#52 - Corelli's Mandolin

Many, many years ago my friend Kathleen handed me a copy of Corelli's Mandolin and told me I had to read it. It's a favourite of many friends of ours and it's been sitting on my shelf for probably close to a decade (wow that's frightening to admit). I don't know what made me pick it up a couple weeks ago when I was on my way into the hospital to get a post-surgery check up, but I'm glad I did. It's a lovely, flawed, novel.

At first, it was hard for me to get into the narrative. Louis de Bernières has an interesting writing style. It's dense and worthy of your concentrated attention but it's also whimsical and a little magical (reminding me of Allende and Garcia Marquez). Interspersed with the stories of two of the main characters, father and daughter Iannis and Pelagia, are stories of the Italian dictator, Greece rebels, Italian soldiers (including Antonio Corelli of the aforementioned mandolin), and various other people. It all comes together to create a rich and layered book that presented one of the most gruesome, terrifying portraits of war I've ever read. The scenes where Francesco (an Italian soldier) finds himself knee-deep in the fighting were as deeply affecting as Saving Private Ryan was when I watched it for the first time all those years ago.

The love story between Corelli, an Italian invader of the Greek island where Pelagia and her father live, is complicated by her previous relationship to a foolish, troubled boy named Mandras. War also divides them. The impossibility of the situation heightens their emotions but the impossibility of the situation refuses to abait, especially when both Italy and Germany are found to be on losing sides of the war. De Bernières plums the depths of human nature as it relates to society in this novel. It's always up for discussion, whether it's men forced to obey the orders of war or of humanity; for women forced into situations because of their gender; for the pressures that social justice sets upon a person, the larger themes to the novel go on and on. And like many novels that explore, these larger philosophical discussions are set against the very real situation of human suffering. Rape, murder, theivery, you name it, people do awful things to one another, but at the same time it's the idea of love that keeps the idea that there's a reward to life, even if it takes years to realize.

The end of the novel sort of fell down for me. To discuss it in too much detail would spoil the entire novel, so I'll just say that it was flat and somewhat cliched, tired and a little bit implausible. Yet, the strength of this book for me was the gruesome, realistic and utterly terrifying sections about the men suffering through the harrowing days of combat. My heart ached for them.

READING CHALLENGES: 1001 Books baby!

Monday Rambles

The best part about Word on the Street, for me anyway, is talking to avid readers about the books they've read and then giving them recommendations. One of the books I was talking about to anyone who'd listen yesterday was Colum McCann's Let the Great World Spin. My favourite part of the day was pitching the book to a couple while a fellow was listening (I wasn't even talking to him!) who said, "Sold! I wouldn't have picked up that book based on the cover but you've got me now." He walked away with my favourite book of the season under his arm.

For the most part, I have convinced myself that I'm not a "marketing" person. When I first started my career, while I was finishing up my schooling, I worked in circulation. I hated it. In fact, I would even go so far as to say I despised it. For years I tried to get into magazine editorial and no one would give me a job. Not even an assistant's job. Nothing. And so I gave up. I found writing work elsewhere (on the web) and have always been a little disappointed in myself for not knowing how to find that work in any other way.

I'm rambling, I know.

There were things that I loved about being a content producer (back in the day). But I've only ever wanted to write about what I want to write about. But that sits in direct conflict with one of the goals I've set out for myself -- which is make a living by my pen (me and Aphra Behn; natch). The thing is, I'm not sure I'll ever get there. I'm too old to start a whole new career, too young to give up on finding fulfillment at work, and too tired to put much effort into the whole freelance racket. And let's face it, I'm too shy and also too insecure to be any good at pitching.

But here's the rub -- once a year I love (at Word on the Street) being in "marketing." Most of the time I'll deny the designation. I have a love/hate relationship with the term. I've never wanted to have much to do with the idea of it as a career. It's tangential to working with books online. The companies aren't big enough to have digital departments proper (here in Canada anyway) and there are marketing elements to what we do online. If you want to do online and be in books, you have to at least accept the fact that you will also be in marketing.

For me, however, it's always been about the words. Until I'm forced into a crowd and made to stand up and shout. And once a year I discover that I absolutely adore talking to strangers about books. I love being asked what I've read and what I thought. I love finding kindred spirits in terms of reading habits. And I get over my whole-hearted fear of crowds and people and talking in public and all the normal insecurities that have me generally communicating by written instead of spoken words.

I don't know what the point of this post really is beyond a couple of observations. I sat down at home on Saturday and wrote for the first time in months. I felt like myself. And then I felt angry that I had committments that took me away from those words I wrote. I finished two articles that I adored writing for ExperienceTO and wondered, again, if I shouldn't just take the plunge and try to make a living solely from my pen.

These last few month have seen me be so utterly conflicted about so many different elements in my life. I guess I'm just waiting for the universe to show up and give me a little direction. What say you Astrology Zone?

#51 - Pride and Prejudice and Zombies

It seems I'm starting every book review off with a confession of sorts. Well, today is no exception. The only reason I read Pride and Prejudice and Zombies (P+P+Z) was for work -- we've been running a fun Undeath Match with my friend Dan at Raincoast, which pits our HarperCollins book The Strain against their Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. Dan's taking the side of zombies and I'm defending vampires. So trust that the review I write about P+P+Z here will be a little more balanced than the one I'll probably post over there.

