Killers of the Flower Moon: The Osage Murders and the Birth of the FBI

David Grann's Killers of the Flower Moon: The Osage Murders and the Birth of the FBI has been on my to-read list for a while, but with so many physical books actually on my shelf, it has been relegated to the wish list. This summer, while at the beach, my best friend handed me her copy and told me I had to read it. I was ecstatic.

In the early 1920’s members of the Osage tribe in Oklahoma began dying off, some suspiciously and others through outright murder. At the time, most white settlers could not care less, as they viewed the Indians as less than human and despised the Osage for their shrewd maneuvering of the oil system to claim headrights to the liquid gold underneath their reservation, making them all wealthy beyond belief. The headrights, however, were the key to this mystery, as they could only be obtained through inheritance — no Osage could sell their rights. Could there really be a cold-blooded plot to murder dozens of men and women simply for their fortunes? As Hoover’s FBI is in its infancy and the feds as we know them were just starting to take shape, this case, known by the Osage as the Reign of Terror, would become the cornerstone of the bourgeoning agency and would remain a  source of devastation to the descendants of a people who deserved so much better. 

I found this story, and this book about it, to be absolutely fascinating. I didn’t want to put it down, and I was thrown by the calculated, cold-bloodedness if it all. Interestingly, the mastermind of a large amount of the murders comes out mid-way through the story, and it’s almost unbelievable because you’ve come to know the man as someone doing good. I found it odd that as much as I love murder and mayhem, and as much true crime as I read, that wi would be flabbergasted by the white man’s lack of limits for wealth. To look at a group of people as genuinely inhuman and as lacking the same humanity that you have is just something I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around. It’s not that I don’t believe it — after all, we have all seen how cruel humanity can be — it’s just that when confronted when something this diabolical and cruel, it’s difficult for someone like me to grasp it. I wouldn’t even begin to imagine a plot like this, so it’s not a surprise that I have a hard time wrapping my head around it. 

Grann’s writing is wonderful and easy to read without being pedantic, and I appreciate the adaptability of the journalist to reach a lay audience. I loved the weaving of the Osage murder plot with the beginnings of the FBI, and he was wonderful at combining the information that we needed to know about the FBI and which would enhance our understanding of the Osage murders without burdening us with minutiae. I can see why this book was a bestseller and why it was consistently rated as one of the top non-fiction titles of the year it was published. 

It’s a strong and important retelling if a piece of hurtful history in Osage history and, frankly, in American history. Our country’s treatment of the Natives in so many ways was beyond cruel, and then to read it as personalized as Grann has made it here slaps you in the face. It only started with displacement and genocide and then it continued on with guardianships of the Osage fortunes, declaring Natives as incompetent and essentially forcing them to marry white man and women, and then turning a blind eye to their systematic murders for greed. When we say that as Americans we are “better than this,” we can pick up a book that extols the history of our dehumanization of the people who owned our land before we did and we can hopefully recognize that no, we aren’t — but that we can learn from history and choose to be better from here on out. 

Girl with a Pearl Earring

I have a whole bunch of older books that I buy when I go to bookstores while traveling, books that I've always wanted to read or that I should read because everyone has. Girl with a Pearl Earring by Tracy Chevalier was one of these. I wasn't too keen on picking it up as I don't care for period pieces, but once I did I found myself absolutely captivated. 

Griet is almost sixteen when her parents inform her that she will be serving as a maid to help with family finances. She is sent to work for the Vermeer family, and one of her tasks is to clean the painter’s studio without moving a single thing. She struggles in the beginning to find her place in the house, with a fiery mistress, an ever-pregnant wife, and a stoic master. As the painter takes to Griet, she takes to him as well. His talent fuels her. When a wealthy patron known for his indiscretions takes to Griet, her master seeks to shield her from his advances. His efforts lead to one of his greatest works — but the end of Griet. 

I went into this novel hesitant for several reasons. First, I tend to not be into period pieces not historical fiction. I’ll give it a shot, but I’m more of a contemporary murder and mayhem kind of girl. Second, this was such a big hat that I was sure it would be overhyped. I have learned my lessons the hard way. I had purchased this at a used bookstore somewhere forever and a day ago, and since I was trying to work through some older books to sell back to the used bookstore this summer, I thought I would pick it up. I was wrong to be hesitant, as it was a great piece of work. 

