has presented another strong and independent female figure for teenage girls (Cashore’s target audience). Her female characters don’t always know quite what they want, but when they do find something they feel strongly about, they refuse to stand by when they can do something about it, but they also think things through and in some instances, over think them.
I’m looking forward to the next installment, Bitterblue, though no release date has been set as of yet. Considering the almost complete independence of the first two novels, I am eager to see whether Cashore will bring other characters from Graceling back and whether or not any of the characters from Fire will make an appearance.
Flash Fiction – Apple Picking
“You know, it’s actually better that it’s a little cloudy today,” Audrina said, trying to sound upbeat as she hit the remote lock button on her key-chain and the car beeped acknowledgment back to her. “We won’t bake in the sun.”
Patricia glared at the ground in the hopes of going unnoticed but Susan saw and took a breath to speak up about it until Patricia’s elbow made its way into her side. It was Susan’s turn to glare as she rubbed the spot and whimpered. Audrina ignored the two of them and pushed forward to the little booth where a bored teenager was about to fall asleep.
“One adult, two children,” Audrina said, making the kid jump. “It’s pay by the bag, not by the person.”
“Oh, well. One bag then.”
“What size?” the kid pointed at several weather-beaten bags stapled to the wood on the side of the booth.
“Whichever size ten dollars will get me.” Audrina put a crisp bill on the rotting board that served as a counter and received a bag in return.
“But I want my own bag,” Susan griped. “Besides, we’ll get more that way.”
“Well, we’re going to work together and share the bag,” Audrina said with forced composure. She could hear Patricia mumble something about one bag being better because then they wouldn’t be stuck there as long.
Audrina thanked the inattentive teen and ushered the reluctant girls towards the line of trees. The student worker roused himself enough to call after them, “Only the trees with red ribbons.”
Audrina handed the bag to Susan who brightened up a little and stepped up her pace to lead the way. “There are some red ribbons over there. Follow me.”
“There are bugs over there,” Patricia whined. “Let’s head over there,” she pointed to a row closer to the car.
“Those trees are already picked over,” Susan hollered from several trees down the row. She had already plucked a few apples from the trees along the way, paying no attention to the blue ribbons swaying as the branches bounced back from her pull. Audrina brought a hand up to her eyes and sighed before looking back over her shoulder to see if they had drawn the teen’s attention, sighed again when she saw that they hadn’t.
“Ow!”
Audrina’s head whipped back around and saw Susan drop the bag to rub her head, several apples at her feet. Patricia bent over to pick up the bag, whispering something Audrina didn’t catch before heading off towards the line of trees near the dusty parking area. Susan’s eyes narrowed as she reached for one of the apples on the branch next to her head. Her tongue popped out as she took aim and let the fruit fly at Patricia’s back.
Her hand stung as the apple smacked Audrina’s palm. She turned the half-green projectile, her fingernail pushed through a soft spot in its skin. “Back to the car!” she proclaimed, tossing the apple aside.
Heinde’s Sight – A Short Story
“People only see what they are prepared to see.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson
This short story was inspired by a dinner conversation my friends and I had where we tried to come up with the most useless super-hero powers imaginable. I struggled to find the right voice and the right words for this story so that it would be entertaining and the concept would be understandable. I’m still not sure that I’m there so please let me know what you think so that I can continue to improve on it.
Claire has unique visions when she falls asleep at night. Her visions of futures that will never come to pass for the individuals around her can make it difficult to fit in but they also allow her a freedom unknown by those same people.
Excerpt from “Heinde’s Sight”
Everyone at the local pizza place knew about Claire Heinde and her odd ways. Well, all the regulars knew about her. They knew that her closest confidante was the crazy homeless guy who collected cans and used the money from returning them to buy aluminum foil, which he would wrap around streetlights, telephone poles, and parking meters to mess with the signals the aliens were beaming to Earth. They knew that Claire had this way of looking at a person that could make them feel like the biggest failure in the universe or with such blatant admiration that they couldn’t help but blush. They knew that while Claire didn’t have regular days, she’d come into the pizza place twice a week, sit at the counter on the stool meant to be a seat for the elderly customers forced to wait in line, and after ordering a slice of cheese-less, toppings-less pizza and a chocolate milkshake, she would open up a black composition book, scribble furiously, tear the page out, rip it up and let the pieces blow out of her hand as she walked away from the Slice of Seventh Heaven Pizza Parlor.
