I was inspired by the Fine Lines feature on Jezebel to revisit as some of my favorite books from my youth.
I went to the library and checked out Deenie, by Judy Blume. I remember reading this book for the first time when I was in third grade. I’m not sure if I’ve read it since then. I think I was too young to read it when I was in third grade, but I read it because Amanda Swann told me about it. For some reason, although I can’t remember why, I looked up to Amanda Swann, and I thought if she was reading it I should be reading it too. I remember very distinctly that she told me about the main character, Deenie, and how pretty she was and how was gonna be a model, and after her braces were off, she was gonna go out with Matt Kinsey. Matt Kinsey was this kid in our class who everyone liked, so I wasn’t surprised that Deenie would want to go out with him, but occurs to me now that it’s weird to think a fictional character would want to go out with a real kid in our class. When I actually read the book, I discovered that Deenie didn’t have braces on her teeth like I thought, she had a brace on her back or on her whole body, I actually didn’t really understand what the brace was all about. I did that a lot, as a kid, I read books that I wasn’t really old enough to understand and then wandered around with a lot of misconceptions.
I also checked out Meet the Austins by Madeline L'Engle. I don’t remember how long ago it was when I first read it, but it’s certainly been a long time, because I barely remembered it. At first I wasn't even sure if I'd ever ready it. Its the first book in a series about the Austin family. I know that at one timeI owned some of the books in the series--The Young Unicorns and a A Ring Endless Light—and read them several times. But I don’t think I ever owned Meet the Austins, so it’s probably been two decades since I read it. I don’t remember what I thought of the book when I first read it, but I was surprised upon this recent reading by how much I’d disliked the narrator. Or maybe it’s more appropriate to say that I disliked the narration, not the narrator. I’m sure the narrator herself would’ve been a fine person if I met her, but the way she narrated the story seemed really pretentious to me and I don’t think it was supposed to be. I feel like we’re supposed to like Vickiy Austen, but then she says things like Uncle Douglas is “an artist and lives in New York, and we all love him tremendously.” It’s in the first paragraph of the book and I’m already annoyed---by the word tremendously. It just sounds affected. I feel like the whole book seems to be straining to prove how special and wonderful the Austins are—particularly Vicky. Instead of letting us draw our own conclusions about Vicky, the other characters are used as mouthpieces to tell us what to think. For example, Vicky asks her Uncle Douglas why she’s having such trouble showing her Aunt Elena how sorry she is about her about the death of her Aunt Elena's husband. (Sorry this is confusing--Aunt Elena was married to Uncle Hal and Uncle Douglas actually not an Uncle, he's just a family friend.) But anyway:
“Uncle Douglas,” I said, “why is it that John can show Aunt Elena how sorry he is about Uncle Hal and I can’t, and I’m so terribly, terribly sorry?”
Uncle Douglas put his arm around me and his beard rubbed gently against my cheek. “Aunt Elena knows you’re sorry, dear.”
“But why does John know what to say, and how to say it, and all I can do is act stupid, as though it doesn’t matter?”
“Just because it matters too much. Have you ever heard of empathy?”
I shook my head.
“John can show Aunt Elena how sorry he is because he has a scientific mind and he can see what has happened from the outside. All good scientists have to know how to be observers. He can be deeply upset about Uncle Hal and deeply sorry for Aunt Elena, but he can be objective about it. You can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because you have an artistic temperament, Vicki, and I’ve never seen you be objective about anything yet. When you think about Aunt Elena and how she must be feeling right now, it is for the moment as though you were Aunt Elena; you go right inside her suffering, and it becomes your suffering too. That’s empathy, it’s something all artists are afflicted with.”
“Are you?”
“Sure. But I’m older than you are and I can cope with it better.”
In this passage I am somehow simultaneously annoyed with Vicky, John, Uncle Douglas and the author at the same time. Is it just me?