Let me just say that I enjoyed Seth Grahame-Smith's literary mash-up more than I thought I would. When the book exploded over the summer, like many other literary snobs, I sort of poo-pooed the whole idea. Who would want to read a ruined version of Austen's timeless classic? Thousands upon thousands of readers, it turns out, myself included. The novel doesn't take itself too seriously, it basically follows the plot of the original, and tosses in more than a few awesome (and funny) scenes of Elizabeth battling the "unmentionables" (the zombies) throughout.

For all its clever humour, there is an underlying respect, I hope, for the original text because there's more of a film adaptation feeling to the book than anything else. Entire sections of dialogue read almost verbatim to the Keira Knightley version (yes, I've seen it enough times to know), which sort of made the whole enterprise a little more palatable for me. Grahame-Smith got quite a few things wrong too -- the shrill nature of his Mrs. Bennett doesn't have any of the savvy humour from the original, and Elizabeth seems to share a lot of her inner thoughts in ways that would have made the original Lizzie cringe.

The success of P+P+Z has spawned a sequel, Sense and Sensibility and Sea Creatures, which I probably won't read only because the original is still on my 1001 Books Challenge (shameful, I know), and I don't want to ruin the utter perfection of reading a Jane Austen novel along the way. But if you're looking for a bit of escapist, oddly engaging, and definitely funny words to pass a weekend, I'd recommend the book, even if it's just for the last fight scene. I'm not going to spoil it, but it's awesome.

TRH Movie - The Private Lives of Pippa Lee

There are few times in my life when I'm honestly star struck. I'm sure that if I was in the same room as George Clooney, I'd be tongue tied and shaking in my boots, but for the most part I've met some very cool people in my time working in both television and publishing. However, last night, at the gala premiere of The Private Lives of Pippa Lee, I have to admit I was a little gaga over Rebecca Miller, Keanu Reeves and Robin Wright Penn. They were all just so luminous, humble, appreciative and lovely (and I didn't even get to actually meet them).

Rebecca Miller's film, adapted from her novel of the same name, remains hard to describe. Simply, it's a solidly good film with great characters, an interesting story, and fantastic performances. It's everything a movie should be, and then some. I know I'm a little biased because I really enjoyed the book and have been a fan of Miller's writing ever since I saw Personal Velocity. I still remember this line every time I think of that film: "Delia Shunt was 34. She had fine, dirty-blond hair and a strong, heavy ass...which looked excellent in blue jeans."

For girls with heavy asses, it was a revelation of sorts.

But back to Pippa Lee, the titular main character who finds herself marooned in a retirement community after her much older husband suffers from three separate, serious heart attacks. The consumate wife, Pippa spends her days planning meals and raising her kids. She's paying penance, it seems, for her earlier, wilder years. Suffering from what she calls a quiet mental breakdown, Pippa starts walking, eating, even driving, in her sleep. The sleepwalking is just the beginning. Pippa's carefully constructed life crumbles down around her but it's not a bad thing. It's surprisingly, enlightening, even fabled, in a way.

The press point that Robin Wright Penn keeps mentioning, both in the conference yesterday and her red carpet interview, is how there are so few roles like this for women in Hollywood. It's a familiar theme: women of a certain age getting cast aside for younger, fresher models. Maybe we need more auteurs like Miller, women who not only write, but also direct, intelligent films that present complex, honest, flawed characters like Pippa Lee. Wright Penn inhabits the role in ways that brought it to life beyond the book. She has a range and depth of emotion that displays a tenderness toward life, for her kids, for her husband, even when they're being utterly shitty to her. When everything changes and she does something so out of character (although not necessarily so when you look at her actions in the context of her entire life), it's hard not to cheer her on. You're utterly on Pippa Lee's side and that's entirely because of Wright Penn's performance.

There's a lovely chemistry between Keanu Reeves and Wright Penn. Equally troubled in his own life, Reeves' character finds himself in his mid-thirties, divorced and back living with his parents. Their friendship remains the most honest relationship (for a point) in Pippa's life. With all new friendships, what's nice is finding out the other's story without any judgment. That's biggest difference between Chris and Pippa's husband Herb (Alan Arkin). So it's easy to see why and how their relationship develops. Plus, there's a point in the movie where Chris says, "Hi there," to Pippa and I must admit, swoon.

Also, Winona Ryder, Alan Arkin and Mike Binder do well as the supporting characters, and Blake Lively's even passable as the young Pippa (but her "bite my lip" equals "emotion" style of "Serena" acting gets a little tired). I was surprised by Reeves' casting but, like everyone in the film, he's really good. I can't say much else -- it's just a good film. That might sound trite but I honestly mean it. Usually, I'll say that one should just read the book, forget about the movie; it'll only pale in comparison. But here the film is an amazing complement to the novel -- so I'm happily suggesting one should do both.

#50 - Shutter Island

I am this-close to being all caught up with my book reviews. I've got two more after Dennis Lehane's Shutter Island, and then I'm almost current. What a shock to my system that'll be: actually talking about my life in real time. Like The Best of Everything, Shutter Island was another book that I read in pretty much one sitting.

Here comes the confessional. [whispers] I cheat and sometimes read the endings of books first. I know. It's terrible. But it's something I started doing when I was a kid and can't control. So, after I started Shutter Island, I just had to know what happened. Like, HAD to know. Like, COULDN'T wait until I actually got to the end, and I resisted. Oh, I resisted until early evening when everyone else was playing cards and I was still reading. And then I couldn't stop myself. Flipping the book over I scanned the last few pages and said, "WHAT? No, that can't be right. I don't understand."