The old timers would talk about how she’d always been a little daft in the head and that it was a shame since her parents had been bright enough. Every once in a while, a new addition to the regular crowd would ask what had happened to Claire that made her act that way. One would swear she’d been dropped on her head as a small child, a complete accident. Another would claim it was that car accident a while back and why was he the only one who remembered how she’d acted normally before but came in the week after getting out of the hospital and started scraping the cheese from her pizza. A third would call the second nuts and remind him she wasn’t even in the car that crashed, wasn’t even in town when it happened; it was abuse that had put poor Claire out of her mind. Perfect family like that had to be hiding something. There were chemicals in the area where she lived that leeched into the Heide’s vegetable garden. She was on a medication for something and it messed with her ability to interact with others. Too much therapy in her formative years. Not enough.
In truth, none of them knew much about Claire and that should have made them uneasy. It would have made them squirm if they had any idea how much she knew about them without even trying to discover anything (in fact, she tried very hard not to know more about them than they could ever know about themselves).
Book Review – Founding Mothers: The Women Who Raised Our Nation by Cokie Roberts
Our nation’s Founding Fathers are a consistent part of our everyday lives as their images grace our currency and the tales they feature in, both factual and mythical, are retold on any number of national holidays and is classrooms around the country. But what about their wives? What about their mothers, their sisters, their daughters? In Founding Mothers: The Women Who Raised Our Nation, Cokie Roberts takes a look at the women who played a crucial role in those tumultuous years leading up to, during, and just after the American Revolution.
Though the books chapters cover different stages of our nation’s early years including declaring independence and the formation of the Constitution, the book might be better broken up by woman. It is hard to keep them straight at times considering so many of them were related and named after one another. There is a key at the back of the book but I’m sure how much it really helps as Roberts style tends towards the familiar and she often reverts to first names (or even nick-names) for these historic figures. When one woman crosses paths with another, the reader is given that next woman’s personal history, as well as that of her often more famous husband.
It is clear that the availability of sources played a huge role in the direction Roberts took. The letters between Abigail and John Adams are plentiful when compared to those of other couples and so the book at times feels like it should be called Founding Mother: Abigail Adams and a Few of Her Friends. The extensive quoting from so many letters belonging to so many women do help to distinguish between them and provide a much more intimate feel than a history relying primarily on statistics does (having read another history of the role of women in the American Revolution years ago in high school, the letters make for a much more reader-friendly book).
The way that Roberts jumps about from one woman to the next with flashes forward and backward in individuals’ timelines was more than a little distracting, especially as they increase in the last two chapters. The section on the generals’ wives in which she switched between Martha Washington, Lucy Knox, and Kitty Greene alternated so much I had to read it a few times because it was reaching a point where I was starting to confuse who was married to whom. I almost wish that Roberts had stayed truer to a chronological timeline and greater distinction between the women’s lives (so what if many of their lives were following similar paths).
Though Roberts’ relaxed style was meant to engage the reader, I think it might have hurt more than it helped. In addition to the confusion over names, the side commentary on the Capitol’s politics today felt like it was meant to distract the reader from what Roberts was saying. Also, her reiterating the connections between the different women and highlighting how confusing it could be was less than helpful. It was almost as though she expected the reader to pick up and put down the book many times before finally forcing him or herself to finish it.
Perhaps the most lasting impression of Founding Mothers: The Women Who Raised Our Nation is the alternative view of the Founding Fathers provided through their wives’ perspectives. Roberts book shows that no one can be completely understood, completely seen when they’re presented alone. Putting the portraits of the Founding Mothers beside those of the Founding Fathers changes the way we perceive them, providing a more dynamic history than before.
Book Review – Listen by Rene Gutteridge
After the pleasure of reading Septimus Heap Book One: Magyk last week, I decided to dive into another free offering from my friends at Barnes & Noble. Listen, by Rene Gutteridge, pushes us to think twice about what we say about other people in a world the dangers of being overheard by a friend of a friend are compounded by the permanent ink that the internet is written in.
Damien Underwood is the op-ed writer for Marlo’s local newspaper but he pushes for more responsibilities and is granted his wish pulling double duty as an investigative reporter too, and just in time. The overly idyllic town of Marlo is turned on its head when a website appears with candid conversations from its members, conversations that does more than quickly turn neighbors and friends against one another, they bring out their violent sides.
Damien isn’t the only one whose job gets busier with the website. Damien’s long-time best friend and local police officer, Frank Merrit, goes all over the town responding to calls with the rookie recently forced upon him. The website brings a number of pieces of Frank’s life into conflict as the ex-wife he isn’t over see-saws between threatening a restraining order and begging for help. Damien’s wife, Kay (probably the worst realtor in Marlo as she cancelled or postponed every showing she had during the course of the book), spends most of the novel agonizing over their teenage daughter’s clothes and friends while behaving much cattier and whining far more than her daughter.
