This morning, my favorite radio station devoted more than 30 minutes to the question, "what are you reading this summer?" You can see (and hear) the answers here.
Guests and callers spoke about several genres, including memoir, but didn't mention one of my favorites, Stephen King's On Writing, which is at least as much memoir as it is writing advice. I loved the book, even though I'm not a fan of his scarier stuff.
Old Stuff & Mysteries
I'm reading the (almost) current issue of National Geographic now, enjoying a (typically) lengthy article about Stonehenge. It references several recent digs near the enigmatic structures, but oddly, it doesn't doesn't mention (nor does NGS's own website include links to) the magazine's recent articles about those digs. Did you know that one in 2006 investigated the site that probably housed the builders of the famous monument?! Gee, that sounds kinda' relevant to me.
I wonder what folks are learning in library science these days...will we ever have a system of reference for information on the web as cut-and-dried (and comprehensive) as the dear old Dewey decimal/card catalog system in old-fashioned libraries?
Will our kids learn how to cite at least three credible sources and create footnotes for their research papers? Am I just getting old and crabby?
Maybe, maybe, and probably.
So what are you reading this summer?
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Monday, May 12, 2008
Slim Book for Wide Audience
OK, now that my review of The Willoughbys has published in The Cleveland Plain Dealer, I'll dish: Lois Lowry's latest book is good. Really good.
Of course, it's not meant to be. It's meant to poke fun at everything that's just a tad too cut-and-dried about those old-fashioned classic tales. And for the most part, the book's characters are bad, bad people.
Mr. and Mrs. Willoughby, you see, don't like children. Especially their own. By the end of the first chapter, they've hatched a plan to get rid of the children (Frankly, it's not that good of a plan: packing up for an extended vacation and engaging a real estate agent to sell the house with the kids in it doesn't sound exactly foolproof to me. And that's part of the fun; it's a spoof, after all.)
For their part, the kids - 12-year-old Timothy, 10-year-old twins Barnaby A and Barnaby B, and poor little one-syllable Jane - aren't much better than their folks. In fact, before the 'rents have packed a suitcase, the little rug rats have decided they'd like to be orphans. And they have a plan, too...
From page one, The Willoughbys is a send-up of every "classic" convention you can probably remember - it's got your basic baby-left-on-the-doorstep, the gruff, grimy, very rich benefactor, and an extremely resourceful nanny.
Kids will enjoy the story, sure, but adults will catch many a joke that will escape the kids. More than a few young readers, I suspect, will miss the elaborate tongue-in-cheek near references to Baby Ruth (the candy bar) and many of the slyly borrowed conventions (from Mary Poppins, James and the Giant Peach, and other weighty but not-so-often-assigned reading).
Even so, the book will be a hit with middle school readers, and just about any fan of Lemony Snicket. I just hope some of their parents pick it up, too. The glossary alone is worth a read. Giggles are free, but unfortunately not nearly plentiful enough. This book packs a bunch of 'em. Enjoy.
Of course, it's not meant to be. It's meant to poke fun at everything that's just a tad too cut-and-dried about those old-fashioned classic tales. And for the most part, the book's characters are bad, bad people.
Mr. and Mrs. Willoughby, you see, don't like children. Especially their own. By the end of the first chapter, they've hatched a plan to get rid of the children (Frankly, it's not that good of a plan: packing up for an extended vacation and engaging a real estate agent to sell the house with the kids in it doesn't sound exactly foolproof to me. And that's part of the fun; it's a spoof, after all.)
For their part, the kids - 12-year-old Timothy, 10-year-old twins Barnaby A and Barnaby B, and poor little one-syllable Jane - aren't much better than their folks. In fact, before the 'rents have packed a suitcase, the little rug rats have decided they'd like to be orphans. And they have a plan, too...
From page one, The Willoughbys is a send-up of every "classic" convention you can probably remember - it's got your basic baby-left-on-the-doorstep, the gruff, grimy, very rich benefactor, and an extremely resourceful nanny.