Serves me right.

Back to the traditional old-school read it from beginning to ending. U.S. Marshal Teddy Daniels and his new partner, Chuck Aule, arrive on Shutter Island for a routine missing persons case. Except, is it really all that routine when the island, separated from the mainland by high tides, rocky outcrops and cold water, is home to a prison for some of the country's most disturbed and dangerous offenders? So, one of them has gone missing -- she's utterly disappeared from her cell (not unlike Andy in The Shawshank Redemption only without the giant poster and the actual explanation) and no one knows what's happened. But when Teddy and Chuck step off the ferry, nothing is as it seems. The staff are cryptic and unhelpful. The clues are confusing and don't make sense. And soon Teddy's not only lost his partner but he's on the verge of losing his mind too. He can't get off the island. No, wait, let's rephrase that, they won't let him off the island.

Let me tell you: I did not expect the ending. It came out of left field for me so much that I had to re-read the prologue AND the last few pages more than once. Lehane's such a convincing writer that you get swept away in Teddy's story the moment he tosses his cookies on the ferry ride over. That's a part of why the novel's so masterful too -- that for a twist of this magnitude to work, you need to be with the main character from the very beginning. You need to sweat when he sweats, so to speak, and sweat you do.

I'm stoked for the movie, even if they've delayed its opening until next winter. Here's the trailer in case you've been living under a rock these last few months:

Is it just me or is it totally terrifying? Trust me when I say that the book throws the same kind of punch.

#49 - The Best of Everything

We had some friends from Winnipeg come to stay with us a couple of days ago. It marked another milestone in our house. We finally have an actual spare bedroom with an actual spare bed -- a place for guests to rest their weary, travelled heads on comfy pillows and cozy sheets. It's not that I'm not an adult, but I haven't felt like one in quite some time living in our cramped, half-used house. But the more rooms that become finished and look beautiful (the living room; the dining room; half of the kitchen), the happier I am that we can use the upstairs for its actual intent.

Okay /tangent.

We all went up to our cottage for an extended long weekend. Happily, I took a few days off because my body still wasn't ready for a full week of work. I'm not convinced I am even now but again I'm writing in tangents instead of getting to the point. We spent a lovely day at the Petroglyphs Provincial Park, and even went hiking, which utterly killed me. So the following day, when everyone else was boating and cavorting, I sat down inside and out and read Rona Jaffe's excellent The Best of Everything cover to cover.

The book was first published in 1958, and author Rona Jaffe based it somewhat on her own experiences as a young editor at Fawcett publications. The novel reads like Mad Men, only it's from the perspective of four different women (somewhat complete with a less suave Don Draper-esque character in the senior editor, Mike Rice) who work at the publishing company. They all start off in the secretarial pool, and some remain there until they get married, then pregnant, and leave the story. While there are many women featured in the novel, there are four whose stories drive the majority of the action. Their stories intersect as their friendships do -- sometimes accidentally, sometimes on purpose -- but the skillful nature of Jaffe's narrative never lets the threads drop that sew the entire story together.

Caroline, a young girl with an ivy league eductation, steps out of the subway from a long commute into Manhattan excited about her first job. She was to have been married to her college sweetheart who, after taking one last hurrah to Europe, found himself walking down the aisle with someone else. A career girl in the making, Caroline soon rises up the ranks to become a junior editor, but the road isn't easy, and she simply can't find the same kind of success in her personal life. Being beautiful, smart, and talented means that Caroline questions everything, and her story was the one that I found so heartbreaking by the end.

Then there's April and Gregg, two aspiring actresses, the former whose wholesome, mid-Western roots don't necessarily prepare her for the big city, and the latter who can't help but make disasterous mistakes after she becomes involved with a powerful Broadway producer. The majority of their problems (read: all) come in the form of love affairs. April gets in over her head with a wealthy playboy and Gregg can't seem to stop herself from troubling behaviour. The fourth and final woman Jaffe centres the novel around, Barbara, is a divorcee with a young child. She works hard to support her mother and her daughter, and struggles with the societal implications of divorce in the 1950s.

They are all flawed, fascinating and forgiving characters. They are women who search for meaning in a world where they're just trying to find their footing. All four of them exist somewhat outside the "normal" women who sit beside them planning their weddings and having babies, even if that's eventually what happens in their lives. The Best of Everything reminded me in tone and storytelling of Revolutionary Road, even of Jaffe's not as exacting as Yates remains in his prose. It's a product of its time, surely, so a realistic picture of the concerns of women from the time period, but the themes are so universal. Women dealing with sexual abuse, women defining themselves in the work place against men, women coping with the expectations of a relationship, love, and life. I can't put into words what kind of an effect the novel had upon me -- I just couldn't put it down until I got to the very end, and even then, I didn't want it to be over.

There's a comparison to it being a kind of pre-Sex and the City. But I think that's a glib comparison, more of a marketing pitch than a thoughtful critique. Sure there are similiarities that can't be ignored in terms of their gender, and even their personalities, but these four women are compelling because they exist within these pages. They're not driven by the weekly melodrama of a half-hour television series. They're broken in ways that can't be fixed. They're complex in ways that can't be quipped. And they have stayed in my mind, especially Caroline, since I finished reading.

Highly recommended. Thanks to Rachel again for telling me about this novel. Again, she's a gem.