The message of Gutteridge’s novel couldn’t be clearer (it is actually spelled out for the reader at least five times during the book). The novel is painted in extremes. Marlo is even proclaimed to be the best place in America to raise children. There is no build-up to the violence that the website causes. Forget there being believable petty arguments or neighborly disputes over noise levels, boundary lines, and parking along the road (an unfortunate pet’s unsolved demise is the first incident linked, at least in words, to the website).
There is a religious tinge to the novel that I wasn’t expecting and that can easily undermine Gutteridge’s already blatant message by alienating readers. This is the one area where there is no extreme but it still manages to stick out. The characters aren’t very religious and though they are drawn closer to faith, the incidents don’t actually bring them to religion. Their brush with the church in time of trouble and then it not lasting, not even being addressed again, rang with insincerity and was unnecessary.
There was one twist that was a real risk but I felt it paid off, even if the circumstances surrounding this particular incident felt forced (if pieces of the plot were worked around this particular plot point, it explains a lot of the novel that had an air of disconnect from the rest of the novel). But that risk wasn’t enough to overcome the fact that there was too much going on in the book. The transitions between the chapters tended to be choppy and there was little sense of time passing in any way that made sense. There is no reference to what state Marlo is in, probably in an attempt to be universal, but it just gave me the impression of season not matching the proclaimed time of year.
I’m not sure I’ll be paying for any of Gutteridge’s other novels but if another free one comes my way, it may find it’s way onto my shelf. For now, however, I think I shall take a break from Barnes & Noble’s free books and get back to the ones that have been sitting on my shelf for a while.
Knowing full well the value of the Brontë Sisters
“You know full well as I do the value of sisters’ affections: There is nothing like it in this world.” – Charlotte Brontë
With another adaptation of Jane Eyre heading to theaters, it feels like the right time to review the most famous works of all three Brontë sisters. From the more famous and gothic Charlotte and Emily to the more socially relevant Anne, these sisters who first published under the masculine pseudonyms Acton, Currer, and Ellis Bell, wrote three of the most iconic novels of the nineteenth century.
Agnes Grey by Anne Brontë
Agnes Grey comes from a poorer English family but she was lucky enough to receive enough of an education to make her way in the world as a governess where it’s debatable whether her pupils, their parents, or rival staff create the most difficulties for her to overcome. Agnes struggles not to lose her perspective and manages to find comfort in her faith (and the company of a local clergyman). Anne’s portrayal of a young woman out in the world is far more realistic in it’s presentation than her sister Charlotte’s. The social pressures that Agnes deals with and Anne’s depiction of them may not be as dramatic, but they were far more identifiable for readers of the time and they continue to resonate with readers today. Anybody who has ever volunteered to babysit can sympathize with Agnes’ plight and becomes more grateful for being able to say goodbye at the end of the night to return to their own family.
Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë
After a childhood of being put down by her aunt and cousins and then being shipped off to a harsh school, Jane Eyre grows up to become a governess for the mysterious Mr. Rochester’s young ward. An unlikely and unprecedented romance ensues but Mr. Rochester’s hidden past proves to be an obstacle that might be too difficult for them to overcome. Jane’s struggle to prove her worth to herself as well as those around her is timeless but there are just some aspects of the story and Jane’s reactions for which I just cannot suspend my disbelief. Perhaps my mindset is too twentieth/twenty-first century, but I don’t find Mr. Rochester to be as romantic a lead as he is often made out to be.
Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë
When Catherine Earnshaw’s father brings home Heathcliff, a young orphan he found on his travels, they each found their soul-mate. However, as they grow up and the Lintons move into the neighborhood, Cathy’s ideas of who she is and where Heathcliff fits into her life begin to change. Tragedy strikes not once but twice after the death of Cathy’s parents and the death of her brother’s beloved wife during childbirth. Her brother takes his frustrations out on his infant son and on Heathcliff, doing everything he can to drive Heathcliff and Cathy apart. But Catherine and Heathcliff can’t be apart without bringing down those around them as they strike out at each other in their own pain. Emily’s approach to the novel, narrated by a new comer to the neighborhood years after the driving action, is unexpectedly charming and allows for a greater freedom in exploring the multitude of perspectives in this twisted tale.
