Thursday, April 16, 2015

XIII (Dedications), during National Poetry Month

I include for your considerations one of my favorite poems. Every time I read it, I feel like it reveals one more wonderful image previously unnoticed. And yes, I include it every year. I shall continue to do so if I wish. It, simply, is that deserving.

Visit Hedgehog Lover to enjoy a poem every day during National Poetry Month; however, I will post poems from time to time From One Book Lover during April. Poetry is that deserving. Thank you for reading it!

XIII (Dedications)

I know you are reading this poem
late, before leaving your office
of the one intense yellow lamp-spot and the darkening window
in the lassitude of a building faded to quiet
long after rush-hour. I know you are reading this poem
standing up in a bookstore far from the ocean
on a gray day of early spring, faint flakes driven
across the plains' enormous spaces around you.
I know you are reading this poem
in a room where too much has happened for you to bear
where the bedclothes lie in stagnant coils on the bed
and the open valise speaks of flight
but you cannot leave yet. I know you are reading this poem
as the underground train loses momentum and before running
up the stairs
toward a new kind of love
your life has never allowed.
I know you are reading this poem by the light
of the television screen where soundless images jerk and slide
while you wait for the newscast from the intifada.
I know you are reading this poem in a waiting-room
of eyes met and unmeeting, of identity with strangers.
I know you are reading this poem by fluorescent light
in the boredom and fatigue of the young who are counted out,
count themselves out, at too early an age. I know
you are reading this poem through your failing sight, the thick
lens enlarging these letters beyond all meaning yet you read on
because even the alphabet is precious.
I know you are reading this poem as you pace beside the stove
warming milk, a crying child on your shoulder, a book in your
because life is short and you too are thirsty.
I know you are reading this poem which is not in your language
guessing at some words while others keep you reading
and I want to know which words they are.
I know you are reading this poem listening for something, torn
between bitterness and hope
turning back once again to the task you cannot refuse.
I know you are reading this poem because there is nothing else
left to read
there where you have landed, stripped as you are.

by Adrienne Rich
from Atlas of a Difficult World

Friday, April 3, 2015

National Poetry Month: The seder's order

The seder's order

The songs we join in
are beeswax candles
burning with no smoke
a clean fire licking at the evening
our voices small flames quivering.
The songs string us like beads
on the hour. The ritual is
its own melody that leads us
where we have gone before
and hope to go again, the comfort
of year after year. Order:
we must touch each base
of the haggadah as we pass,
blessing, handwashing,
dipping this and that. Voices
half harmonize on the brukhahs.
Dear faces like a multitude
of moons hang over the table
and the truest brief blessing:
affection and peace that we make.

by Marge Piercy, from The Crooked Inheritance
courtesy The Poetry Foundation 

Stop by Hedgehog Lover to get a poem a day during National Poetry Month!

Wednesday, April 1, 2015

National Poetry Month: Richard

My bones, scripted in light, upon cold soil,
a human braille. My skull, scarred by a crown,
emptied of history. Describe my soul
as incense, votive, vanishing; your own
the same. Grant me the carving of my name.

These relics, bless. Imagine you re-tie
a broken string and on it thread a cross,
the symbol severed from me when I died.
The end of time – an unknown, unfelt loss –
unless the Resurrection of the Dead …

or I once dreamed of this, your future breath
in prayer for me, lost long, forever found;
or sensed you from the backstage of my death,
as kings glimpse shadows on a battleground.

by Carol Ann Duffy, Poet Laureate of England 
Read by Benedict Cumberbatch at the Richard III reburial service

Celebrate National Poetry Month: visit Hedgehog Lover to enjoy a poem a day in April.

Saturday, February 28, 2015

Review: Natchez Burning

Full disclosure: I read only 571 of the 800 pages of Natchez Burning, and that was because the central story regarding long-unsolved civil rights crimes in Mississippi and the men who perpetrated them was really, really exciting.

However, I stopped reading long after I should have. I found Greg Iles' depiction of women in this novel sexist. Men were characters with purpose, whose actions defined them and whose purpose was clear. Not so for women.

In Natchez Burning, women are caricatures who smell like sex and whose actions are not honest or honorable. Women are described regularly with ample adjectives: beautiful, ambitious, desirable, wild, sexual or ruthless. Their actions need adjectives and adverbs, and they're reduced to hormones and a uterus.