#48 - Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day

Sometimes, you need a little lightness in your life. After a hard summer and an even harder year, I'm happy to say that there are a couple of things I've watched and read over the last couple weeks that just make me smile. Glee (Freaks and Geeks meets Fame meets Election) equals bliss and belly laughs, but it's only one once a week. So over the last few weeks I was reading Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day only at the cottage and only before I went to sleep just to make it last that little bit longer.

I adored this novel.

Miss Pettigrew finds herself on Delysia Lafosse's doorstep after a particularly trying last assignment as a governess. In fact, Miss Pettigrew has found herself sent off on a number of trying assignments as she attempts to make her way in the world. Plain (by her own standards), practical, and quite downtrodden, if this job doesn't work out, Miss Pettigrew will find herself out on the streets. Only when Miss Lafosse opens up the door to usher Miss Pettigrew inside, there's been a mixup -- she's not there to take care of any children but be a maid (of sorts) for the vivacious young actress/singer who finds herself in quite a pickle when it comes to her love life.

Over the course of the day Miss Pettigrew fixes, fiddles, meddles and generally makes herself indispensible to Delysia and her group of friends. She puts love affairs right, makes sure Miss Lafosse flies in the right direction and even spares some fun for herself. As the minutes and hours tick by, Miss Pettigrew evolves from the unconfident, unhappy, unsuccessful governess into a bright, witty, attractive woman who remains in charge of her station in life. It's a simple Cinderella story in a way -- but that doesn't take away from the charm and utter bliss of this book.

When I was reading a little about the author, Winifred Watson, I learned that she wrote the majority of her first novel while working in an office as a sectretary. Her first books had darker themes and when she submitted Miss Pettigrew, her publisher rejected it (Lionel Shriver can relate). It's a familiar story -- publishers and agents rejecting books that find resonance, win prizes and get made into equally delightful Hollywood films (yes; I've seen the film version that starts Francis McDormand and Amy Adams). I'm so pleased that Persephone exists and a little ashamed that this is the first of their novels that I've read. It certainly won't be the last.

READING CHALLENGES: Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day is one of the 1001 Books to Read Before You Die, and while I did actually buy it vs pull it off my shelf, I'm counting it anyway. Also, high props to Rachel for recommending it to me. She's a gem.

The Money Books (#s 46, 47)

For those of you who know the real me, the non-virtual Deanna, you know that I'm a worrier. I fret a lot. I spend a lot of sleepless nights pondering things as random as why I'm so obsessed with True Blood this season and how on earth I'm ever going to finish the book I've been writing the last few years. A recurring theme in my sleepless nights is listmaking. I find that if I get up and write down a list of all the things I can actually do to assuage whatever is bothering me at that moment, I can actually get some sleep. One of the main things I consistently write down has to do with money: paying bills, managing accounts, moving things around, and debt.

Debt and I have quite a history together. For years I thought of debt as free money. I thought of credit cards as a means of filling in the gaps. Maybe it's because I wasn't really taught proper money management as a kid (and that's not the fault of my parents; it just wasn't something we discussed and then there was a lot of tragedy that sort of took over...). I was in my early 20s when I truly started to understand how money works. And with that understanding came a glimpse of a day when I wouldn't have to worry about it all the time. I learned that it's not just important to be in control of your financial situation but it's also necessary to understand the true cost of things.

So, over the years I've read a number of money-related books: Suze Orman, David Bach, and many, many more. These books all pretty much say the same thing: buy a house, keep up with extra mortgage payments, invest wisely, blah de freaking blah. It's the same advice packaged in fancier ways: Women and money. Going green and your money. Getting married and your money. Yawn.

I didn't need any more "whys." What I needed were "hows." Enter Kerry K. Taylor's excellent 397 Ways to Save Money. When I read this book in manuscript form before we published it, I honestly sat at my desk, skipped lunch, and then wrote an exuberant note to her editor about how smart and savvy I thought it was. It's a little bit of the "whys" but it's mainly pages upon pages of good tips about how to save money. How and when to reduce, reuse and recycle. How to shop smarter. How to make your resources stretch further and longer so that you aren't looking down the barrel of double and triple-digit credit card debt month after month.

Then I learned we were publishing a book called Debt-Free Forever by Gail Vaz-Oxlade. I'd never heard of her nor had I watched 'Til Debt Do Us Part (both situations I have now rectified). I read it, too, in manuscript form and am only going to say that it's changed my outlook entirely on budgeting (always thought it was more trouble than it's worth) and living within your means (what's the difference if all the bills get paid anyway).

I've also been doing a lot of thinking about money in general and what it means to my life. Truly, it's a means to an end; it's a way for us to finish the house but, it, inherently, doesn't have any value. What do I mean? Well, it's not worth fighting over. It's not worth worrying over, and it's certainly not worth killing yourself (or others) for. Over the course of my reading, I'm going to share some of the "revolutions" I'm trying to make over the next little while. Again, if I share the list, I'm going to stick to it, right?

1. Use what I buy. Like so many people who work above a Shopper's Drug Mart and down the street from Sephora and Holt Renfrew, I've got cupboards full of make up, creams, gift baskets, foot massagers, shampoos, etc. I keep buying more and more -- it's on sale, I'm there, I like the smell, and I used them, but our shower's all clogged up with half-empty plastic (natch) bottles. I've vowed to use up every single last bit of something before buying something new. That includes all the samples I've been saving for goodness knows what and the umpteen travel kits I've bought from Dermologica over the years. Good for the environment and good for the wallet. Although if you see me wandering around with fuzzy, dried out hair and clumpy mascara, you know why.