Book Review – Septimus Heap Book One: Magyk by Angie Sage
There were two reasons why I got and read Magyk, the first book in Angie Sage’s Septimus Heap series. The first is that I have a very difficult time resisting anything that is free (and at the time the book was Barnes & Noble’s free Nook book of the week). The second is that there has been a small void since the last of the Harry Potter books came out that can only be temporarily appeased (and it’s still a little early for me to go ahead with my plan to re-read the original seven before the release of the final installment of the movie franchise in July).
Septimus Heap is born to a wizard family and happens to be the seventh son of a seventh son, making him a very magykal being. Unfortunately, Septimus dies shortly after birth leaving the family temporarily devastated. But Silas Heap found a newborn baby girl in the snow on the way back to his family the day of Septimus’ short life and she helps the distraught mother and bewildered boys to heal. Until the day that an Assassin comes to kill their beloved girl who is really the daughter of the late queen, slain ten years earlier on the day of the girl’s birth (and Septimus’ death). The Heaps are not the only ones determined to protect the princess as Darke magyk threatens more than just their family.
Septimus Heap is not Harry Potter but it doesn’t try to be either. The world and magykal hierarchy created by Angie Sage is distinctly separate. The troubles begin when the former ExtraOrdinary Wizard and necromancer, DomDaniel, returns to claim his position and finish off the Queenling. There are only brief glimpses of the political situation in this first novel though based on the way that Sage patiently built and layered this book, I have hope that the whys behind the series’ violent beginnings will be revisited and expanded upon in the later novels.
Sage’s manner of storytelling wanders about rather than focusing solely on the handful of main characters. The deviations, that can be confusing and appear superfluous at first, quickly become one of the most entertaining aspects of the novel as the pieces of the story begin falling into place. The secondary characters are opinionated and it’s nice to hear their side from time to time. And yet, Sage always manages to bring focus back to her central tale.
Sage has two plots at work in this first novel, neither of which is truly resolved, inspiring the reader to seek further answers and more adventures in the remaining novels of her series. Considering the fact that there are still so many questions at the end of the book, Sage does a wonderful job of wrapping up the secondary characters. Without a true epilogue or hint of what exactly awaits the reader in the next book, Sage ends the novel with at least a paragraph for nearly all of the minor characters met along the way from the gatekeeper and his family to a messenger Rat who learned that his wife was right and it really is safer not to get involved with wizards.
Flash Fiction – Impatience
The twelve stones marking the distance between the front door and the mailbox grow double in size each day. The chipping paint on the rusting metal flag glows brighter until it looks like it would be red-hot to the touch. Each day it takes more effort to make myself open the box and reach my hand inside.
The possibilities fly through my mind as I look away, delaying the knowledge of what lies within a little longer.
Acceptance? Penny-pinching and saving, loans and budgeting. A change of scene and pace. Finding an apartment, roommates. Classes, homework, papers, exams, again but with a job as well. Or correcting and teaching, if there’s an assistantship in there as well. Adult responsibilities but with the freedom of adulthood as well.
Rejection? Stuck, further delaying hopes and dreams. Stuck, in a dreary job that’s beginning to stretch the definition of temporary. Dreading the possibilities of complacency and settling because it’s just easier. Saving faster but for what? When? Disappointment, in self and abilities.
My hand hovers near the top of the mailbox as one last thought occurs, worse than acceptance or rejection.
Nothing. An echo of my hand hitting the empty metal. My questions unanswered. Or junk. Bills, advertisements, magazines and catalogues, unnecessary credit card offers that head straight for the recycle bin. But nothing with an academic seal or in a large nine-by-twelve inch envelope. The stone steps doubling once more and the flag losing its red tint, turning almost white.
Finally, my hand falls. And feels paper. An envelope. No, three envelopes. And a magazine. Or a catalogue. It doesn’t matter which. I almost leave it behind it concerns me so little.
The first… is junk. A charity seeking donations. And yet they attach a nickel to the envelope. I’ll consider it a contribution for my education. Maybe.
The second… is more junk. Another magnetic credit card for the collection on the fridge supporting the mosaic of take-out menus.
I close my eyes as I move the third envelope to the top of the pile, take a deep breath and hold it before I can bring myself to open them.
Book Review – The Color Purple by Alice Walker
After having read a number of Alice Walker’s short stories for classes in college, I was eager to read her famous novel The Color Purple, one of the pinnacles of both African-American and women’s literature.
While The Color Purple is relatively short and can be read quickly, it is by no means an easy read. The subject matter is heavy and Walker does nothing to dress up or dance around what it is she’s discussing. Right there on page one Walker’s main protagonist, Celie, is raped by her father when she is barely fourteen-years-old. From forced incest, Celie is forced to give up two children before she’s married to a much older widower who only needs her to raise his children while he continues to fantasize and chase after the woman he wanted to marry all along (the mother of three of his children, but not his dead wife).