Kids will enjoy the story, sure, but adults will catch many a joke that will escape the kids. More than a few young readers, I suspect, will miss the elaborate tongue-in-cheek near references to Baby Ruth (the candy bar) and many of the slyly borrowed conventions (from Mary Poppins, James and the Giant Peach, and other weighty but not-so-often-assigned reading).
Even so, the book will be a hit with middle school readers, and just about any fan of Lemony Snicket. I just hope some of their parents pick it up, too. The glossary alone is worth a read. Giggles are free, but unfortunately not nearly plentiful enough. This book packs a bunch of 'em. Enjoy.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Why I love MG and YA books
I've just finished reviewing Lowis Lowry' latest book, a parody of classic children's literature. To prepare for the review, I checked out Number the Stars, Find a Stranger Say Goodbye, and *ahem* the Cliff Notes for The Giver. The Giver is just too intense, folks. Not that her other books are lightweights.
Actually, a few are. I also read Stay! Keeper's Story, a bit of light fiction narrated by a dog, and perused the Anastasia series, which is very popular with younger readers.
But in really considering The Giver and a few of Lowry's other heavy-hitting titles, I got to thinking...the vast majority of "acclaimed" titles for the Young Adult market are really, really heavy. Friends, mothers, sisters die. The Holocaust disrupts lives. The Book Thief is narrated by Death, for heaven's sake.
And I think I know why.
Do you remember being a teenager? It probably wasn't a take-it-or-leave-it time in your life. Everything about being an adolescent seems intense. The right (or wrong) girlfriend/boyfriend could talk you into sneaking a cigarette, cheating on a test, running away, stealing a car, having sex, killing yourself, or a combination of those things.
YA literature has to speak to those intense readers. And - I'm not making this up, research has proven the point - teens' attention spans get shorter, thanks to all the chemical changes in their bodies and especially their brains. So YA authors can't waste words. Every sentence must be worth reading. Nothing is mundane.
Well written books for the age group (YA/MG is a bit of blurred demographic these days) include all the important stuff, but no more...character descriptions move the story forward, the setting matters to the plot, there are no throw-away scenes.
I guess that's one of my top two reasons for reading YA and MG lit.
The other reason is I hope - hope, hope, hope - that reading YA and MG books will help me understand and appreciate those tumultuous teenage years...especially as my own kids approach those years, at an alarming pace.
Sigh.
Actually, a few are. I also read Stay! Keeper's Story, a bit of light fiction narrated by a dog, and perused the Anastasia series, which is very popular with younger readers.
But in really considering The Giver and a few of Lowry's other heavy-hitting titles, I got to thinking...the vast majority of "acclaimed" titles for the Young Adult market are really, really heavy. Friends, mothers, sisters die. The Holocaust disrupts lives. The Book Thief is narrated by Death, for heaven's sake.
And I think I know why.
Do you remember being a teenager? It probably wasn't a take-it-or-leave-it time in your life. Everything about being an adolescent seems intense. The right (or wrong) girlfriend/boyfriend could talk you into sneaking a cigarette, cheating on a test, running away, stealing a car, having sex, killing yourself, or a combination of those things.
YA literature has to speak to those intense readers. And - I'm not making this up, research has proven the point - teens' attention spans get shorter, thanks to all the chemical changes in their bodies and especially their brains. So YA authors can't waste words. Every sentence must be worth reading. Nothing is mundane.
Well written books for the age group (YA/MG is a bit of blurred demographic these days) include all the important stuff, but no more...character descriptions move the story forward, the setting matters to the plot, there are no throw-away scenes.
I guess that's one of my top two reasons for reading YA and MG lit.
The other reason is I hope - hope, hope, hope - that reading YA and MG books will help me understand and appreciate those tumultuous teenage years...especially as my own kids approach those years, at an alarming pace.
Sigh.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Maybe I Misread the Review
A recent review by The Cleveland Plain Dealer's book editor, Karen Long, convinced me that Elizabeth Strout had a way with words. Maybe even something like my current favorite fiction diva, Barbara K. Although I wasn't interested in the plot of the reviewed book (Olive Kitterage - a collection of short stories), I went looking for another title by Strout, and found Amy and Isabelle. And I returned it to the library before I finished it!
