Stiff by Mary Roach

When her next book comes out, I am so there. I love Mary Roach. She tackles uncomfortable subjects with such vivacity and humor and interest...sigh. What a wonderful read.
Stiff is about human cadavers -- uncomfortable topic, indeed. Roach goes into the history of cadavers, including all the grave-robbing and unethical practices of the past. Any topic involving what might happen to your body should you decide to donate it to a scientific pursuit is examined, including airbag testing to see how actual bodies react to organ transplant to new "green" funerals which are gathering power in Sweden.
Honestly, I know it sounds like a really strange book, and I will say that when I sat in the car dealership waiting for my tire to be replaced reading this book, I tried to keep the cover out of sight. But her two books, Stiff and Spook, are without a doubt the most compelling and intriguing nonfiction books I have ever read. Just fantastic. And any question you ever wished to ask, but didn't for fear of seeming morbid or macabre? You'll finally get to know the answer.
In conclusion, read one of her books. Even if they seem a little morbid.

Summer Reading

It's like I always forget that when summer rolls around, I won't be reading only one book or two a month. With all the time that the summer affords, my reading just snowballs around me, and I just keep getting deeper and deeper into pages. Eventually, I realize, "Hey -- I haven't written about a single one of the many books I've read lately."
So here's the long and short of it.

A Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood -- the first Atwood novel I've read that I wasn't crazy about. It was interesting sci-fi, but I am positive that I would have enjoyed the book more if I had read it when it first came out. I had difficulty with the one-sided nature of the story, and with the victimized, rolling-over nature of every single female (and, for that matter, male) character in the book. Also, I think times have changed since 1986 (one hopes), and Atwood's thought experiment of what would happen if fundamentalists took over the American government. Well, that's sort of already happened, and the world has not changed as dramatically as this experiment foresaw. Turns out that most everyone involved in politics, fundamentalist or not, is a little bit racist/sexist/crazed/opportunistic/corrupt. As always, her writing is so amazing and irresistible, but I just couldn't get past some of my own hang-ups for this book. We'll call my dislike a lack of reader openness.

Spook by Mary Roach -- Loved it! This nonfiction jaunt was fascinating, funny, and very good-natured. Roach's objective in the book is to find out what scientific proof there is for an afterlife. Buckwalter recommended this one to me, and at first, I wasn't sure I wanted to read it, because I have my own unconfirmed but regardless unstaunchable beliefs on this front. Worried about being a little bit rocked in my ideas, I avoided it. But it was a fun book. Roach truly does concentrate on the scientific side of things, looking back at varied "scientific" approaches like mediums, ectoplasm, the weighing of the soul, and other more modern efforts. My favorite part? When she, a total skeptic, enrolls herself in a "medium school" to see what's going down. In her own words:

This is a book about the afterlife for people who never read that sort of book. Most afterlife books fall into two camps. There's the earnest New Age type of book, with the swirling colors and light-beings on the cover, and lots of inspirational anecdotes inside. Then there are the debunking books. Spook is different in that it's first and foremost a fun read. This subject area is fascinating and bizarre and silly and profound all at once; most afterlife books don't take advantage of that richness.

The Memory-Keeper's Daughter by Kim Edwards: Great book. The whole story centers around familial ties -- what makes a family? What can break a family? What can mend a family? I really enjoyed it. Great characters, beautiful descriptions, and an emotional read.

Gentlemen and Players by Joanne Harris: I read this book in Taos, NM, while staying with the hospitable Taosanians. This is a great summer read, as are all of her books, simply because of the mystery that unfolds and because her writing is so crisp. Actually, I guess that would make it more of an early fall book -- Red Delicious type.

There were some others scattered in there, but these were the books I knew I had to mention. Also, Buckwalter and I finished Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. It is a very satisfying ending, and no more need be said.