At first, I thought it was the failure of the characters. I thought maybe that is just how Penn Cage saw them. Maybe Penn Cage was the sexist. Alas, I should have taken a clue when Albert needed to turn on a fan to get a woman's sex smell out of a room early in the book. Following that, Tom and Page both thought Viola smelled like sex, then Katie Royal was "never the same" after her wild encounters with Pookie. Then Mrs. Doctor Cage was the stand-by-your-man wife of 52 years with literal blind trust in her husband and seen only in relation to them. Then Pithy was the town gossip. The myriad of nurses were stalwart, but rather forgettable.

Then there was Caitlin, the beautiful, ambitious, ruthless and cruel newspaper publisher whose only thought was a story that could win her a second Pulitzer Prize. However, her sexuality was never far away: one of the first conversations between Penn and Caitlin involve Penn asking how late her period was, to distract her from wheedling information out of him. Thus I understood what I suspected would become a major plot complication.

Caitlin's male counterpart, Henry, is ambitious and working in near-obscurity to crack wide open a story steeped in civil rights struggles and murder. Henry's physical description is part of the story, but the narrative doesn't describe his "flashing green eyes," not once. Caitlin, however, has flashing green eyes — and, when she dashes out to a story, the narration notes that she doesn't have time to fix her hair or put on makeup. Her ambition, her wealth, her drive, her physical presence and feminine elements are described in great detail. Henry, however, simply does his job without mention of his need to shower, shave or primp.

I slowed down a little when Caitlin described how her life may change with the responsibilities of home and hearth. She reviewed the whole career-home dichotomy, which may have been fair. However, Penn the single father rarely worried about how his activities would affect his pre-teen daughter, Annie. Aside from a couple of inconveniences when his family or fiancée stepped in to help him with — well, anything, Annie was not a major concern.

Caitlin was ruthless almost to the point of twirling a virtual mustache. She shows more interested in whether Henry will be her employee to give her the story he's developed over the years than in his physical safety or health. Caitlin pumps her arms in glee that she has a story while Henry is in eminent danger. She has lived and worked in close proximity to the people and place of the news but shows interest only when it's big enough for her and shows interest in Henry only for what he can give her. Penn has built a relationship, but Caitlin has bought a story.

What made me close this book? The stupidest conversation I ever read between two ambitious, successful women.

Penn and Caitlin met Jordan and John for a major plot complication. The men marched off to talk business, and the women presumably did the same — only not. Penn and John mentioned the women only peripherally, and that was to confirm the wall between their professional and private roles. Jordan and Caitlin, however, began with griping about their men, which then devolved into "don't wait to make marriage and babies because life is too short." Really? Two women with three Pulitzer Prizes between them, one of whom had been in a war zone, who are knee-deep in solving a historic civil rights mystery (and possibly earning another Pulitzer each) aren't talking about the case, but over-sharing about their family lives.

I had to put it down.

I am very disappointed. I was sucked into an exciting story that had scope, pathos, historic resonance and relevance. What I got was a man who created female caricatures.

Let me know what you thought of the characters and the depiction of the sexes in Natchez Burning. I would love to be proven wrong, or maybe even over-sensitive. I'm a huge fan of Iles and I don't want to be disappointed.

Thursday, February 19, 2015

Poetry Wednesday: Reincarnation


Who would believe in reincarnation

if she thought she would return as

an oyster? Eagles and wolves

are popular. Even domesticated cats

have their appeal. It’s not terribly distressing

to imagine being Missy, nibbling

kibble and lounging on the windowsill.

But I doubt the toothsome oyster has ever

been the totem of any shaman

fanning the Motherpeace Tarot

or smudging with sage.

Yet perhaps we could do worse

than aspire to be a plump bivalve. Humbly,

the oyster persists in filtering

seawater and fashioning the daily

irritations into lustre.

Dash a dot of Tabasco, pair it

with a dry Martini, not only

will this tender button inspire

an erotic fire in tuxedoed men

and women whose shoulders gleam

in candlelight, this hermit praying

in its rocky cave, this anchorite of iron,

calcium, and protein, is practically

a molluskan saint. Revered and sacrificed,

body and salty liquor of the soul,

the oyster is devoured, surrendering

all—again and again—for love.

by Ellen Bass
Listen to the poet read "Reincarnation"
courtesy of The New Yorker

Saturday, February 7, 2015

Review: Gone, Girl

I was warned.

Strangers and friends alike, people who share my taste in books and those who have no idea what I read, sent up red flags.

"You will be furious by the ending of Gone, Girl," they said, to a one.

Yet, I did not listen. Hey, I survived My Sister's Keeper and Bridge to Terabithia (and so did the "throw across the room" books, but only because they were library books). I mean, how bad could Gone, Girl be?

Worse than you'd imagine.