The novel is presented mostly from Celie’s point-of-view and the dialect it is told in can try a reader’s patience but is vital to the presentation of Celie as a character. She couldn’t ask for a more distinctly written voice. There was one moment late in the novel when Celie mentions someone trying to help her speak correctly when I realized that I had truly ceased to notice the way the words were written because Celie’s voice had become so clear to me.
Celie primarily addresses God because writing to him and talking to him are the only ways Celie is comfortable conveying her thoughts and feelings. In fact, the questions of what God is and what a person’s relationship with God should be are among the underlying topics explored in The Color Purple.
More prominent are questions of sexuality and the relationships between men and women as well as women and women. Celie’s relationship with her husband is in many ways a continuation of the abusive relationship she shared with her father, until her husband’s mistress, Shug Avery, falls sick and he brings her home for Celie to nurse. The friendship between Shug and Celie is the only comfort that Celie has had since her sister, Nettie, was forced to leave the relative safety of Celie’s husband’s house.
One of the most interesting things about The Color Purple is the fact that it doesn’t examine the relationships between men and women and the relationships between women and other women as being separate and distinct. The way the women treat each other and the way they interact with the men in their lives are very interdependent. The women inspire and encourage one another’s dreams, even addressing the men in another’s life when necessary conspiring to create a greater understanding and contentment.
The connection between the sexes is only one level at which The Color Purple operates. There is a great deal that can be read into the racial tensions of the time between African-Americans and whites in the United States but also within the African-American community at home and abroad. With a representation of African-American missionaries in colonized Africa, another perspective is added (one that I couldn’t help mentally contrasting with The Poisonwood Bible). I found the way the missionaries interacted with native Africans, especially as far as their reactions to the history of American slavery were concerned, a fascinating detail to have drawn Walker’s attention and focus.
Book Review – Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert
Gustave Flaubert’s novel Madame Bovary shocked and offended many audiences with its portrayal of a bored wife who turns to adulterous affairs to satisfy her fantasies of a more exciting life like those of the heroines in her novels. But Flaubert’s novel, famously put on trial for what some considered preaching immorality, examines more than just one woman’s adultery. It examines life in the nineteenth century as lines were being drawn between science and religion, as agrarian societies shifted to industrial societies and populations moved from the countryside to the cities. Madame Bovary is more a novel about the changes of the nineteenth century and what happens when people cannot adapt than it is about one woman’s lack of faithfulness.
Charles Bovary became a mediocre doctor, who married a slightly wealthier widow, who soon died and left him a little wealthier mediocre doctor. After setting the broken leg of a local landowner, Charles Bovary found himself drawn to the man’s attractive daughter. Making more house-calls than necessary for a broken leg, Charles Bovary earned the approval of Emma and her father and the two soon married. For the first few months, Emma rearranges the house and entertains and believes that she is happy with her marriage. But she gradually succumbs to fantasies inspired by the novels she reads and memories from her education in a convent in the city.
Most of the novel’s plot is set in the country village of Yonville, just outside of the city of Rouen. The village’s townspeople are wonderful caricatures of the different sentimentalities competing for prominence and renown during the nineteenth century, from the priest pushing for everyone’s redemption to the pharmacist with his belief that modern sciences will help him to heal others and prosper financially to the local merchant lending money and providing goods to those with the desire but not the means (primarily Madame Bovary).
I found the pacing of the novel inconsistent. The way some scenes were written read like watching a movie. One scene in particular (the scene where Emma and Rodolphe are flirting at a country fair during a few political speeches and awards) moved back and forth to the point where, as a reader, I could see exactly how it would be cut together frame by frame. Most of the time though, the novel is repetitive and drawn out. I know that there are people who waver back and forth indecisively the way that Emma does and maybe they will find it engaging, but I found it annoying, and Emma annoying as a result. But, there was enough to most of the other characters and their relationships with one another and with their changing society for me to work through those sections where the pacing dragged a little and the commentary on the interactions that carry through the novel made working through the difficult passages worthwhile.
Madame Bovary is one a classic novel whose controversial past is remembered but can only truly be appreciated with the proper context (by today’s standards, it is incredibly tame; books marketed to teens are racier these days). What it had to say was largely lost in that controversy but can be read today as an aide to understanding the forces at work at that time.