2. Use up my gift certificates. I don't know why I hoard these things but I do. I think that it's not a good idea to spend them so I've got them tucked away into all corners of things. Redeem all my points for more certificates and use up those too? The best thing I've done? Cash in HBC rewards points for MAC makeup and Levi's jeans. Oh, and a new coffee maker for the cottage. All FREE. Well, sort of free because we have so many points from renovation costs that we've cashed in on HBC gift certificates. Um, also, did you know you can use your AirMiles points for a TTC pass? Yeah, that's what I'm doing in October...

3. Wear what I buy. See #1 above. This one's harder because I've lost a pile of weight due to the almost-dying appendicitis nightmare and none of my clothes fit. Like, none of them. It's a good thing I own some belts.

4. Use cash. I've put my RRHB and I on a budget that we're going to try to stick to over the next few months while we try to make a pile of payments on the renovation debt. It's not easy. And it's not something we've EVER done before.

5. Engage in some serious staycation activities. We did some of this at the cottage the other weekend when we went to Petroglyphs Provincial Park. Even though gas isn't cheap, I put a little extra in our transportation budget so we can take advantage of fun things we can do within driving distance. Also, we're lucky because we have a cottage. That doesn't mean we won't take a vacation, it just means that we'll be finding some new and interesting things to do that don't involve spending $100.00 at the movies. This will be hard. I love to go to the movies.

6. Garden more. Both indoors and out. It's hard to do during the winter, I know, but I'm already planning our garden for next spring/summer because we ate so much of our own homegrown food this year that makes the effort worth it. What I won't do? Spend obsessive amounts of money on more and more seeds.

7. Pay all our bills on time, including our taxes. I'm usually pretty good at this but tend to let the taxes drift and drift and drift...

8. Take care of the important but really boring things like RRSPs, wills and other financial planning. I always put these off as "oh, I'll get around to it one day."

9. Try to find ways to write more for me. This isn't necessarily money-related but it does go to the whole idea of the true cost of the things in your life. The more I write the more potential I have for becoming a "real" writer one day. The more I write the less it becomes a hobby and more the job that I've always wanted it to be.

10. Become more crafty. And not how the Beastie Boys meant it. But more like discovering the girl that grew up making pinecone decorations and sewing. This will also be hard. I feel as though I am terribly untalented in the crafty areas. It's not a skill I inherited from my truly crafty and wonderfully creative mother.

Tuesday That Feels Like Monday

When the day starts off out of the ordinary, like when your RRHB breaks his car key and you need to take a cab to find him only to discover you've left your phone at home and have no idea where he's parked, you're already tired even before you begin. Then you have to run for the streetcar, which you hate taking because you can't read (it makes you car sick), but decide to take the long way round on the subway even if it'll make you late just so you can squeeze in 10 minutes of Captain Corelli's Mandolin because it's a really good book that you should have read more of yesteday instead of watching every episode of 'Til Debt Do Us Part. So now you're overtired and overstimulated because the MANY hours of TV yesterday afternoon kept you up all night and you haven't been able to do yoga since the whole appendix nightmare, which means that you're behind in just about every aspect of your life because you lost a whole month to the sickness and when you're this out of sorts where do you even start in terms of trying to get caught up?

#45 - The Last Summer (of You & Me)

Before I review Ann Brashares first adult novel (she's the author of the uber-lovely Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants series), I'm going to make a confession. This book made me cry. Big, crocodile tears that caused my RRHB to put his hand on my shoulder and ask if I was okay as I was reading in bed. I was sobbing. Sniffling, snorting, bawling. Except I'm not really sure why. For the most part, the novel itself was utterly predictable, the characters were a little one-dimensional, and the story never truly resonates like her previous series.

Two sisters, Alice and Riley, have spent their summers (for their entire lives) on a tiny island off the coast of New York. Fire Island might be where they spend the warm months but for Riley and Alice, like so many Canadian kids who grew up at cottages (like me), it's where their whole world starts and ends. Their collective best friend Paul (he's Riley's age; Alice is younger) lives next door. He's slightly troubled with a crazy mother, a pile of money from his rich grandparents, and a heart that seemingly always lands in the right place. So when Paul comes back to the island to spend the summer after he's finished university, everything changes. And the relationship between the three of them will never be the same again when the cold weather rolls in.

But it's not just growing up that changes their relationship, it's tragedy. Unpredictable, yet honestly a little too twee, the plot feels too contrived to make a great impact on me as a reader. Even if Brashares can write emotion like few others, the novel doesn't feel adult, it still feels on the cusp of YA. It has predictable situations that are written with deep feeling and characters who wear their hearts on their sleeves only after a little prodding. Alice and Riley, despite their differences, felt a little too much like characters, if that makes any sense. They're too polar opposite, trying too hard to be "distinct," and, in ways, just a little too perfect despite everything that happens to them. There's everything and the kitchen sink in this novel, issue piled upon issue, so you feel a little like you're watching a movie of the week. 

It might seem like I'm being overly critical. Maybe I am. Yet, despite all of my criticisms, let me just say again, when it came to the tragic bits, I ended up with giant, salty tears falling down my sweet cheeks. Now that's got to count for something. 