That's pretty unusual for me. I'm still trying to get over the guilt. It wasn't a TOTAL disappointment. The characters were three-dimensional; the setting was well-drawn; the plot appealed to me. The problem was the pace - it crawled! Sigh. I'll work on patience...later.
That's pretty unusual for me. I'm still trying to get over the guilt. It wasn't a TOTAL disappointment. The characters were three-dimensional; the setting was well-drawn; the plot appealed to me. The problem was the pace - it crawled! Sigh. I'll work on patience...later.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Historical Fiction Worth Reading?
In my formative years, I could count on one hand the number of "historical fiction" titles I deemed worth reading. Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House series (totaling eleven? or twelve? books) and The Witch of Blackbird Pond made the list because they didn't seem like history lessons; they simply told great stories.
As I've typed before, I have enjoyed every page of Team of Rivals but *sigh* I'm still turning its pages.
Browsing the stacks in the library's teen section recently, I picked up The Girls They Left Behind and was hooked on the first page. The historical fiction in a diary format introduced me to the main character, code name Natalie (because "My real name is not fit to print"), who gave me a glimpse of what it was like to be a 17-year-old girl in Toronto in 1943.
What was it like? Well, teenagers are teenagers: Beryl/Natalie has crushes (and kisses!), fusses with her hair, is quite delighted to leave school for a high-paying job, and loves/hates her eight-year-old brother. But as a teenager on the home front in WWII, she also hates watching (just watching) most of her male friends go off to war; at the same time, she's embarrassed to be seen with Carl, who is of age but unable to enlist because he's deaf in one ear. She also hides to trade ration coupons (it's illegal!), hates the blackouts, and struggles with the emotions letters from the front - and worse, telegrams - bring.
Author Bernice Thurman Hunter died (in 2002) before she completed the book; her daughter, Heather Anne Hunter, finished the job. And well. From now on, any kid who tells me they don't like historical fiction will get one more recommendation...
As I've typed before, I have enjoyed every page of Team of Rivals but *sigh* I'm still turning its pages.
Browsing the stacks in the library's teen section recently, I picked up The Girls They Left Behind and was hooked on the first page. The historical fiction in a diary format introduced me to the main character, code name Natalie (because "My real name is not fit to print"), who gave me a glimpse of what it was like to be a 17-year-old girl in Toronto in 1943.
What was it like? Well, teenagers are teenagers: Beryl/Natalie has crushes (and kisses!), fusses with her hair, is quite delighted to leave school for a high-paying job, and loves/hates her eight-year-old brother. But as a teenager on the home front in WWII, she also hates watching (just watching) most of her male friends go off to war; at the same time, she's embarrassed to be seen with Carl, who is of age but unable to enlist because he's deaf in one ear. She also hides to trade ration coupons (it's illegal!), hates the blackouts, and struggles with the emotions letters from the front - and worse, telegrams - bring.
Author Bernice Thurman Hunter died (in 2002) before she completed the book; her daughter, Heather Anne Hunter, finished the job. And well. From now on, any kid who tells me they don't like historical fiction will get one more recommendation...
Monday, March 24, 2008
Saturday
Ian McEwan's 2005 novel, Saturday, follows a British neurosurgeon on a typical Saturday that in fact becomes extraordinary. I finished it last Saturday :)
I hate to admit this was the first of McEwan's books I've read, but it was. While I enjoyed it, I'm not going to rush out to pick up another title by the acclaimed author (whose Atonement was adapted to screen and is in theaters now).
Saturday is full of multi-layered characters, so richly drawn you feel you know them better than most people you know in your real life - and yet the description doesn't bog down the book.
Where I fault McEwan is plot - there wasn't much, frankly. (Yeah, I realize it's a book about a 24-hour period; how much did I expect, right?) It involves a plane crash, a traffic accident, a homecoming of sorts with his two grown children and cantankerous and eccentric father-in-law, and a nasty run in with a couple of thugs. I won't give away the ending, because to do so would spoil the reading...and it really is worth reading.