I found Chevalier’s writing style to be compelling. I was interested in enough in her storytelling that I continually wanted to come back to find out where the story was going. It was a slow burn — this is not a high-octane, action-packed thriller, so there needs to be an element of languid prose to be able to keep me interested in what’s going to happen next. The key in why I enjoyed this so much was in the author’s weaving of the complicated pattern of Griet’s life. The characters served to move the story rather than the other way around. Chevalier made this work to deliver a carefully crafted story that was so vivid it felt real. 

Griet’s father plays a small role, but it is her relationship with him that drives the plot line and reveals moments that otherwise might not be revealed. Pieter, the butcher’s son who takes a fancy to Griet, is not a loveable guy but is necessary to what will be Griet’s ultimate breaking point in the Vermeer house. I even found myself rooting for him even though I didn’t actually like him. Again, that’s a touchpoint in this novel. Vermeer wasn’t even terribly likeable but he was compelling as a character nonetheless. 

I was pleasantly surprised at how much I enjoyed this novel, and now I’m curious to check out the film and see what I think of it. I had never seen it, although I’m familiar with Scarlett Johansson as the lead and WOW, is that ever a 1:1 match. Talk about on point. However, I find myself wanting to live with the characters I developed in my mind with this book, as Chevalier has created such a vivid picture for me. Only time will tell. 

When Breath Becomes Air

Recently in my apartment building, someone started a book table where they leave books and others can take them. I am not interested in most of the titles, but occasionally one pops out that I have wanted to read. This was the case with Paul Kalanithi's When Breath Becomes Air.

This book is mostly a memoir, but it is a beautiful and arresting treatise on life and love. How do we live to our fullest? Kalanithi tells us, because he did it. Beginning as a child with a deep love of literature instilled in him by his mother, he was encouraged by his parents to delve deep into his curiosity and to learn. In college he continued to immerse himself in his beloved literature as well as indulge his curiosity in how the mind works through biology and the beginning inklings of neuroscience. He then went off to find himself, continuing his studies at Cambridge before moving on to medical school and eventually becoming one of the most sought-after neurosurgeons and neuroscientists in the nation. He married Lucy, the love of his life whom he first met in medical school, and together they had a child when they knew his life was near its end. Other than dying at a young age -- 37 -- he had it all.

But the thing that Paul teaches us in this book that dying is merely the end, but it's not the definition of who we are the lives that we have led. The measure of our worth as humans are the things we have accomplished in between birth and death -- knowledge, love, kindness, and the depth of our souls. In this short memoir, he puts that all to words in the most eloquent, moving, and thoughtful prose I have ever read. His words seared my heart in a reminder of how important it is to reflect on our lives through the lens of thankfulness when we have been given so much. Paul is one of the most gifted motivational writers that has ever existed (and yes, I am not exaggerating), and just a few hours with his gifted mind feels like it was a gift meant for me. It is clear why he would have been incredibly successful as a writer, and his self-education in literature is apparent in his writing.

There are so many beautiful moments in this book to touch on, but I want you to read them for yourself. When Paul is diagnosed with metastatic lung cancer in his 30's, at the height of his career, when he is being pursued by some of the most elite medical institutions, he has to reexamine his life plan. Practicing medicine for the next 20 years and spending the following 20 as a writer isn't possible anymore. He just won't live that long. He has to make a decision to live the last of his days and months to their fullest. He finishes out his residency, he begins this book, and he and Lucy decide to have a baby. This is where I am broken.

Paul's final words in his final chapter broke me as a human. His final paragraph, written to his infant daughter, is the most meaningful work I have ever written. It's simplicity belies the depth of his words and the meaning of life and love for another human. Even if the rest of the book wasn't worth the read -- and it very much is worth every second you will give to it -- those last few words will wreck you.

But you aren't done -- you need to read Lucy's afterword. Reading her bear her raw soul in telling us about her last few moments with her husband was so real that I had to read it in one-paragraph chunks. It was too much to bear in one setting without openly breaking down.

This book as a whole is one of the all time greatest memoirs ever written. 

Ohio: A Novel

The premise of Stephen Markley's novel Ohio was so compelling that I fought tooth and nail to get an advanced copy. 