#44 - Dark Places

There's a certain macabre element to Gillian Flynn's writing that I can appreciate. Yes, it scares the crap out of me (but I am easily frightened). Yes, it seems a little overtly horrific at times. But, overall, they're solid thrillers that camp more in the David Fincher and Mo Hayder side of the genre than say the Law and Order and Alexander McCall Smith side. Her latest novel, Dark Places, climbs into just that, both metaphorically and literally. 

Libby Day survives one of the most brutal crimes ever to take place in Kinnakee, Kansas. She's just seven when her mother and two sisters are murdered (in cold blood, yes, indeed) late one winter night. Dashing from the house after taking refuge in her mother's bedroom, Libby hides from her brother Ben, the only other survivor, when he comes calling for her. Based on her own fuzzy recollections, Ben is convicted of the murders and has spent the past 25 years in jail. 

Bittersweet and slightly morose, Libby has made a decent living from being the lone survivor of "The Satan Sacrifice of Kinnakee, Kansas." Scraping the barrel of the trust fund that was set up after the deaths of her family members, her father lost to alcohol and hard living, Libby hasn't ever truly held down a real job. Then along comes The Kill Club, a group of amateur sleuths who thrive on the more grotesque nature of the crimes, combing through old evidence to try and solve the unsolvable. The Kill Club, and its obsession with serial killers, gives Libby a second chance to come to terms with her life -- they (and especially one of their main members, Lyle Wirth) don't believe Ben committed the crime and they're willing to pay her to dig deeper into her past to find out the truth. And find out the truth she does, but it's not what Libby, or the reader for that matter, expects.

Whenever I read a book that circles around  such disturbing events, I can't help but think about something Alissa York said once, that a writer's imagination, because it's that, made-up, can go places that people don't normally go. They explore situations and characters that seemingly come from out of left field and that only work in the context of that particular book. Flynn does a great job with these dark places, both from the novel's title and from the pages within, and if I have one complaint, it's that I'm not entirely convinced by the conclusion. Like her first novel, Sharp Objects, the novel rips along like mad for the first two-thirds, and then falls down just slightly when the penultimate moment arrives. The true ending, however, as in the very last chapter of the book, was utterly satisfying.

#43 - The Wife's Tale

Lori Lansens has yet again written an all-consuming kind of novel. Just like her two previous books, Rush Home Road and The Girls, The Wife's Tale, from start to finish, remains the kind of novel that once you've read the first sentence you don't stop until you've finished the entire book. When the whole appendicitis turned from bad dream into nightmare, I'm not ashamed to admit that The Wife's Tale was a big part of holding on to my sanity that second week I spent in the hospital.

The novel opens with Mary Gooch on the cusp of celebrating her 25th wedding anniversary. She married her high school sweetheart but they've drifted apart over the years. And the losses, personal, professional, have manifested in her psychological and physical self. Borderline agoraphobic (she still leaves the house) and morbidly obese, Mary has tightened up her life in such a way that it couldn't be any smaller. Her menial job at the pharmacy in town is a means to an end (and a chocolate delivery) and her husband Gooch's isn't much more satisfying. Once a golden boy, Gooch isn't apparently unsatisfied with his life, but when he disappears leaving nothing behind but a fat bank account, Mary must face life for the first time alone.

In a way, it's a novel of discovery for Mary, a long, rambling Chaucer-like adventure that transforms her in ways she never would have imagined. The narrative keeps tight to Mary: you're on the edge when Gooch doesn't come home, you feel her pain when she finds herself completely lost without him, and when she takes the steps towards becoming her own person you can't help but cheer her on. Lansens has a way of writing this character, this woman who could be the butt of so many jokes, without any caricature. While she may come from a small town, she's not a hick; she's not a stereotype, and her transformation is kind of movie-esque magical.

There are unsatisfying elements to the story that I'm not going to spoil here. I'm going to leave off with my first impressions of this book, remembered now a month after reading: it takes a hell of a writer to take such a Hollywood plot, "woman abandoned on her 25th anniversary, obese, unsatisfied and unhappy" and turn it into moments that bring tears to your eyes for their honesty, originality and utter good-heartedness. 

READING CHALLENGES: I'm counting The Wife's Tale as the second book in my Canadian Book Challenge. While I haven't done my "official" post about the theme I'm going to try just yet because I honestly haven't decided what I want to read for the rest of the year, I still think a year that includes The Wife's Tale and February can only be counted as inspiring. 

#42 - February

Hands down, Lisa Moore's excellent February might just be my favourite Can-lit book of the year. When I read it over about 24 hours in the hospital I couldn't help but admire both Moore's storytelling abilities, how her plot drifts around like clouds but with all the purpose of the weather behind them, and her emotional resonance, how each of the characters carry their sadness and happiness around with them in almost equal measure.

In 1982, almost at the start of their lives together, at the very least within the first, happy, happy years, Helen O'Mara's husband Cal tragically loses his life in a major oil rig accident. Over the course of the novel, moving backwards and forwards from the past to the present (sometimes even within the same paragraph), Moore reveals Helen's life. How she raised her four children almost by herself, how they grow up, stay or leave, and relate to her as both a mother and then a grandmother. But the astonishing truth about the story isn't just Helen's ability to get on with her life while at the same time being utterly unable to forget Cal, it's more how she manages to fit all of the pieces in without completely breaking down outwardly.