Friday, November 7, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
The Giant's House
I know it annoys some people to talk about voice in fiction. It’s a workshop term, an MFA term—what does it mean? But sometimes I finish a book—in this case, The Giant’s House, by Elizabeth McCracken—and I feel as though a gentle voice has been telling me a story. This voice was quiet and a bit sad, resigned but not hopeless. This voice would go well with graham crackers and a mug of tea with milk. The voice told the story deliberately, unhurriedly, without flash or trickery. It is a love story, of sorts, but it is never mushy, never sappy. I recommend it without reservations to anyone who reads.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Away
My one reader was kind enough to wonder where I was. I thank you, kind reader. I’ll start with the crackers. I went into the cheese shop down the street. It’s one of those fancy cheese shops where cheeses cost $20.00 a pound and the people who work there are called cheesemongers. I love the word cheesemonger. It sounds like it should translate to cheese monster (like cookie monster)--so I picture the employees, after hours, throwing hunks of cheese into their mouths. Anyway I bought some of the less expensive cheese, an aged Vermont cheddar (betraying my Wisconsin roots). I bought some crackers from “The Fine Cheese Company”--they are mustard and black pepper for “mature cheddar.” I’m not sure how the cheese I bought it would feel about being called “mature”—are you calling me old? But cheddar did taste delicious with those mustard and black pepper oat crackers.
Later, at the grocery store, I bought some Cambozola. I think that’s what it’s called. It tastes like a combination of Camembert and Gorgonzola. I had it first at my friend Pauline’s house, and every time I went into a grocery store after that I would look for it, but I kept forgetting what was called. Was it Gorgonbert? Bluezola? Cambebrie? I knew it was the combination of two delicious cheeses. Anyway, I think I found it. I ate it on whole meal crackers also by The Fine Cheese Company. According to the box these are “a wheaty and crunchy cracker for strongly flavored cheeses.” I don’t know if Cambezola is strongly flavored—but it did taste very good with the wholemeal crackers. If you can find some Cambezola, I think you should buy it. And eat it. It’s also good with sourdough bread or a baguette.
On to the books. I checked out a whole bunch of books from the library. I read them eagerly, but then I had to return them before I had a chance to blog about them. I checked out a bunch more books and read them but then had to return them to the library. For some reason, I feel the need to blog with the book in front of me. I don’t know why. Finally, I just broke down and went to the bookstore to buy some books, so I still have them.
First I read the novel Away by Amy Bloom. It’s about a woman, Lillian Leyb, who emigrates to New York after her family has been killed in eastern Europe. She is told later that her daughter is alive, so she travels from New York to Alaska to try to make it to Russia to look for her daughter. This book is so tragic--it is tragedy upon tragedy, sorrow upon sorrow--that before long I became numb to it, as Lillian became numb to her own tragedies. She had to be numb to keep going. Usually I cry over tragedy like that but I didn’t shed as single tear until near the end of the book, when Lillian prays with three young children whose cabin she stumbled upon in her trek through the Alaskan wilderness.
“It’s not that prayer seems like a bad idea out here. It seems like a good and optimistic idea, but Lillian does not believe in anything like God. She’s petitioned particular gods lately (the god of edible red berries, the god of slow-moving streams), but she doesn’t address or hope to be heard by the Creator of the Universe. Lillian believes in luck and hunger (and greed, which is really just a rich man’s hunger--she doesn’t even mind anymore; that people are ruled by their wants seems a reliable truth). She believes in fear as a motivator and she believes in curiosity (hers should have shrunk to nothing by now but feeds on something Lillian cannot make sense of) and she believes in will. It is so frail and delicate at night that she cannot even imagine the next morning, but is so wide and binding by the middle of the next day that she cannot even remember the terrible night. It is as if she gives birth every day.
And the mighty kingdoms she has passed through, the ceaseless white, and the endless dark, swallowed up everything for weeks but spit back Ned and Billy and Sally, and as a kindness or afterthought Lillian as well. Tossed her up the path to the cold cabin, to children who would have died, first Sally, gone in a minute one sunny day, then Ned, neck broken trying to save Billy, fallen into the ravine looking for Sally. And Billy under a pine tree for two days and two nights, back broken, as the snow covered him. All three of them dead, plucked out of the world 12 days after the mother ate a very bad piece of meat. But here is Lillian and the four of them are safe in bed, and not cold, and not hungry. We live and we love the world, Lillian thinks, and we kid ourselves of the world loves us back.
'Boys,' she says. They will pray, no matter what any of them believes.