One hot, muggy night in The Cane a few years bah, four classmates converge on their hometown (New Canaan, but really, who calls it that?) on a series of missions that are inextricably bound even if they don’t realize it. Bill is running an errand for an old friend, muling something he doesn’t know but would love to find out because the drugs he’s taking are nuts. Stacey has been asked to meet with her nemesis, the mother of her high school lover who has run away and wants it to stay that way. Dan is a veteran of three tours who is back to visit his folks and catch up with the only woman he has ever loved. Tina seeks a reckoning for choices others made for her that have steered her life since high school. Tonight will change the trajectory of so many lives, leaving the wreckage of the baggage of the past out and open for all to see. 

So, I’m dead. I was so utterly, completely destroyed by this novel that I can’t even see strait. This was such an outstanding piece of work that I honestly thought I might never read anything else ever again. This absolutely killed me. I felt myself slowly creeping back to the book after I put it down, wanting to be back in the world of these kids who were just that — kids — as they watched their world change so drastically. These characters are a little younger than me, and I understand their zeitgeist because it is my own. I know what it is like to live without war, without the prison industrial complex, and without the full invasion of addicting, homemade drugs. The landscape of their lives has shifted dramatically in small-town post-industrial America that it’s no wonder those who get out can, and they never return. Those who stay end up barely living if they remain alive. 

I could see some of the twists and turns coming, but I did not see the biggest one, the undercurrent of the reason they all are back. This history, this Eason, draws them all like a magnet back to their center and holds on to them as if their lives depended on it. No matter how far these four have come, they will never be separate from their inner core. Stacey wrestles with her demons and the loss of the first person she truly, whole-heartedly loved. Bill’s demons are all in his head, and he must wrestle with himself in order to breathe. Dan is truly heartbreaking — a man who gave up everything to serve and lost so much, except loyalty. Tina — man, I rooted for Tina once I figured out what she was up to. I wanted her to find a solution so badly. 

This novel was incredibly affecting, so much so that my heart hurt after I closed the final page. It was truly a gift to read in every way, and I’m so grateful it came into my life. 

B. F. Skinner's About Behaviorism

I can't even remember where I acquired a copy of B. F. Skinner's About Behaviorism, but I do remember that I picked it up as a work book. In a basic ed psych course I teach a primer on behaviorism, and while I understand the basics of operant conditioning I felt it would be good to read it from the horse's mouth.

The history of paychology is fascinating to me, even if it is the story of a long line of White dudes. Human beings are complex, irrational beings who think they are logical and objective and who are anything but. Skinner, however, decides that he doesn’t agree with cognition as a concept and instead becomes the father of radical behaviorism, coining the concept of operant conditioning and changing how we as a people see our relationship with the environment. He says that cognition has too much weight placed upon it in understanding human behavior, and that instead we are at the mercy of our environment and our direct responses to external stimuli. 

(Watch me pull up my pants and stretch my arms, because we are about to get into this, kids.)

The first, and most important, thing I have to say is that Skinner has a point. (Go ahead and pick your jaw up off the floor if you haven’t been a student of mine and haven’t heard my point in Behaviorism as a whole.) It is vital that we as scholars understand where we came from, because even if the theory doesn’t explain everything (and no theory does, FYI), there are pieces of every psychological theory that have merit and have allowed researchers to build off of it. Skinner’s explication of operant conditioning is quite accurate, but he was rigid in his determination to convince everyone that it was the only and primary explanation. 

On the chapter entitled, "Thinking," Skinner was lucky that I didn't throw my out-of-print copy in a dumpster fire while cursing his name. His big thing is the "so-called thinking processes," because he doesn't believe that cognitive processes are a part of decision making, as it's really a reliance on behavioristic decision-making that is either approach or avoidance goal-based. (While he didn't use the "approach/avoidance" terminology, that's essentially what he's getting at.) I rolled my eyes so hard I almost saw my brain in the back of my head. 

There is no reason the operant conditioning can’t exist in tandem with cognitive processing. I don’t believe in throwing the baby out with the bath water. Just because his theory isn’t the be-all-end-all doesn’t mean it doesn’t have merit. Maybe he could just slow down on the definite statements. 

The Power: A Novel

I opted to do my review on Naomi Alderman's show-stopping The Power the same week as The Handmaid's Tale because I feel that these two books are lovers. I'll get more into this in a minute, but these two books feel so intricately connected to me, separated across three decades, and it's absolutely astounding.

