Apologies!

I am waaaay behind in the Cannonball Read.

I haven't read a real book - meaning a non-required, non-Aristotelian philosophy, non-Shakespeare play book - in what feels like well over a month (it's really only been 2 or 3 weeks, but still). I probably could've blogged about my past three books a lot sooner, but I really hate the blogging aspect of this whole thingamajig. (OK this has nothing to do with this post, but why doesn't my spell check go berserk over "thingamajig"? Since when is thingamajig a legit word? Seriously, someone let me know.) I have a new-found respect for bloggers - I'm pretty sure nobody reads this and I get all worried and stressed out about how I sound in my lame book reviews - I can't imagine blogging for a job or anything where there's the possibility of a wide audience. I'm definitely too self conscious.

But yeah, anyway, school is killing me. That, and work. There literally isn't enough time in the day for me to accomplish everything I need to. I've always been terrible with time management, but this semester has gotten a little ridiculous. I'm just looking forward to break, when all I plan on doing is going to yoga, reading, and visiting with my family and friends. I hope everyone had a lovely Thanksgiving!

5/100: The Liar's Club, by Mary Karr

God, I loved this book. There are actually very few books I read that I end up disliking, you’ll find, but that’s because I take a lot of care in choosing them. This is another one I hijacked from my mom’s bureau, and I can’t say I regret it (she has some really terrible ones on there...like 5 Jodi Picoult books. So clearly, borrowing a “good book” from her is always a gamble). I actually forced myself to stop reading every few chapters or so because I wanted to prolong the characters’ life spans -- and I never put down a book I’m enjoying if I can help it.

Mary Karr’s beautifully written memoir is the kind that stays with you long after you finish it. The facts of her childhood are memorable enough (grew up in the 1960’s in a miserable, barren town in East Texas; her mother had psychotic episodes; she was molested at a heart-sickeningly young age; the list goes on and on…) but her writing style is what truly makes The Liar’s Club a standout from other memoirs. Karr is, by profession, a poet – a fact that is evident in her stark yet languid prose. She tells the story mostly from her viewpoint as a 7 and then 8-year old child, a girl who was as apt to enact revenge on a neighborhood boy by sniper-ing his family with her BB-gun, as she was to winning the school spelling bee or skipping two grades. As the heroine, Mary Marlene practically leaps off the page. She's a child with a bad temper who's isolated because of her family's eccentricity, and learns from an early age how to avenge herself in a world that is, more often than not, unusually cruel.

There isn’t much I can give away in terms of plot – it’s pretty much a given. Like all memoirs, The Liars Club offers a glimpse into what life was like for a certain person as they grew up. Karr’s childhood wasn’t as grossly bizarre as Augusten Burroughs’ (chronicled in Running With Scissors), but she often depicts seriously sad situations with the same blend of pathos and humor. The Liar’s Club put me in mind of Jeannette Wells’ The Glass Castle, in that in both women were no doubt loved very much in their childhoods, but they were still victims of well-intentioned but not entirely stable parents.

I highly recommend The Liar’s Club. It is one of the few books I’ve read in a while that has the ability to make me laugh out loud over a single sentence before bringing me to tears in the following paragraph. Karr has created something truly unique in retelling her experiences as a young, confused, fiery child – a girl who grew up to create beauty out of something so seemingly dark and miserable.

4/100: The Year of Living Biblically, by AJ Jacobs

The Year of Living Biblically chronicles Esquire writer AJ Jacobs' year-long project to follow every single rule set forth in the Bible as literally as possible. I picked up the novel in a bookstore in a Metra station, which gives you a pretty good idea of what to expect from the book. It’s a quick read, chock-full of interesting anecdotes, has loads of historical nuggets, and I can personally testify that it’s entirely suitable for your morning or evening commute. However, enlightening it is not. Profound it is not.

Honestly, I found it pretty annoying at times. Now, after speaking with people who read the book and loved it, I’m pretty sure I’m in the minority with this opinion. After letting the book sink in for several weeks (I finished it back in October), I think I’ve finally pinpointed exactly what bothers me. It’s not that the book itself is bad, it’s just horribly misguided in what it tries to be.