She says the Sh’ma Koleinu in Hebrew, stammering a little over her father’s phrasing. And she says in English, ‘Hear our voice, O Lord our God, pity us, save us, accept our prayer with compassion and kindness.’ She goes on to the next piece that she can manage to translate. ‘Do not abandon us, our God, do not be far from us.’ Oh do not be far from me, she thinks, and do not concern yourself with my lack of belief. ‘For You we wait, our God; You, O lord, will answer.’ ”
Later, at the grocery store, I bought some Cambozola. I think that’s what it’s called. It tastes like a combination of Camembert and Gorgonzola. I had it first at my friend Pauline’s house, and every time I went into a grocery store after that I would look for it, but I kept forgetting what was called. Was it Gorgonbert? Bluezola? Cambebrie? I knew it was the combination of two delicious cheeses. Anyway, I think I found it. I ate it on whole meal crackers also by The Fine Cheese Company. According to the box these are “a wheaty and crunchy cracker for strongly flavored cheeses.” I don’t know if Cambezola is strongly flavored—but it did taste very good with the wholemeal crackers. If you can find some Cambezola, I think you should buy it. And eat it. It’s also good with sourdough bread or a baguette.
On to the books. I checked out a whole bunch of books from the library. I read them eagerly, but then I had to return them before I had a chance to blog about them. I checked out a bunch more books and read them but then had to return them to the library. For some reason, I feel the need to blog with the book in front of me. I don’t know why. Finally, I just broke down and went to the bookstore to buy some books, so I still have them.
First I read the novel Away by Amy Bloom. It’s about a woman, Lillian Leyb, who emigrates to New York after her family has been killed in eastern Europe. She is told later that her daughter is alive, so she travels from New York to Alaska to try to make it to Russia to look for her daughter. This book is so tragic--it is tragedy upon tragedy, sorrow upon sorrow--that before long I became numb to it, as Lillian became numb to her own tragedies. She had to be numb to keep going. Usually I cry over tragedy like that but I didn’t shed as single tear until near the end of the book, when Lillian prays with three young children whose cabin she stumbled upon in her trek through the Alaskan wilderness.
“It’s not that prayer seems like a bad idea out here. It seems like a good and optimistic idea, but Lillian does not believe in anything like God. She’s petitioned particular gods lately (the god of edible red berries, the god of slow-moving streams), but she doesn’t address or hope to be heard by the Creator of the Universe. Lillian believes in luck and hunger (and greed, which is really just a rich man’s hunger--she doesn’t even mind anymore; that people are ruled by their wants seems a reliable truth). She believes in fear as a motivator and she believes in curiosity (hers should have shrunk to nothing by now but feeds on something Lillian cannot make sense of) and she believes in will. It is so frail and delicate at night that she cannot even imagine the next morning, but is so wide and binding by the middle of the next day that she cannot even remember the terrible night. It is as if she gives birth every day.
And the mighty kingdoms she has passed through, the ceaseless white, and the endless dark, swallowed up everything for weeks but spit back Ned and Billy and Sally, and as a kindness or afterthought Lillian as well. Tossed her up the path to the cold cabin, to children who would have died, first Sally, gone in a minute one sunny day, then Ned, neck broken trying to save Billy, fallen into the ravine looking for Sally. And Billy under a pine tree for two days and two nights, back broken, as the snow covered him. All three of them dead, plucked out of the world 12 days after the mother ate a very bad piece of meat. But here is Lillian and the four of them are safe in bed, and not cold, and not hungry. We live and we love the world, Lillian thinks, and we kid ourselves of the world loves us back.
'Boys,' she says. They will pray, no matter what any of them believes.