It starts slowly, with a few girls here and there. A young girl isn't supposed to be home with her mother, but fends off intruders using it. A teenager in the foster system fights off her abuser with it. A woman is given it by her daughter and uses it to rise to power. A young man is fascinated by it and follows it to the ends of the earth to chronicle it. What is this power, exactly, and where has it come from? It is most likely a leftover from chemical tests during World War II, but it came at a time when women weren't the powerhouses running the world like they are now. I mean, could you imagine? A world with men in charge? That must have been barbaric and unlivable.

Unsurprisingly, this book had been on my radar for a while. Surprisingly, it took me a while to jump on board. I can't say why; I think I have just been bogged down with books and dissertating and working and parenting. I'm glad I picked it up when I did though, because it was a full-scale dive in to a book that hooked me after the first few chapters. These stories are all related, and they are the focus characters in this story that takes a look at a long-ranging (albeit fictional) phenomenon that shakes the world to its core. The brilliance under-girding the story is astounding, really, and Alderman is truly a tour-de-force in regards to the detailed world she has created. It's a world I wouldn't mind living in, frankly, and the whole idea of The Power and what it does to upend gender power is incredible. In the thick of the story, when horrible things are happening to men that we just currently accept as happening to women -- think mass pillaging, torture, sexual assault -- it was hard to read. I had hoped that there would be some level of revenge happiness on my end, seeing men reap what they sow, but it was heartbreaking to know that this was a representation of what we as a gender deal with on a regular basis. The acceptance of these events became stark and clear when reading about them happening to a group that doesn't typically experience them.

Additionally, Alderman's characterization is flabbergasting. She has created a set of characters that are so human that they come alive on the page and I knew them. Really, really knew them. From a middle-aged mother to a young man on the verge of the biggest story of his life to a power-hungry young women, these characters were clearly painted with an expert brush, and the character arc from start to finish was long and languid, leaving me feeling as though I just survived the events with them. I felt I was being let into one long intimate moment that changed the world as we know it.

As I mentioned in the first paragraph, as I read this book it felt eerily like a companion piece to Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale. I don't think it's just because Alderman has worked with Atwood. It's deeper than that. It's a dystopian tale that is what happens on the other side of the Gilead coin. What could have been in an alternate, Sliding Doors-esque universe is the story of The Power. It was really moving reading these both so close together and seeing the portrait of the women at their core and how they are related to one another, if only they could have existed side by side. I would highly recommend to anyone reading Handmaid for the first time to read this right after and sit with the meaning of the worlds these women have created. It's astounding. On a final note, the last sentence of this book is striking, and it is worth the hundreds of pages you read to get there. The story as a whole is, but the last line. The. Last. Line. 

The Handmaid's Tale

After thoroughly enjoying the first season of the Hulu adaptation, I decided that I wanted to Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale for myself to see the differences in book vs. cinematic adaptation. My thoughts are below, but long story short, it's a good one.

Offred can bear children, this much we know. It's why she's still alive, rather than having been sent to the Colonies. She once had a child, in the time before Gilead. She had a husband then, too. But she cannot even speak of those earlier times. Her only responsibility now is as a handmaid, and she must bear her mistress a child, or it's off to worse pastures she goes. She is Of-Fred, the handmaid of Fred, who rapes her once a month in hopes of her conceiving. In the world of Gilead, it a theocracy where men are king and women are only to serve in various capacities, be it as wife, handmaid, cook, or Jezebel. Once upon a time, they were human. Now...

The first thing that comes to mind when I write about my experience reading this book is how well it paired with the television adaptation. I found them to be complementary, companion pieces, and much less so a show adapting a book. They felt that they went together, both the same and different. I'm glad I finally read this book, as it was recommended to me several years ago and honestly, dystopian fiction is rarely my thing. This one, though, with the addition of the television show, felt very close to home. The theocracy, where men have taken over the lives of women in every respect, may have, at one time even in the recent past, felt far removed from the possibility of occurring, now feels disturbingly omniscient. Women as birth slaves is hard to deal with from a human rights perspective, but it has happened, and it is happening. Look at Boko Haram, as just one example. Atwood's point, I feel, is that this kind of reality is not as far removed as we would like it to be.