The Year of Living Biblically has a fantastic premise. I mean, the mere idea of a secular New York journalist adhering to the most miniscule rules set down by the Good Book is comedy gold in itself. However, the full title of the book is The Year of Living Biblically: One Man’s Humble Quest to Follow the Bible as Literally as Possible. Now, this book is anything but humble, and I mean that in the best possible way. It is obnoxiously self-indulgent. It is very funny – at times hilarious – because while Jacobs’ complies with the Bible’s rules, he does so with a knowing wink and a grain of irony. Whatever quasi-religious experiences he has are accompanied with witty ripostes – he never lets the reader forget that he is, above all, an Agnostic-Secular-Liberally-Educated-New York-Based-Journalist. Because of this, one knows that Jacobs isn’t actually absorbed in whatever religious fanaticism he’s studying at any given moment – and that cheapens the sacredness for those who do practice whatever respective religion he’s describing. The sincerity of him following the Bible is pretty questionable, because a majority of the time it seems like he’s in it for shits and giggles, as well as the book deal and presumed riches it will bring him.

I’m probably being too harsh of a critic. After all, nearly everything I’ve expressed here is at least partially mentioned in the book itself. However, even Jacobs’ self-critiquing seems a little odd; it's just a little too cute. I do recommend the book for the background it gives on Christianity and Judaism in the context of the 21^st century – it’s gives a nice over-view of things like theories as to how the Bible was written (the J and P traditions, etc, for those of you familiar with historical Biblical texts), and a lot of background regarding prominent laws that a lot of Jews and Christians still follow today. It’s nothing that a college Old Testament course wouldn’t cover, but still fascinating nonetheless. Jacobs is a very engaging and talented writer, and if questionable motives don’t inhibit your ability to enjoy a book, The Year of Living Biblically is definitely one to check out.

3/100: The Last Convertible, by Anton Myrer

I could give you ten reasons off the top of my head as to why I loved this book, but the biggest and best and hardest one to explain is this: The Last Convertible makes me nostalgic for an era I have never known.

I know that sounds a little ridiculous. I am, after all, a child of the 80’s. However, I’m also a product of my parents – two people who unwittingly and unrelentingly defied standard convention throughout my childhood (and who continue to on a daily basis). What I mean by that is I was pretty much raised with an appreciation for things that people four decades my senior enjoy. It’s true that I’ve never cruised around in a 1930’s convertible, nor do I have any memories of the day Pearl Harbor was bombed, but I have vivid memories of my sisters and I maniacally dancing to records of Benny Goodman, Count Basie, and others. I recall – with clarity not usually accredited to 8 year olds – poring over newspaper clippings and the original Life issues announcing Kennedy’s assassination saved from my grandmother’s attic. I’m not recounting these experiences because I think they’re singular to my life; I’m just trying to give you a sense of why and how deeply I felt a connection to Anton Myrer’s novel.

The Last Convertible is, if nothing else, one of the most loving tributes to the 1940’s ever put to page. It details the year and a half leading up to America’s immersion in WWII and the decades that follow through the eyes of George Virdon. After a brief introduction to George as an older man in the 1970’s, the novel moves backward as he recounts his experiences as a young man to his daughter’s boyfriend. The story really begins with George as a freshman at Harvard. His group of friends constitutes the Fusiliers – a fivesome of boys from varying backgrounds whose friendships anchor the plot of the book. One of the greatest strengths of the novel lies in Myrer’s ability to flesh out his characters so wholly – while the story is told through George, it’s clear to see that The Last Convertible is something of an ensemble piece. The Five Fusiliers, their girlfriends (and later, wives), enemies, classmates, and ultimately, children carry as much weight as does George. Better still, each is imbued with distinct realism. No one in Myrer’s world is perfect, yet it is often the flaws and mistakes every character makes that brings so much tenderness to the story.

While the book can be seen as a coming-of-age story, it continues long after the characters’ innocence has been lost. The story follows George and his friends’ lives well into their respective adulthoods, as friendships change, families begin to grow, and the country reacts to the ramifications of the tumultuous war years. As often as characters mourn the loss of their childhoods, there is a touching adherence to the loyalty humans are capable of selflessly giving in crisis, and above all, love even in the bleakest of times.