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.

2/100: Towelhead, by Alicia Erian

I was planning for Dr. Zhivago to be book #2, but I had to pick up a copy of a play that I needed for my Shakespeare class last night, so I stopped in the library. I ended up leaving with 4 more books than I really needed, so be prepared to hear a lot about post-WWII Germany in the upcoming week: 3 of the books are by Heinrich Boll, one of my all-time favorite writers. If you haven’t read The Clown before, go out and get yourself a copy of it. Now. The only way I can describe it to people is that it’s sort of like a grown-up version of The Catcher in the Rye, except that it deals with the hypocrisy of religion and politics, and has an incredibly heartbreaking love story. Thematically, the two don’t have a whole lot in common, but certain elements (for instance, the loss of a sibling to each narrator affects their story a great deal) and character traits of the main characters are somewhat similar. The narrative of The Clown is quite beautiful; Holden Caulfield doesn't hold a candle to Hans Schnier, the clown himself. I could go on and on about the novel, and German literature in general (it’s my favorite genre – I’m a nerd) but I’ll have plenty of time for that when I cover the Boll books. So, before I go off on another tangent, I should get down to business. The 4^th book I picked up (and literally did not put down until I’d finished) was Alicia Erian’s disturbing and darkly funny Towelhead.

Towelhead is about Jasira, a 13 year old girl who is physically mature for her age but is vastly emotionally underdeveloped. This is mainly due to the fact that her parents seem incapable of responsibly raising their child. This becomes largely apparent when Jasira is sent against her wishes to live with her father in Houston. Gail and Rifat have been divorced since Jasira was 5, and they each take turns manipulating Jasira in order to get back at one another. Gail sends Jasira to live with Rifat after Barry, Gail’s boyfriend, behaves inappropriately with Jasira. Gail takes the side of her live-in boyfriend, claiming that Jasira purposely paraded her developing body in front of the older man, and therefore, the 13 year old is more liable for Barry’s actions than Barry himself is. Gail hopes that Rifat, a strict Lebanese man, will have more control over his daughter and will raise her to behave modestly. Unfortunately for Jasira, her father is often cruel and abusive, rarely displaying any affection towards her. He treats her developing sexuality with both frankness and repulsion. Hence, Jasira is often lonely and desperate for attention in any form, including the kind she receives from her 36 year old neighbor, army reservist Mr. Vuoso.

There is a lot of sex and violence in Towelhead. While a majority of it is truly disturbing, Erian injects enough tenderness into the story that one almost understands why Jasira never quite asserts herself against those who are manipulating and mistreating her. I was constantly bothered by Jasira’s passivity about her sexuality – she has moments of emotional clarity, but ultimately reverts into a very child-like view of the events happening around her. I suppose that’s forgivable because she is still very much a child, and even though she has mature desires and wishes to be treated like a woman, she is abused and kept ignorant of any kind of decent relationship (either with adults or other kids, or the ways in which both interact). There are hints of this kind of ideal relationship though, when Jasira meets Gil and Melina, another neighbor couple who show more concern for Jasira’s well being than her own parents ever have.

It’s uncomfortable to read the graphic sex scenes – after all, they involve a 13 year old. I often wanted to stop reading (I can’t help it, I’m a little squeamish, and not so far removed from my Catholic upbringing that sex is still regarded in some tiny corner of my mind a Very Bad Thing.) However, the ending is a soothing salve to the mind-burn you get from everything leading up to Jasira’s revelation. It also manages to get away with being somewhat unrealistically happy without becoming too cloying and saccharine.

1/100: The Cider House Rules, By John Irving

The Cider House Rules is a book with characters so memorable and endearing, I was quite sad to come to the 552nd page of my copy; that is where the story of Homer Wells ends. John Irving fleshed out with incredible detail the world in which Homer lives, including several major and minor characters so thoroughly human, that their fates often made me genuinely happy or genuinely upset at the cruelty allotted to them in their small, fictional lives.