I really enjoyed Atwood's writing style, and the first person narrative that provided such strong characterization. I knew Offred, I understood her, and I felt her pain. She was such a strong, vivid character, and I often felt as though I was in the room with her when she told me her story. A part of this characterization is more clear after you read the ending (see AFTER the spoiler alert below if you dare), and it makes me put this book under the banner of "brilliant" more than just plain old "good." Even though I might not be listing it as one of my favorite books of all time, I can't deny that this book is just absolutely brilliant, if not also prescient and horrifying. It's what makes it so incredible. Atwood is a hell of a writer, and even with my aversion to dystopia and fantasy, I think it will be worth my while to pick up more of her work. The first season of the television series ends when the book ends -- Offred being taken off by hopefully friendly forces, but we really don't know that for sure -- so I have mixed feelings about a second season of that. But those thoughts are for another blog. Here, my friends, we do books.

***BOOK SPOILERS AHEAD***

I was really taken by the ending, in terms of finding out that this whole story was written and later discovered once Gilead fell and a new world order was established. I actually read this epilogue a few chapters into the book, and it gave me a good grounding for understanding Atwood's masterpiece. If I had come upon it when I was supposed to -- as an actual epilogue, that is -- it would have been all sixth sense-y, but I liked my way of doing it, as well. It not only provided me with a sense of relief, that at least these women were not held as birth slaves for all of eternity, but rather for the time that Gilead existed. It doesn't take away the horror, but it provided a bit of a salve. 

Sing, Unburied, Sing: A Novel

I believe that Jesmyn Ward is the voice of a generation. I adore her work, and I truly believe that her non-fiction piece Men We Reaped is one of the most important reads for everyone to ingest. When I found out at Book Expo this year that she had a new novel coming out, I almost cried with joy. More on the picking up of the novel later. This is Sing, Unburied, Sing.

Jojo's thirteenth birthday is spent where he usually spends his days -- in his grandparent's house, helping his grandfather while his beloved grandmother slowly dies of cancer. Days later his mother receives word that his father is being released from prison, and she packs her kids in the car -- Jojo and his little sister Kayla -- to go pick him up. Leonie, his mother, is an addict who fell in love with the man connected to her beloved brother's death. Motherhood doesn't fit her well, so picking up her man from prison is what she is living for. Their road trip to Parchman and back will deeply define Jojo's life and shape the man he will one day become.

This was one of those novels that was so stunningly beautiful that I had to take a breather and just revel in it. I had to stop, take deep breaths, and just realize the beauty that I was given in this novel. Ward has captured several characters deeply and fully, and she has taken great care in handing these over to us as her readers. Jojo is everything I hope to find as reader in a young boy. Often when I read stories told from the perspective of a preadolescent, they are overly young and reaching to portray a child who is a complicated and full being. Ward took this young boy and gave him life on the page, and he was incredible. I also found Leonie to be full-bodied and a complicated character, and while I didn't like her, it's important to distinguish that my dislike of her came from the creation of the character, and I feel that deeply speaks to Ward's ability to craft a character. I enjoyed reading her and disliking her for her willingness to abandon her family -- not just her children, but also her parents -- even as I felt great sympathy for her in losing her brother and falling in love with his murderer's cousin.

I also deeply connected with Ward's portrayal of her characters' dealings with addiction and how that drove their choices and their stories. It is a central story element, both using and transporting, and it was treated with a delicate and caring hand. We live in a world where addiction is treated as a class issue, a race issue, and a moral issue. Ward's book takes it on as a human issue and succeeds at presenting addiction in a world world context that doesn't begin or end with an after-school special moment.

This story was told in service to the characters, and it was deep for its short length. It was sold to me as a Faulkner-esque tale of a journey in search for self, and while I would say that I don't entirely buy this (I personally find Faulkner insufferable), I would say that the road trip that is in the center of this story was far more beautiful than anything Faulkner could have written. The journey out to Parchman and back serves Leonie's and Jojo's character development rather than serving as the point of the book itself. At least, that's how I read it. I couldn't recommend this book any more highly.

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time: A Novel

I had never picked this book up, regardless of seeing the Broadway show and loving it. This is Mark Haddon's The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time.

Christopher John Francis Boone is a young man in a special school for children with gifts and he is spon taking his A level maths. He is on the Autism spectrum, and he is a genius who has difficulty relating to others. His mother has died and his father is raising him, and one night the neighbors dog is murdered. Christopher sets out to find out what happened to him, setting into motion a series of events that will change the course of his life and take him to places he never imagined going. 

I was quite taken by this book. My husband and I purchased a copy for his mother a while back in hopes she would relate to the main character, as she is a retired special education teacher for students on the spectrum. I don't know if she ever read it, but when I saw a copy at the used bookstore, I realized how much I wanted to read it. I read it over the course of two days at home in Atlanta, and it was a lovely, empathetic portrait of a young man coming of age with a disorder that is so difficult to understand and even more difficult to treat. 