The Bean Trees by Barbara Kingsolver

I had never read a Kingsolver novel before, but have been guiltily eying the Oprah's Book Club stash at our local library for several months. It seems like she has a major glitch for Toni Morrison, which is understandable, since she's a fascinating author. But sitting there, patiently biding its time among the bestickered collection, was The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver. See, this is the best thing about the library. I think to myself, "Who have I always wanted to read but just haven't yet?" Kingsolver would be one of those names!
So for the past two weeks, I've been picking up speed through The Bean Trees. I didn't exactly what to expect from the novel...the back cover made it sound like things could easily go sour on me in the minor odyssey.
I am happy to report that I really loved this book in the most pure sense. It was, first of all, full of newly realized truths for me about living in the desert. The simplistic beauty of it married with the ever-present thirst in your soul to see, feel, or even smell some water. But the story was also unique and touching. I finished the last page and thought, "Now that makes me me feel good."

The Pieces from Berlin by Michael Pye

The trouble with browsing at the library is that you often find a book with a strong spine on the dust jacket, but a lack of spine on the inner pages. That might be a little harsh, but this book, The Pieces from Berlin by Michael Pye, began so strongly. It piqued my interest with the issues it seemed to bring up -- possession, mysteries in the family, the mind's memory, and, of course, wartime and the aftermath it brings for generations to come. Sounded pretty good. And it was pretty good...until it became hard to follow.
It's difficult to read a book once you feel like you don't understand it anymore. The main character was an elderly lady sinking into a memory loss brought on by the despair she felt as situations became more difficult for her...I think. That's the trouble with this book. I felt like it was either a lot dumber than me, or a whole lot smarter. I think the latter is more likely, but still...if I have to stop and say, "Wait...what?" too many times during a novel, I am always happy to see the last page in sight.

Lost Time

Well, I guess that's just what happens at the end of the school year...I get completely sidetracked by the things that aren't as important as this blog!
Let's just play a little catch- up, shall we, and pretend the whole hiatus never happened!

About a month ago, I read Cat's Eye, by Margaret Atwood. This was a great Christmas gift from the Taosaians (how's that spelling?), and I enjoyed it very much. Is there anything Atwood has written that I won't adore? Probably not, but I'll keep searching and trying. The story is somewhat chilling, and this is the second book of hers (The Robber Bride being the other) where the main character has a fear for women in the next generation that is revealed as unnecessary. The mothers in both books live in fear that their daughters will run into the same troubles as they did -- sadistic girlfriends, empty relationships -- and in both books, the character sees the daughters as a sort of tough hybrid of themselves, not prone to the same difficulties, for whatever reason. As a woman from the generation after Atwood, I find this to be a fascinating idea -- that somewhere between her generation and the one I inhabit comes a hardiness whose origin is unknown. Of course, everyone likes to think they're tougher than they really are -- myself being no exception.

After that, I went on to a novel called The Book of Lost Things by John Connolly. I'll have to remember his name and look into his body of work, because this book was great. The last time I felt moved to tears at the end of a book was when I read A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving. (Don't even think about watching the horrific "Simon Birch" movie that is periously based on this fantastic novel -- it's all kinds of awful.) The Book of Lost Things is a quasi-modern fairy tale, reminiscent of Pan's Labyrinth, actually. Very good.

And then I fell into league with a series! Now, one of my guilty pleasures is monster books. Monsters like vampires, werewolves, and the like. Most of them can be pretty trashy, like this series. (I'm not kidding when I say this is a guilty pleasure. I can't believe I'm admitting that I enjoy some of these books in a public arena.) But this latest series I found is just plain fun! It's the Sookie Stackhouse series, by mystery author, Charlaine Harris. Plus, they'll be making it into an HBO series in the fall, called "True Blood," I think. The characters are great, interesting, and it's just great pop-fiction. Makes me feel not so guilty after all.

I also read Holy Fools and Sleep, Pale Sister by Joanne Harris. Holy Fools may be the best book of hers I've read. And I also just finished Daughter of Fortune by Isabel Allende. So even though I've been silent in cyberworld, I have been devouring those books and keeping up with my reading. Swear.
Now that summer is upon me, I know I'll have more time to write about what I'm reading. I just went to the library today for more Atwood, some Michael Pye, and Barbara Kingsolver!