The sharp contrast between the Helen that lives inside her mind and the reality of Helen's world ensures February endlessly (and easily) drifts between the two pulling the reader closer and closer to the character. It's impossible not to get emotionally involved with Helen's life, with the loss of her greatest love, with her difficult relationship to her equally difficult son, with the glimmer of hope when the chance for happiness comes around.

In short, I guess you could say that I loved this novel. And I can't think of a better book to start off my latest Canadian Book Challenge. That's one down. Also, I was reminded of Marilynne Robinson's equally excellent Home while reading February. They both have similar plots in the sense that a son must return home to face up to the consequences of their lives...if you enjoy Robinson's writing, you would enjoy Moore's latest.

#41 - We Need To Talk About Kevin

Lionel Shriver's Orange prize-winning novel has been on my "to be read" pile ever since I started working at HarperCollins Canada, two point five years ago. Somehow, it always got shuffled around, whether or not I was trying to start or finish a challenge, or something flashy had caught my eye, the book remained on the pile. I guess I found the subject matter a little daunting: a mother talks through letters to her ex-husband about their troubled child, Kevin, who was responsible for a serious school shooting incident.

But once you start We Need to Talk About Kevin, it's almost impossible to put down. Shriver has a way with character that forces the reader to confront human nature head on -- both the good and the bad. There's no stereotype in Eva. She's an individual who has made her way in the world, created a successful company and lives a happy life with her husband. She's hesitant to start a family for a number of reasons: will she be a good mother, how will a baby change their lives, what will it do to her relationship, all of which seem rational when making a decision as big as whether or not to start a family. And it's apparent that it's a decision, and not an accident, when she gets pregnant with Kevin. Everything else that happens later seems to fall from Eva as a result of her inability to feel happy about the birth of her son. It's not as if she blames herself but more that she's working through the blame, the denial, the regret, as she sends letter after letter to her estranged husband, Franklin.

The letters are personal and they are obviously missing a bit of perspective. But that's why they are just so effective, you are in Eva's life irrevocably, and you feel her pain, are motivated by her hurt, and want to understand what went wrong almost as much as she does. I don't think you can write a book like this without laying bare the limitations of humanity in a way -- of society's ability to forgive and forget to a point that benefits those directly involved in tragedy. For Eva, she's haunted by her losses, surely, but she's also haunted by the simple fact that life doesn't end even if you might want it to, even if you believe it should. You take a step and move into a more, miserable life, but you're alive nonetheless.

Her relationship to her son, the mass murderer, is complex, difficult, aching, and utterly real. But what I loved most about my Perennial edition, was the story behind the book at the end. Apparently, Shriver (and I'm paraphrasing so hopefully I don't get this too wrong) wrote this novel really quickly and sent it to her agent at the time who rejected it entirely. The string of novels she'd written up to that point hadn't been enormously successful and when the agent refused to sell it, Shriver took it upon herself to send it to an editor friend, who ultimately (I think) published the book. Then, as we all know, it won a well-deserved Orange Prize. Sometimes a writer simply has to trust her own voice. Right?

Quick Update

After the mess of appendicitis, I'm heading up north for my final week of recovery. I'm excited to go back to work on Monday, even just for the short week that I have planned, if only because after all of this, I just need some part of my life back. I don't need my ass back and am quite happy it's disappeared, but my life, well, I honestly miss it, even the crappy parts.

TRH Reading Catch Up -- The Movie Tie-In Edition

So, I've read a number of books since I've been, well, unblogging, if we can call it that. Two weeks in the hospital and a number of weeks of recovery still to come means I'll probably read a pile more before I head back to work at the end of the month. I'm going to start with three books I finished up in July, before my appendix met its untimely demise:

1. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (#38): The folks at work could not believe that I had never read the Harry Potter series. I've always enjoyed the films, and the one based upon this book still remains my favourite, but figured I'd get around to the books at some point. I read it in one sitting. There's so much more to the books and there's a real sense of wonderment that gets kind of lost in the Hollywood versions.

2. The Strain (#39): While technically not a movie tie-in (yet; I can't see Guillermo del Toro not making a movie from these books), the novel is truly cinematic, both in its dialogue and its plotting. The story follows a scientist/doctor (can't remember if he's either or both), Ephraim Goodweather, as he tries to uncover the truth behind a number of mysterious occurances through his work with the Centre for Disease Control. When a plane touches down at JFK with a cabin full of very dead people and little explaination beyond a very strange coffin-like container on board that may have something to do with their deaths, Eph and his co-workers have quite the mystery on their hands. Creatures start to take over Manhattan (um, the body bags tend to do strange things when left in the fridge and that's all I'm going to say about that terrifying moment in this book) and Eph has to convince the world that there's a serious medical crisis, an infection, that's spreading across the island. Will people believe him? I guess we'll have to wait until the next book to find out for sure. It's an entertaining novel, and not my typical fare, but it truly creeped me out in places, which was fun for summer reading.

3. Julie and Julia (#40): Now this book I loved. As Stuff White People Like says, us whiteys like to read the book before we see the movie. So, when I was shopping for a 70th birthday book for my aunt in June, I picked up Julie and Julia on a whim because I knew I wouldn't be able to resist the movie. Oddly enough, this was my favourite of my three "movie" books. It's charming, delightful, well-written, entertaining and utterly engaging. Yes, she swears a lot. But it's kind of funny once you get used to it. And I loved the concept of the book and the blog; there's just something so interesting about self-met challenges. On the whole, I hope the movie is half as good as the book so I enjoy it too.