Book Review – I Am Number Four by Pittacus Lore
I have to admit that the reason I read Pittacus Lore’s I Am Number Four is because I found the previews for the film (which was released in theaters this past Friday 2/18) intriguing. When I found out it was based on a novel, I added it to the list of books to read before I see the movie. I Am Number Four is a science-fiction novel marketed towards young adults but with an appeal that reaches further.
John Smith was one of nine children from the planet Lorien who escaped ten years before when the Mogadorians attacked in pursuit of Lorien’s natural resources, killing all of the people and destroying the planet in the process. A member of the protective Guarde, John and Henri, his Cepan (teacher/legal guardian) are constantly on the run from Mogadorians who followed them to Earth. Because of a protection spell cast as they were leaving, the children can only be killed in their particular numerical order and John is next on the list.
Hiding in a small town in Ohio, John finally begins to develop his legacies, the powers that will make him an effective Guarde in the fight to defeat the Mogadorians and return to Lorien. For the first time he also makes a friend, Sam Goode, an alien conspiracy-theory enthusiast, and a girlfriend, Sarah Hart. When events have Henri starting to look to run again, John has to stand up for himself now that he has a reason to stay and something he’s willing to fight to keep.
There are many different ways to explain a character’s supernatural powers in fantasy or science fiction novels and alien origins isn’t groundbreaking or new, but in I Am Number Four it doesn’t feel like a tired or overused premise. For the most part, the characters are engaging and there is enough tension to keep an adult reader’s attention even through the passages that are clearly meant to appeal to the intended teen-audience. The romance gets repetitive and is completely predictable but nowhere near as annoying or redundant as other successful teen series (Twilight or Fallen, for instance).
The pacing reminds me a little of The Hunger Games Trilogy in the way that when a chapter ends, there is an internal debate over how important what you should be doing really when compared to getting a few more answers, reading one more chapter. The author doesn’t try to cram too much into the novel either. Even though it is meant to set up the Legacies of Lorien series, it didn’t feel like a throw-away novel with the sole purpose of setting up the premise and introducing the characters but is a novel that can stand alone. In fact, the story being told clearly feels bigger than what would fit in one book. It will be interesting to see if the next book in the series, The Power of Six due out at the end of the summer, can take more risks and reach out to more than just the teen audience.
Flash Fiction – The Jewelry Box
The trick is not to disturb the dust. Getting it open isn’t as difficult as closing it without disturbing the dust on the lid. Maybe catching it by the inside lip and then letting gravity do the rest would work?
With a plan in place, Marian used her old library card to gently lift the lid to her mother’s jewelry box. She half expected the contents inside to be as dust-laden as the outside. But instead there were a few velvety boxes neatly stacked and several plastic bags neatly lining the base of the cedar box.
On the off chance that her mother did check, the plastic bags were too obvious. As long as the boxes looked untouched, maybe no further inspection would be necessary. She clenched and unclenched her fist a few times before reaching out and taking the first box, glancing up in the mirror to double and triple check that no one was watching her from the doorway. The hinge on the box was stiff from disuse and resisted Marian’s attempt at opening it gently, making a loud groan as the lid was forced and the tired box resettled.
After a moment’s hesitation with her ears straining for the sounds of a shift in someone’s attention, she looked down at the gold chain held in place by a piece of cardboard. A small cluster of diamonds surrounding a ruby hung delicately from the fine chain. In her haste to get the necklace out of its box, Marian nearly ripped the piece of cardboard. She carefully replaced it and put the velvet box down next to the larger jewelry box and looked more intently at the necklace small fortune in her hand.
The chain was so small, she could hardly make out the individual links holding it together and the clasp appeared impossible to open. Marian struggled to open it with her nail-bitten fingers and almost dropped it twice before finally securing it around her neck. She was surprised by the weight of the pendant and the choker-like fit. The chain had seemed longer in the box. As she put her fingers to the heirloom, guilt began to creep into her hand and caused it to shake. Maybe she would just remove the chain and leave the pendant in the box.
“I was going to wait to give that one to you for your birthday next year.” Marian’s eyes darted to the doorway reflected in the mirror. Her mother stood leaning against the doorjamb with a smile on her face. “You can have it now if you want.”
Marian’s face flushed and she reached behind her neck, fumbling with the clasp. “No, no. I… didn’t mean…” She carefully put the necklace back in the box, setting it into the cardboard display piece. After closing the lid, Marian used her sleeve to dust off the lid and a little space around it on the chest of drawers.