She says the Sh’ma Koleinu in Hebrew, stammering a little over her father’s phrasing. And she says in English, ‘Hear our voice, O Lord our God, pity us, save us, accept our prayer with compassion and kindness.’ She goes on to the next piece that she can manage to translate. ‘Do not abandon us, our God, do not be far from us.’ Oh do not be far from me, she thinks, and do not concern yourself with my lack of belief. ‘For You we wait, our God; You, O lord, will answer.’ ”
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Beware of Oogies
Let's say, just for the sake of argument, that you try to eat a healthy diet. You eat lots of fruits and vegetables, you avoid fat whenever possible, and you try to eat reasonable portions. Let's say, in addition, that you love cheese and have poor self-control. One of the worst things you could do, in this situation, is to buy a bag of Oogies Gourmet Popcorn in the Smoked Gouda flavor. Now, the odd thing about this situation is that I don't even like Smoked Gouda. It is one of my least-favorite cheeses. And the name "Oogies" is weird and doesn't sound like something that should be eaten. But once I tasted a kernel, I was lost forever to the thrall of Smoked Gouda popcorn. The first taste isn't even that impressive--the first note of the flavor on your tongue is unassuming--pleasantly seasoned but nothing special. But the true flavor hits the back of your tongue as you swallow and the next thing you know your whole head is inside the bag.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Overheard on Overheard: I think I know this book
1PM Dude, Seriously, Switch to Historical Novels
Project manager, discussing book: It was so tragic! It's not just that they were clones and had their organs harvested, but they never got to really love each other!
Main Bountiful, Utah
via Overheard in the Office, Jun 13, 2008
I think I've read this book. I think it's Never Let Me Go, by Kazuo Ishiguro. It's an excellent book. But I guess there may be other tragic love stories of clones who have their organs harvested.
Project manager, discussing book: It was so tragic! It's not just that they were clones and had their organs harvested, but they never got to really love each other!
Main Bountiful, Utah
via Overheard in the Office, Jun 13, 2008
I think I've read this book. I think it's Never Let Me Go, by Kazuo Ishiguro. It's an excellent book. But I guess there may be other tragic love stories of clones who have their organs harvested.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Baked Naturals What Crisps
I am eating these crazy good new crackers, they are called saltines. Ha, I’m just kidding. Pepperidge Farm has these new “Baked Naturals Wheat Crisps” that are very tasty. They are kind of like wheat thins but a bit lighter. They have kind of a wheatables texture, but with a much better flavor. They have a light sprinkling of salt and spices on top. They are addictive.
Speaking of Pepperidge Farm, I always thought it was Petridge Farm, for some reason, even though it clearly says Pepperidge on the box. I mean, I thought this up until several years ago. It’s like how I used to think a piece of luggage was called a “soupcase.” This isn’t when I was a cute little toddler either. I was, like, twelve, or something ridiculous when I finally got it. I mean, I never traveled with soup, but I never traveled with suits either, you know?
Speaking of Pepperidge Farm, I always thought it was Petridge Farm, for some reason, even though it clearly says Pepperidge on the box. I mean, I thought this up until several years ago. It’s like how I used to think a piece of luggage was called a “soupcase.” This isn’t when I was a cute little toddler either. I was, like, twelve, or something ridiculous when I finally got it. I mean, I never traveled with soup, but I never traveled with suits either, you know?
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Deli-Style Rye
What I am eating: Triscuit Deli-Style Rye
What they taste like: Triscuits with caraway seeds
Why the name doesn’t make sense: Delis aren’t known for selling crackers
Also, I have a confession. My love of crackers didn’t start out as a pure love. It began as a backlash against bread. You see, I also love bread, but bread goes bad quickly, and I am paranoid about mold. I would buy a loaf of bread, eat half of it, and then throw the other half away because I was afraid it had some invisible mold that would kill me. I tried putting the bread in the freezer, but then I had to toast it before I ate it and what if I wanted untoasted bread? I would end up with ancient, half-eaten loaves of bread in my freezer and guilt in my heart. (In addition to being paranoid about mold, I also feel intensely guilty about waste. It’s a tough place to be.) So I started buying crackers instead of bread! And I lived happily ever after.
What they taste like: Triscuits with caraway seeds
Why the name doesn’t make sense: Delis aren’t known for selling crackers
Also, I have a confession. My love of crackers didn’t start out as a pure love. It began as a backlash against bread. You see, I also love bread, but bread goes bad quickly, and I am paranoid about mold. I would buy a loaf of bread, eat half of it, and then throw the other half away because I was afraid it had some invisible mold that would kill me. I tried putting the bread in the freezer, but then I had to toast it before I ate it and what if I wanted untoasted bread? I would end up with ancient, half-eaten loaves of bread in my freezer and guilt in my heart. (In addition to being paranoid about mold, I also feel intensely guilty about waste. It’s a tough place to be.) So I started buying crackers instead of bread! And I lived happily ever after.
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