I will try to analyze my disappointment without spoilers, but I may give away more of the plot than you wish to know. If you intend to read this book, proceed with caution. (I may discuss a few other airborne books, so be forewarned.)

Let's start with the basics: Amy disappears under suspicious circumstances. The police see Nick as the most logical suspect. Both Nick and law enforcement uncover information and evidence that points to him. He looks guilty — but is he?

The story is told in two voices. Amy's story begins as journal entries dating back seven years, when she met her now-husband, while Nick remains in the present. Both voices sound authentic, and Gillian Flynn's control of these two characters is tight and flawless. She knows when to cut between scenes, when to end a chapter, precisely how and when to ignite the bombshell. Technically, the book is taught, the perfect whodunit.

The problem lies in the final pages. I have willingly traveled with these two strangers-turned-friends through hundreds of pages of their lives, for years of their experiences together and apart. I have watched both Nick and Amy evolve from what they were to what they became with each other. I have seen how their perceptions of each other evolve, as does how they view themselves, or how they are themselves. Amy emerges slowly, carefully orchestrated, and gels to a glistening sheen.

Nick, on the other hand...

It is with Nick that Flynn failed this reader. His emergence, his evolution, his becoming make sense until the very, very end. As the final scenes close, I wanted to scream and throw the book across the room. Had it not been 1 a.m., I would have expressed my rage and disappointment.

In the end, Nick was nothing like the man of his resolve. The circumstances of his life can conveniently explain it away, but like an untimely demise or deathbed confession, there was no a-ha. There was no resolution, no logical explanation by the author. It just happened, at the end, with finality but no satisfaction for the reader.

Had there been more preamble, had Nick's character toed the line differently, the logic of his final situation would make sense. Even if I didn't like it, I could accept it. Unfortunately, I cannot accept the Nick at the End. It felt like a cop-out, like Flynn had written a good ending for one or two of the characters and she just didn't have it in her to give Nick what he had been himself building all along.

For years, I was angry at Jodi Picoult for the ending of My Sister's Keeper. I saw it as a non-resolution that took the author and her characters off the hook. When a decision was made by someone other than the character who has been set up to do so for hundreds of pages of narrative and plot complications, I felt cheated.

I can't understand, to this day, the "beloved" moniker awarded Bridge to Terabithia. Katherine Paterson wrote it for her young son, whose young friend died in a random accident — so, if she wanted to reinforce that idea, her book succeeded. It was a terrible, nonsensical ending that added nothing to the story or the characters. I felt cheated.

The ending of Gone, Girl makes me feel as though both the readers and Nick were cheated from an ending we all deserved. I don't trust Flynn and I won't recommend this book to another reader.

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Getting Back to Filling in the Gaps in 2015

The time has come, the Walrus said, to talk of many things...

Which for me usually means books.

It's been years since I mentioned my "Filling in the Gaps" list, and for good reasons. One, I have knocked a few more off my list (including, but not limited to, Ender's Game and Tobacco Road).

Second, the list evolved into an interactive project with Carole regarding Weighty Reads. We chose 20 books to read in the ensuing years, with a few related books included along the way.

For those of you playing along at home, "Filling in the Gaps" is a list of 100 books the reader strives to finish in five years. I first posted my list in 2010. I have not finished all 100 books. 

My list has changed little since 2010, usually because I realized I already read it. A few others fell off the list because I didn't want to read them after all, while others have regained their seat at the table. For example, does Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance really deserve to be on the list after all? How about Love in the Time of Cholera? Three Men in a Boat?