Okay, that's it for today.

Still The Worst Time of My Life

I've been back in the hospital since Friday morning with complications from the surgery. Essentially, the necrotic (sp?) appendix has caused further complications, problems that most people don't have during such a routine operation. Because of the disease, my organ tissues are sensitive, and because the appendix stayed in my body for so long being so rotten, my bowels have simply stopped working.

Graphic, I know.

1. We came back into the hospital on Friday morning after I threw up on Thursday night and then again in the AM. My body was retaining so much water that my legs were three times their normal size and my scars were so swollen and bloated they were poking out of my legs.

2. Unlike the first hellish visit, we managed to see a doctor after about an hour. They put a tube up my nose and down into my stomach because while sitting on the bed, I "projectile vomited" (as the RRHB) said pure green bile. Seriously, it looked like grass.

3. The NG tube started to suck up everything left over in my stomach: essentially any and everything I hadn't already thrown up based on two days of eating "normally" out of the hospital.

4. They need to give my bowel a rest, which means no food or water. That's been since Friday. It's now Tuesday.

5. The doctors keep saying to be patient, that it'll rectify itself and get better but we're still here waiting for my bowels to work.

6. First it was 24-36 hours, then Tuesday at the latest and now they just don't know. More tests today, I guess.

7. The surgeon who came in this morning said that he's not surprised there are these complications. I asked him, "but I am going to get better, right?" Yes, was the definitive answer but I can't say that I am not terrified every single moment I am spending in this hospital.

8.They're desperately trying to avoid more surgery, which I can understand. I don't want more surgery. But I also wish that everything with my health wasn't so bloody complicated.

9. Lessons in it can always get worse, I suppose. And we're clinging to the positives. Piles of gas in my belly means pain but also that things are working, but not completely. Piles of antibiotics means that they are killing the infection but also my poor tummy. There will be a lot of restorative yoga and healthy eating when I get out of here.

10. Still a rotten way to spend a birthday if you ask me.

I Had The (Worst) Time Of My Life

It all started off so well. My dad surprised me at the cottage. My RRHB's van broke down so the tour was cancelled. Plenty of people were around for my birthday and I had managed a delicious dinner with veggies and herbs from my Recession Garden. And then it all went way, way down hill from there. I'm unwell, so here's the list, and here's a warning that it's a little graphic:

1. I started throwing up at about 10 PM. We were up at my aunt's cottage, the elder generation imbibing, and I went back to my grandmother's cottage because I was feeling so unwell. And then I couldn't stop throwing up. My brother took me to the Campbellford hospital around midnight, and I spent many hours barfing and being in massive amounts of pain. They couldn't figure out what's wrong: ran some blood tests, did an x-ray, and made me feel a bit better by the time I left. 

2. We got home from the cottage (on my actual birthday) and everything started up again, well, actually, I didn't barf again, so that was something. But I have never experienced that much pain in my life. Not when my tragic hip was acting up, not when I had hip surgery, nothing was like the pain in my stomach. It lasted all night.

3. The next morning my RRHB called our family doctor, whose offices are at Toronto Western. She saw us for about 30 seconds before she sent us down to Emergency.

4. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. While we waited almost three hours to make it to the "Rapid Assessment Zone." The ER doc called my Super-Fancy Disease Doctor who also works out of the Western. He told them to do a CT scan. That's when they discovered that my appendix had ruptured. Numerous doctors came by then: my SFDD, a few interns, a different ER doc and a surgical intern who told me they don't usually operate once the appendix has already ruptured; they treat you with antibiotics and see how you do. That's when I asked for more morphine.

5. The actual surgeon came to see me and said with the Wegener's being active and with the suppression of my immune system, they can't leave the organ in my body. So, surgery is back on. 

6. Surgery is scheduled for "as soon as possible." They prep. I pee. And have more morphine. My RRHB calls our loved ones and let's everyone know what's going on. 

7. I go under the knife at about 9 PM on Monday night. The day after my birthday. I never like waking up from anesthetic. Oxygen up the nose and three incisions are my presents. 

8. The next morning the surgical team comes by to see me. He's excited: "Your appendix was BLACK! BLACK!" There was some pus on my liver and leakage all over my bladder. This was what was causing the pain. When the head surgeon came to see me later on that evening, she said that my organ was "terrible." That it had actually turned gangrenous, built a wall around itself, but was leaking, and the pain not being in the typical place confused everyone. What saved my life? My SFDD telling them to get a CT scan. That's why he's SFDD. 

9. I spend a miserable night in hospital next to a snoring and painfully uncomfortable old guy and get no sleep.

10. They send me home (it's now Wednesday) and it's marvelous to be not in the hospital. I'm bloated, in pain, and myriad other things but at least I can watch TV and walk around when I feel like it.

Happy birthday to me.

I Have Not Disappeared

But I'm out of town this weekend and have been stuck in conference the past couple weeks. However, I have read: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Julie and Julia, and The Strain. So, loads to review. Next week things should calm down a little and I'm going to squeeze in some TRH updates.

Obsession

As if I needed another reason to be obsessed by all things French (and the idea of living in Paris one day). But, sigh, this film looks so very, very good:

And we're publishing a huge Coco Chanel biography in the fall that I'm also chomping at the bit to read. Until then, I guess I'll just have to listen to more Edith Piaf.