The novel spans (roughly) the years from the 1880's - 1960's, and tells the intertwining histories of two men. The protagonists are Dr. Wilbur Larch and Homer Wells. Dr. Larch is a physician who founds St. Cloud's hospital and orphanage - the site of Homer's birth, and subsequently, his childhood. At the hospital, Dr. Larch provides illegal - but medically safe - abortions and delivers unwanted children, who then spend a part (or all, in Homer's case) of their early years in the orphanage, where they are cared for by Dr. Larch, Nurses Edna and Angela, and Mrs. Grogan. John Irving spends the first 100 pages or so describing Dr. Larch's life before he came to St. Cloud's, the founding of the hospital, and Homer's childhood. The writing is beautifully detailed, poignant, and made me laugh out loud as often as it made me cringe. There are some very gruesome, graphic passages about illegal abortions, but they are crucial because they provide historical context as well as explain Dr. Larch's personal mission to ensure that every woman who comes to him has access to proper care, regardless of her personal decision.

Homer Wells, after several attempted adoptions, comes to call St. Cloud's home. When he reaches a somewhat mature age and it becomes apparent that he will not be adopted another time, Dr. Larch, who's grown fond of Homer despite his best efforts to remain unattached, decides that Homer will be of use as long as he's around. Homer becomes Larch's assistant, and after being educated by Gray's Anatomy and Larch himself, becomes something of a quasi-obstetrician. Homer's unease regarding abortions - he believes that fetus' have souls - forces a wedge between the two men, who have acquired something of a father/son relationship. When Homer is 20, the opportunity to see more of the world beyond St. Cloud's presents itself in the form of Candy Kendall and Wally Worthington, a young couple who seek Dr. Larch's skills in abortion. Dr. Larch, who's known for a while that the time for Homer to leave the orphanage is coming, encourages Homer to leave St. Cloud's and travel to the Worthington's coastal apple orchard.

At Ocean View, Wally's family's orchard, Homer makes somewhat of a home, and is sort of adopted by Olive and Senior Worthington. Incidentally, World War II is approaching, and Wally, to whom Candy is engaged, volunteers. Homer, who has been in love with Candy since the day she arrived at St. Cloud's, is unable to fight due to a congenital heart defect (or so he believes; Dr. Larch altered Homer's medical record without Homer's knowledge because he was afraid of losing the boy, who'd become a son to him). When Homer and Candy receive the news that Wally's plane has been shot down over Burma, they presume him dead, and have an affair. I know that sounds very callous when written like that, but in the novel it's a lot more complicated. I'm just over-simplifying for the sake of condensing this review.

SPOILER ALERT
The short version is this: Candy hides her pregnancy by traveling with Homer to St. Cloud's for the winter and spring. When the two return with a baby in May, they tell everyone that Homer adopted one of the children of the orphanage. Wally returns from Burma, where he did not die, but spent 10 months MIA. He and Candy marry, and Homer raises his son to believe he has been adopted. Homer and Candy eventually tell Angel (Homer's son) and Wally about their affair. Wally has known the entire time but has accepted Homer and Candy's story out of his love for them both. Homer ends up returning to St. Cloud's, where Dr. Larch, who has been quite present in the story (although I've sort of omitted him, which is a shame, because he was my favorite main character), has falsified an educational history for Homer, thus allowing him to continue Dr. Larch's work in St. Cloud's. Homer comes to realize that abortions are necessary to have as a choice for women, and he cannot abstain from performing them because of his personal beliefs. Dr. Larch, who has been addicted to ether for several decades, dies of an ether overdose just before Homer comes to this conclusion.
END SPOILERS

This isn't a very analytic review, and I didn't really add a whole lot of insight, but I really enjoyed this novel. It was a pretty easy read, and for as heartrending as the story was as a whole, I found it ultimately uplifting, and as corny as this may sound: triumphant. I must warn you though, if you're pro-life, you'll no doubt take issue with the strong pro-choice sentiments that permeate the entire book. However, if you're pro-choice, it'll make you incredibly grateful that Roe V Wade was passed; also, you'll want to throw a (hardcover) copy of this book at anyone who makes the argument that it should be repealed.