The most wonderful part of this book was the kindness and care that Haddon took with Christopher. This is the very definition of the writer getting out of the way of his character, allowing him to tell us who he is and what happens to him, rather than the writer. Christopher's trip to London was so well written and so full of life that I experienced it from Christopher's perspective. It was lovely and frightening, worrying me as a mother and a teacher, but also making me proud that the young man could take it upon himself to make the trip. 

This book, written a few years back, is a testament to treating young men and women who are neuro-atypical with such repoire and with the respect that they deserve not just as humans, but as the protagonists of their own stories. 

The Book Thief

Hi!

I’m currently taking a break from all the nonfiction I’ve been reading lately to get back to literary fiction for a while. I decided on The Book Thief by Markus Zusak because it has always been on my to-read list. It was definitely a heavy place to start, but this is a book I can highly recommend. It’s about as far as you can get from a light and bubbly summer read, but I loved it. Although it’s a cliché statement, this is a book I actually couldn’t put down.

The Book Thief is narrated by Death. The opening section of the book, in which Death describes his encounters with “the book thief”, foreshadowing the entire novel, was my favorite part of the story. Because you know once you pick it up that The Book Thief takes place in Nazi Germany, you have that overhanging cold feeling of dramatic irony in which you know that things will continue to grow worse. Still, the subtle foreshadowing helped to set the tone for the whole book and created an air of mystery that I found compelling.

Death is a theme in almost all novels that take place in Nazi Germany, but in The Book Thief its personification helps you to feel its presence, almost like even death itself didn’t want to be involved in this level of societal evil. The novel follows a young girl named Liesel, “the book thief” because she steals books at important moments in her life, and shows the effects of Hitler’s rise to power and the subsequent war on Germany and its people through her eyes.

Unsurprisingly, it is heartbreaking. There are touching moments and terrifying moments. The book focuses on individuals and their human connections, their friendships and the emotions they feel in the face of such dread and confusion, and the ways they try to find meaning and connection in such a time. Some novels about this period in history are overdone and try to capture everything that happened, and the sheer scale of it makes it hard to process emotionally for the reader. The micro scale of The Book Thief, as well as the young age of Liesel and thus her innocent approach to processing many of the horrible and unprecedented things she sees and feels, makes the book hit home in an emotional way.

I loved the ending too, which I won’t give away here. The writing in The Book Thief is exquisite, and there are sentences you will read over two or three times just to let them sink in. It leaves you haunted and sad, which seems appropriate. It’s a long book but is worth the time it takes, and it gives real insight into the emotional perspectives of the characters. This is the first book I read about Nazi Germany that connected with me in quite this way, because I felt the sense of confusion and dread came through in a real way.

I think in today’s political climate, we are especially poised to resonate with feelings of powerlessness and to remember that we must notice the creeping changes in a political situation when it comes to rights, social norms, protections, and expectations, before they have crept too far. The Book Thief may leave you devastated and faintly queasy, but it should. It’s a beautifully written novel that deserves to be read. And if you love it as I do, I suggest that you go back once you’re done and read the opening section once more, now that you know the journey Death and Liesel have been on together.

All in all, the novel was very interesting, and I loved the ending. The novel is well written and although it is long, it is worth your time. I feel that I learned about different perspectives and ways of life, which was interesting and mind opening. 

Little Deaths: A Novel

I picked up Emma Flint's Little Deaths at Book Expo last year and have been very excited to read it. Then the publish date came and went and I lost track of time. I picked it up last week and boy, was I glad I did. 

Ruth Malone is a soon-to-be divorcee in Queens in 1965 when she wakes up one morning to find both of her children missing from their beds. She had locked them in that night -- where could they have gone? Hours later her young son's body is found, and days later her daughter's as well. Ruth is the obvious suspect; after all, what right does a young mother have to drink that much, wear such tight skirts, and flirt with men the way she does? Pete Wonike is a two bit journalist who picks up the scent of the case and will stop at nothing to prove that Ruth is innocent. The problem is -- he is the only one who truly believes that. 

This novel is of a true case from the time period, and while I'm blanking on the exact name, a quick search could easily bring it up. I was impressed with the prose of this novel and the ease with which the story flowers from Flint's fingers to my eyes. There was something thick about this, like a strong, rich homemade pudding. Nothing light and fluffy about it, and every bite savor rd for the deliciousness that you know you can't repeat in your own kitchen. It was really an astounding story told for readers who love language and depth in their stories. 