Book Review – All the Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy
Cormac McCarthy’s All the Pretty Horses manages to capture a great deal of emotion with a simplistic and straightforward approach to the narrative. A clear and compassionate love for horses as well as capturing the ambiance of a time and place unique to history gone by, this novel is more than just Black Beauty for adults.
John Grady Cole and his best friend, Lacey Rawlins, at the tender ages of sixteen and seventeen respectively, decide to run away to Mexico. With only their horses and a few supplies, the boys ride off for the border but quickly discover that they were being followed by a young boy on a horse that he clearly stole. Unable to reason with the younger boy calling himself Jimmy Blevins and unable to bring themselves to abandon him to his own stupidity, John Grady and Rawlins’ fates become inextricably entangled with his.
McCarthy’s writing style conveys emotion without using overly sentimental language, without using much in the way of emotional descriptors at all, actually. It’s a style that reminds me of Hemingway in its execution. The dialogue at first seems halted and stiff but the reader quickly adapts to McCarthy’s approach and the unpunctuated conversations become clearer.
The first twenty or thirty pages are the toughest to get through with little information to help sort out characters and plot the reader is as confused and overwhelmed as John Grady and Rawlins before they finally strike out for Mexico. The calm they find in their saddles is mirrored in the reader getting a chance to digest the information and figure out the situation.
One aspect that McCarthy works well to incorporate is the language barrier that the characters face in Mexico. The, at times, confusing dialogue is further complicated when Spanish and English converge, but there is enough contextual evidence to help along those readers, like myself, who at least took Spanish in high school. If you took French, it’s easy enough to look a few of the words and phrases up online.
What surprised me about the language barrier was the way McCarthy captured the broken English of a non-native speaker (I’m too out of practice to attest to the authenticity of the Spanish itself). Their grammar is wrong in all the right places and the characters’ accents roll right off the page. Even the English speakers have holes in their grammar. It’s very conversational in the language though confusing in its presentation.
With a wonderful balance between nostalgic landscapes and action scenes straight out of an old western, the novel is ultimately a romance and though there is a girl, she comes in a close second to the titular horses. The horse related terminology almost counts as a third language for the novel. But these linguistic details only show the true depth of McCarthy’s work. The writing of this novel overshadows a well constructed but simple and clichéd plot. The novel is the first in McCarthy’s Border Trilogy but feels like the other two books might have been an afterthought. I find the ambiguity more comfortable if All the Pretty Horses is a stand-alone novel, but I may have to read the rest of the trilogy to be sure.
Living with Myself: A Serial Episode 11, Piece 2
I didn’t know where to look first. Even with the lights dimmed, I could see Robyn blushing with a dopey smile on her face as she hovered at Tyler’s side. She seemed to be going back and forth between being deliriously giddy and nauseatingly anxious. She was nodding way too much and the part of me that was grudgingly happy for her wanted to tell her not to try so hard. But most of me was too aware of Tyler’s eyes taking in the sight of Edwin standing awkwardly at my side unsure of what to do to lead me into the crowd.
However I was a little too distracted by the more surprising sight of Erin and Brian laughing as they spun one another around in a less inhabited corner of the dance floor. They spotted me and Edwin on the other side and waved us over. Wading into the crowd, I had one final moment of eye contact with Robyn before my attention was taken over by navigating unpredictably moving bodies and teetering on unfamiliar heels. There was something in her eyes that drew too much of my attention back in that direction and I actually had to lean on Edwin to catch myself. It could have been fear but it might just have been a side effect from kicking myself over the whole Tyler situation.
“Thought you were gonna go down there for a minute,” Erin said once the four of us had taken up residence next to a table with drinks.
Book Review – Wives and Daughters by Elizabeth Gaskell
I try to stay away from spoilers. Well, when it comes to books anyway. Of course, there area some instances where a little more information comes in handy. For example, reading Elizabeth Gaskell’s final novel, Wives and Daughters. Going in, I didn’t know it was her last novel let alone that she died before she could finish it.
In Wives and Daughters, Elizabeth Gaskell centers her novel around Molly Gibson. Molly’s world changes when her widower father, prompted by the power of suggestion country gossip generates, marries a local widow with a daughter of her own. The match, meant to give Molly a responsible mothering influence as she reaches adulthood, involves more trials and moral dilemmas as Molly’s new sister, Cynthia, and her striving mother put pressure on Molly’s relationship with her father. The changes to their household make-up also change the way they interact with their local society.