The Devil in the White City by Erik Larson

One of the many books I've received as a gift was a Calvin and Hobbes collection from my step-dad. I don't know where he got it -- it's quite possible that it was a golden find at a garage sale -- but I remember that when he gave it to me, he told me not to keep it. Being a book lover, I was surprised. Not keep a book? But I love books! Of course, my step-dad had a different plan. He thought my collection could be a "friendship" book, something to pass along to someone else when I was done reading it -- instead of spreading gossip to two friends, spread the fun witticisms of Calvin and Hobbes.
I can't remember what happened to that particular book, or whether I took his advice or not, but this spring when I was at jury duty, I was given a book by someone I would never see again, and whose name I don't even remember. We were on a trial, and were trying to find something to talk about during lunch that would have NOTHING to do with the trial (very difficult with complete strangers, it turns out), and we started discussing books. I recommended some, he recommended some, and I soon had many new titles to audition.
But the next morning, my jury friend surprised me. He had brought me one of the books he recommended, and told me to read it. I hesitated while taking it, concerned about how to return the book, what to do with it, should I even accept it? But my friend had already thought of that, and told me to just "pass it on" when I was done with it.
So now I've finished it, and it was a fantastic book! Well worth passing on to anyone! First it goes to Buckwalter, but after that, it's any one's game!


The book was The Devil in the White City by Erik Larson. It intertwines the captivating story of the creation of the Chicago's World's Fair and the sadistic tale of a murderer who took advantage of countless visiting women who traveled to view the fair. I am not usually someone who enjoys nonfiction, but the weaving of stories and the color Larson uses in describing characters, buildings, and meetings are intriguing at the least.
His depictions of the murderer, Dr. Holmes, were so chilling at times, I found I really couldn't bring myself to read the book before bed.
The most interesting feature was the architectural interests of both main men. Mr. Burnham, the main architect of the Fair, struggles with his vision for a perfect White City in the heart of a slum-loving Chicago, while Dr. Holmes struggles to create a building of the macabre, with gas chambers, cremation ovens, lost corridors, all without having any of builders' suspicions aroused.
So perhaps when Buckwalter has finished reading it, you'd like to have our copy. Just remember to pass it along when you're done!

Angela's Ashes by Frank McCourt & You Poor Monster by Michael Kun

It's been such a long time! Well, needless to say, in my month and a half respite, I have read many books, several of which I have no desire to mention or talk about. There's just not much to say about some of them.
I did read Angela's Ashes by Frank McCourt while I was on jury duty and a trial for 3 days. It wasn't exactly a release from all the violence I heard about during the trial, but it was an incredibly rich memoir. It was a troubling tale that left me a little confused at the conclusion. What exactly did McCourt want me to understand from his story? Certainly there is quite a bit of forgiveness stuffed into each pint that his father drank, but I don't know if I as the reader was ready to forgive and move on by the end of the book. Regardless, I loved the simple elegance of his similes, especially where stories and books were concerned: "I don't know what it means and I don't ca re because it's Shakespeare and it's like having jewels in my mouth when I say the words."
After my jury duty was all closed up, I returned back to normal life and a new book, oddly enough about a lawyer and his eccentric client. The book is called You Poor Monster by Michael Kun and, just like with McCourt's book, I truly enjoyed it. The story rises and falls, and the reader is a few slopes behind the author every time. For example, the novel has endnotes, which you are instructed to read or not read, at your leisure. Well, folks, I should have read them. I know that now. But it's too late for me -- save yourself! As you read this novel, read the endnotes as they come! It will seem inane at first, but the payoff will come. Oh yes -- it will come.
Now I've moved on to a book called Devil in the White City by Erik Larsen. This book was actually given to me by one of my fellow jurors. I thought that was extremely generous of him, since he would never see me (or his book) again. I was instructed by my fellow juror to donate it to the library when I had finished. Seeing as you are all my loyal readers, if you'd like to read it after I've commented, you may request it! Perhaps I can donate it to the "Literary Time Out" Library of collected books. Or perhaps I can donate it to you! Stay tuned...