So, without further ado, I give you
Fill in the Gaps, 2015
  1. 1001 Nights / Arabian Nights            
  2. Things Fall Apart, Chinua Achebe
  3. Highsmoor, Peter Ackroyd
  4. Foundation, Isaac Asimov
  5. Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen
  6. Sense and Sensibility, Jane Austen
  7. √ Sundays With Vlad, Paul Bibeau
  8. √ The Lost Symbol, Dan Brown
  9. The Early Fears, Robert Bloch
  10. The Good Earth, Pearl S. Buck
  11. A Little Princess, Frances Hodgson Burnett
  12. Cold Sassy Tree, Olive Ann Burns
  13. √ The Land that Time Forgot, Edgar Rice  Burroughs
  14. √  Tobacco Road, Erskine Caldwell
  15. √  Ender's Game, Orson Scott Card
  16. Death Comes for the Archbishop, Willa Cather
  17. O Pioneers!, Willa Cather
  18. Don Quixote, Miguel de Cervantes
  19. Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, Michael Chabon
  20. The Big Sleep, Raymond Chandler
  21. The Stories of John Cheever, John Cheever
  22. Girl with the Pearl Earring, Tracy Chevalier
  23. The Woman in White, Wilkie Collins
  24. Moll Flanders, Daniel DeFoe
  25. The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, Junot Diaz
  26. A Tale of Two Cities, Charles Dickens
  27. Little Dorrit, Charles Dickens
  28. Oliver Twist, Charles Dickens
  29. The Count of Monte Cristo, Alexandre Dumas
  30. The Man in the Iron Mask, Alexandre Dumas
  31. A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, Dave Eggers
  32. Middlemarch, George Eliot
  33. So Big, Edna Ferber
  34. Madame Bovary, Gustave Flaubert
  35. Where Angels Fear to Tread, E.M. Forster
  36. The Corrections, Jonathan Franzen
  37. In the Woods, Tana French
  38. The Talented Mr. Ripley Patricia Highsmith
  39. √ Unbroken, Lauren Hildenbrand
  40. √ Goodbye, Mr. Chips, James Hilton
  41. Les Miserables, Victor Hugo
  42. The Bone People, Keri Hulme
  43. Their Eyes Were Watching God, Zora Neale Hurston
  44. The  Lost Weekend, Charles R. Jackson
  45. √ The Haunting of Hill House, Shirley Jackson
  46. The Portrait of a Lady, Henry James
  47. Three Men in a Boat, Jerome K. Jerome
  48. √ Up the Down Staircase, Bel Kaufman
  49. On the Road, Jack Kerouac
  50. √ Please Don’t Eat the Daisies, Jean Kerr
  51. √  The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver
  52. The Jungle Books, Rudyard Kipling
  53. The Man Who Would Be King, Rudyard Kipling
  54. A Separate Peace, John Knowles
  55. The Spy Who Came in From the Cold, John LeCarre
  56. The Golden Notebook, Doris Lessing
  57. Sliver, Ira Levin
  58. Elmer Gantry, Sinclair Lewis
  59. The Monk, Matthew Gregory Lewis
  60. The Call of the Wild, Jack London
  61. √ The Best of H.P. Lovecraft, H.P. Lovecraft
  62. Love in the Time of Cholera, Gabriel Garcia Marquez
  63. The Road, Cormac McCarthy
  64. The Member of the Wedding, Carson McCullers
  65. √ Atonement, Ian McEwan
  66. Lonesome Dove, Larry McMurty
  67. Peyton Place, Grace Metalious
  68. Beloved, Toni Morrison
  69. Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov
  70. Suite Française, Irene Nemirovsky
  71. A Confederacy of Dunces, John Kennedy O'Toole
  72. The Portable Dorothy Parker, Dorothy Parker
  73. Doctor Zhivago, Boris Pasternak
  74. Bel Canto, Ann Patchett
  75. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Robert M. Pirsig
  76. Anubis Gates, Tim Powers
  77. Remembrance of Things Past/In Search of Lost Time, Marcel Proust
  78. All Quiet on the Western Front, Erich Maria Remarque
  79. Home, Marylynne Robinson
  80. The Human Stain, Philip Roth
  81. The God of Small Things, Arundathi Roy
  82. Midnight’s Children, Salman Rushdie
  83. √ A Town Like Alice, Nevil Shute
  84. Prayers to Broken Stones, Dan Simmons
  85. Enemies, A Love Story, Isaac Bashevis Singer
  86. Angle of Repose, Wallace Steigner
  87. √ Dracula, Bram Stoker
  88. The Valley of the Dolls, Jacqueline Suzanne
  89. The Magnificent Ambersons, Booth Tarkington
  90. The Man Who Fell to Earth, Walter Tevis
  91. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Hunter S. Thompson
  92. Anna Karenina, Leo Tolstoy
  93. War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy
  94. Traffic, Tom Vanderbilt
  95. All the King's Men, Robert Penn Warren
  96. Brideshead Revisited, Evelyn Waugh
  97. Night, Elie Weisel
  98. Trainspotting, Irvine Welsh
  99. The Portrait of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde
  100. The Inimitable Jeeves, P.G. Wodehouse

I tried very hard to choose only one book per author, or maybe two. Charles Dickens was an exception with three, but that may change in the future. Narrowing Jane Austen to two was a challenge as well.

There is a dearth of non-fiction, and I may have to include A Brief History of Time. Stay tuned.

I tried to make my list as inclusive as possible. If you have suggestions, please share your ideas with me.

Do you have a Fill in the Gaps list? What's on it? If you haven't compiled such list yet, what would you put on it? Let me know!