While I love the author's ruminations on how our minds work - tangled up in this book with the way the brain operates, and how it can be operated on - in a few instances, there's too much looking inward (and too little action) for my taste.
That said, McEwan can write. And he writes "up" to his readers - a compliment, I think, and a welcome change from the many MG/YA books I've devoured in the past year. By the time I reached page 36, the author had discussed neurosurgery (the removal of a pilocytic astrocytoma, among other cases), (the comet) Hale-Bopp, the psychology/philosophy of commercial plane travel, politics, and Schrodinger's cat.
It's heady stuff. Had he given me a bit more of a story, and I'd be hooked for good, lamenting the fact that McEwan has "only" given us 11 novels to date...
I hate to admit this was the first of McEwan's books I've read, but it was. While I enjoyed it, I'm not going to rush out to pick up another title by the acclaimed author (whose Atonement was adapted to screen and is in theaters now).
Saturday is full of multi-layered characters, so richly drawn you feel you know them better than most people you know in your real life - and yet the description doesn't bog down the book.
Where I fault McEwan is plot - there wasn't much, frankly. (Yeah, I realize it's a book about a 24-hour period; how much did I expect, right?) It involves a plane crash, a traffic accident, a homecoming of sorts with his two grown children and cantankerous and eccentric father-in-law, and a nasty run in with a couple of thugs. I won't give away the ending, because to do so would spoil the reading...and it really is worth reading.
While I love the author's ruminations on how our minds work - tangled up in this book with the way the brain operates, and how it can be operated on - in a few instances, there's too much looking inward (and too little action) for my taste.
That said, McEwan can write. And he writes "up" to his readers - a compliment, I think, and a welcome change from the many MG/YA books I've devoured in the past year. By the time I reached page 36, the author had discussed neurosurgery (the removal of a pilocytic astrocytoma, among other cases), (the comet) Hale-Bopp, the psychology/philosophy of commercial plane travel, politics, and Schrodinger's cat.
It's heady stuff. Had he given me a bit more of a story, and I'd be hooked for good, lamenting the fact that McEwan has "only" given us 11 novels to date...
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Oh, the Piles!
After my son used the wicker magazine rack as a step-stool a few too many times, I sighed and decided it had to go. (The rack, not the boy.)
Which means I had to face up to the fact that about two dozen magazines had been collecting dust inside the rack. Among the National Geographics and various science mags, some Design News and NASA Tech Briefs were tossed in for good measure. I'm almost caught up...sigh...almost. I love reading those mags, I really do. But I love reading a lot of stuff. A lot.
Like books by Barbara Kingsolver. I have to admit the one I just finished, The Prodigal Summer, has been my least favorite of the Kingsolvers I've read so for. Animal Dreams and Pigs in Heaven were so much more...um, immediate? raw? I'm not sure what descriptor I'm searching for... even The Bean Trees, which was published before Prodigal Summer and the much-acclaimed Poisonwood Bible, was more gripping.
That said, I can't quit the darned book, of course. BK has quite a way with words - and even more talent with characters.
Maybe someday she'll write about a lady who keeps magazines piled up in her living room, as surrogate stepping stools...
Which means I had to face up to the fact that about two dozen magazines had been collecting dust inside the rack. Among the National Geographics and various science mags, some Design News and NASA Tech Briefs were tossed in for good measure. I'm almost caught up...sigh...almost. I love reading those mags, I really do. But I love reading a lot of stuff. A lot.
Like books by Barbara Kingsolver. I have to admit the one I just finished, The Prodigal Summer, has been my least favorite of the Kingsolvers I've read so for. Animal Dreams and Pigs in Heaven were so much more...um, immediate? raw? I'm not sure what descriptor I'm searching for... even The Bean Trees, which was published before Prodigal Summer and the much-acclaimed Poisonwood Bible, was more gripping.
That said, I can't quit the darned book, of course. BK has quite a way with words - and even more talent with characters.
Maybe someday she'll write about a lady who keeps magazines piled up in her living room, as surrogate stepping stools...
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