Gaskell’s writing style and her approach to plot and characters are very similar to that of Jane Austen, though more understated in their execution. The marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Gibson is definitely reminiscent of the Bennets’ marriage in Pride and Prejudice but with more evident malice. Where Jane Austen’s novels follow their characters as they travel around England, Gaskell’s characters’ journeys beyond the neighborhood and society of Hollingford are limited to accounts and descriptions through letters. But at the same time, there is a greater sense of the world beyond England.
Though the plot and characters are predictable, they manage to hold the reader’s attention and interest. Molly Gibson is very naive and self-conscious when it comes to social gossip and morality but has the right amount of charm and she loses her temper when frustrated enough to be endearing rather than maddening. Cynthia’s manipulative nature is balanced by her sincere desire for Mr. Gibson’s approval. And there’s a sense of satisfaction each time Mrs. Gibson is put in her place by Lady Harriet.
The novel’s default ending is abrupt but there is a clear indication of exactly how it would end. In fact, just as you know within the first few chapters of a Jane Austen novel who will marry who among the central characters, it is long apparent just who Molly will one day marry, even though the final chapter with it’s neatly tied loose ends is absent. The afterword to the Barnes & Noble edition includes a few references to Gaskell’s intentions for the final chapter and lament more that the world will never be able to read it in her words rather than that we will never know how the novel would end.
Once I moved past the shock of unexpected enlightenment, I realized that I actually liked this unintended conclusion better. It has a modern feel in its openended-ness. Time isn’t rushed to force the resolution everyone knows is coming; instead the novel’s final note is another of Mrs. Gibson’s petty, unnecessary and self-pitying moments that will be just another way to measure the passage of time before Molly reaches her inevitable but much deserved happiness. I look forward to picking North and South up from my shelf and tracking down a copy of Cranford to get a feel for some of Elizabeth Gaskell’s completed works.
Book Review – The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom
Generally I am not a huge fan of novels that are overly sentimental so I had been putting off reading Mitch Albom’s clearly sentimental novel, The Five People You Meet in Heaven. However, after an interesting train-ride, I found myself in the ideal state-of-mind for reading this book and surprised myself by enjoying it, even though it was sentimental.
Albom’s novel begins with Eddie’s end. The count down to Eddie’s death is later mirrored with the small snippets of the days after the accident that claimed the elderly maintenance worker’s life. Eddie doesn’t know what to make of the suddenly deserted carnival pier where he spent his days checking and fixing the rides. He inexplicably feels better than he has in decades but soon learns why from the first of five people he meets as a new arrival in Heaven.
It’s always interesting to see someone else’s ideas of what Heaven will be and I must say, I like the one that Albom envisions. It isn’t so much the pieces of Heaven he constructs, but an idea. Eddie learns that in Heaven, the first stage you go through is a journey to understand your life and that five people guide you to that understanding by answering questions that you never even knew or acknowledged you had. They aren’t necessarily the loved ones you’ve been missing, but they are people who touched your life in a way that you may not even have known.
The story is told in small, easily digestible chunks. Each person Eddie meets has a lesson that must be imparted but only after the reader is granted a portion of Eddie’s history and the role they played in it. While most of these flash backs are closely interwoven with Eddie’s heavenly interactions with these people, a number of them are further set apart by being presented in relation to Eddie’s birthdays over the years.
It was this use of his never-specified birthday as a benchmark for so many of the sadder events of his life that I took the greatest issue with while reading the novel. It’s odd that the least believable part of the book had nothing to do with the depictions of Heaven, but I couldn’t get past the unlikelihood that any day would seemingly attract tragedy the way that Eddie’s birthday appeared to (at least Eddie acknowledges the frustration it causes, if not the oddity of such occurrences to begin with).
Straightforward in its presentation and the after-life lessons its main character needs to learn, The Five People You Meet in Heaven does a good job of walking the line of sentimentality without losing a little lightheartedness necessary for balance. The simple presentation of the novel makes it a quick read and I have to give credit to Albom for drawing the line at five people. With such a premise, it could easily have been overdrawn to the ten or twenty people you meet in Heaven, but Albom wraps things up at exactly the right time for maintaining the reader’s attention and sympathy.
As I mentioned before, this is based on having been in the right mindset for reading this kind of life-affirming tale. A story in which near strangers help explain the mysteries of life might not speak to all readers the same way. I don’t think I would have received it so well if I had put my headphones in and listened to music on the train to meet a friend instead of overhearing a chance reunion between some firefighters and the conductor, a man whose life they helped save several years ago when they responded to a call. Albom’s message is one of lives intersecting and impacting, and after hearing that unlikely story here on Earth, it makes complete sense for there to be at least five people waiting in Heaven whose lives unexpectedly crossed with ours and affected us.