Wolf Boy by Evan Kuhlman

My original intention was to write a little blurb about every book I read. That intention has fallen by the wayside as the school year battles on and my time at the computer becomes scarce. So I've skipped over two books in order to keep up to date with my thoughts and my more current readings. The two books were Robber Bride by Margaret Atwood (lovely, as always, and quite intricate) and Plainsong by Ken Haruf (lonely, bleak at times, but satisfying in the end.) I just didn't have much to say about either of them, and had soon moved on to the next book.

The next book this time around was Wolf Boy by Evan Kuhlman. I am a firm believer in judging a book by its cover, and many, many times have used this old backwards adage to chose the next book I will read. But just look at this cover:


I was helpless to resist. I picked it off the shelf and carefully, gingerly even, opened the book to see that within the pages and pages of words rested scatterings of a graphic novel.


The book is sweet and touching and still somehow avoids that maudlin touch that plagues all novels about grieving. In the story, a young man is killed in a car crash, and the novel follows the immediate effects of his death on his family. One of these effects is the creation of Wolf Boy, the comic book character, by the grieving brother.
The most interesting and honest moments in the book occur as the reader watches the parents of the boy deal with his death. The mother completely loses any sense of herself, and the father tries to be open with his grief and just ends up making everyone uncomfortable. The novel explores the idea that everyone deals with grief their own way. This truth is something that makes funerals always uncomfortable and difficult -- besides the obvious fact that a loved one has just died. You are always expected to push yourself into someone else's idea of what it means to grieve. And that springform pan does not fit anyone perfectly.
The family doesn't reach any definitive change in the end, but the realism of that ending is just the kind of thing that draws me to this book. Sometimes I look for a lack of reality in a book, but every now and then it's nice to feel the mirror of the novel turn towards humanity.

What Was She Thinking? [Notes on a Scandal] by Zoe Heller

With the building boom in Las Vegas, there have been many job opportunities for all kinds of people. It's been a new golden age for the city. One portion of the population that has benefited job wise from this boom is the high school kid. Each builder hires several kids to stand on different street corners, holding signs shaped like Muppet-sized arrows displaying the builder's name and nearby community.
Sounds like a boring, mindless, thankless job. I'm sure it was. Until the kids started becoming Cirque du Soleil jugglers with these mammoth signs. I've seen kids twirling them in the air, throwing them like batons, and even twirling them between their legs. And with the crowds of cars driving by, it's like a movable Olympic gymnastic feast -- only everyone forgot their score cards.
Today, as I was driving home from the library, I had the unusual experience of watching someone try to flirt with me from outside my car. One of these sign kids, an older high school boy, was twirling away until he saw me drive up into the turn lane nearest him. While watching for traffic to clear up, I glanced his way, to see a toothy grin on his face as he stared right at me. He extended his arm and pointed at me, winking. Not wishing to be rude, I tentatively waved back, and he nodded, laughing at my hesitation. Then, the traffic cleared up and I drove on, shaking my head, and laughing myself.


I haven't had a young person flirt with me in awhile, but it brought to mind the Zoe Heller book I read recently. In the book, now made into a movie called "Notes on a Scandal" starring Judi Dench (genius casting at work there) and Cate Blanchett, a young, inexperienced teacher starts an affair with one of her students while an older teacher comes to her aid in a self-serving manner. The book does a superb job of starting the affair off with innocent situations and continuing along in a hyper-realistic plot line.
Also, as an educator, it's very interesting to watch the whole situation unfold and listen to the ruminations of the main character on education and its current state in the world. You read at first in empathy as the young teacher just wants to help her students yearn to learn. You read later in uncomfortable twistings as she befriends a student, knowing what is going to befall her. Lastly, you read in horror as she makes elegantly terrible decision after decision, and you wonder, "What was she thinking?"
I did worry as I scanned the bar code at the self check library station -- will I get in trouble for reading this book? Is the government watching my book selections? Will I receive a phone call in a few weeks from Homeland Security, expressing curiosities about my recent readings? So far so good, but I admit I have been checking the Caller ID more carefully than usual.