I loved the side story of the reporter, Pete, which added dimension to the story so that it was so much more than a whodunit. The ending will surprise you, even if you do suspect it just a little. The callous nature of the truth was shocking in a way that is hard to describe, but well worth your time to discover. 

This Is How You Lose Her: Stories

I have yet to pick up any of Junot Dìaz's books, so this week on the train I packed This is How You Lose Her, his most recent collection of short stories. 

Yunior is a young man who gets into all sorts of pickles with women. He is the through line of these stories. From his mishaps with the opposite sex to stories of his childhood, Yunior's life is presented in technicolor for all to see. He has cheated on his fiancé for six years and is devastated to lose her. He watches his brother waste away from cancer while losing his mother. He watches his father lose his mother. Yunior's repeats those same old patterns. He is, however, on all of these stories, simply himself. 

I had a hard time getting into the first two stories. I wasn't thrilled with how the women were spoken about, and while yes, I understand that this is how the character thought of the women he dated, I was still not comfortable with the crude objectification of the physical aspects of these women that were clearly only focused on the sexual aspect of their relationship. In context, yes, it makes sense, but I'm not sold. 

However, as we moved into the stories about Yunior's relationship with his family I became far more engrossed and bought into the writing. Dìaz's astonishing prose really shine in those moments of fragility in Yunior, when he spoke of his brother and the confusion that broke through the hard-hearted surface of Yunior's facade. This carried over into the story of his life after his fiancé -- he was flippant and lost her, and when he recovered years later from his broken heart, he was never the same. It was a beautiful treatise on self-exploration, as told through parallel tracks of Yunior and his best friend. 

I'm now interested to pick up the rest of the Dìaz cannon to see what I think. 

Waiting: A Novel (Guest Blogger Charlotte)

Hey!

Waiting, by Ha Jin, is not my usual style of novel. But one of my New Year's resolutions this year was to read more National Book Award or PEN/Faulkner Award Winners. Waiting won both, so I decided to put it first on my list.

Waiting is the story of a Chinese army doctor who is in an arranged marriage but has fallen in love with a nurse who is stationed alongside him. It begins when he has been waiting eighteen years for a divorce, to which his wife will not agree, and then travels back in time to take the reader through the early years of his marriage and the long quest of waiting for his divorce to be allowed and the life of his dreams to begin. The reader sees from the perspectives of Lin, the doctor, and Mannu, the nurse, through the back and forth that unfolds through these long years of waiting. By the book's third act, we are back to that eighteenth year.

What I enjoyed most about the book was the descriptive language used to set the scene of life in a Chinese village, countryside, city, and army camp throughout the 1960s, 70s, and 80s. That is a world I know nothing about and never really gave any thought to, and while the descriptions are short and shy away from flowery language, the scene-setting is strong. I found that I would get engrossed in parts of the story and be envisioning them because of all the details included. For example, when Lin first travels home to visit his wife, this is part of the description:

Shuyu was making a jacket for their daughter, cutting a piece of black corduroy with a pair of scissors and a stub of French chalk. Two yellow moths were circling around the 25-watt bulb hanging from the papered ceiling. On the whitewashed wall, the shadow of the lamp cord severed the picture of a baby boy, fat and naked in a red bib, riding a large carp in billowing waves. On the mat-covered brick bed were two folded quilts and three dark pillows like huge loaves of bread. The sound of frogs croaking came from the pond at the southern end of the village while cicadas' chirping seeped in through the screen window. A bell tolled from the production brigade's office, summoning the commune members to a meeting.

It is almost all nouns and facts, but the vignette is set so that the reader can see and smell and feel it. I particularly loved the descriptions of Chinese foods throughout the book and their contrast to some of the stark descriptions of army and communist life, which are often included as a throw-away like they are in the paragraph above. It gave the book an eerie edge to its touching, personal narrative and made me feel almost as if I was living in that setting, where someone was always watching to see what others would say or do and looking over their shoulders.

I felt like this book had so many insights into the practical considerations of relationships and marriage, and how much they can influence one's choices even more than feelings do. In most young adult novels, if there are practical considerations at all to a relationship, they are seen as something to be overcome - if your parents don't like someone, you can try to convince them otherwise! But in Waiting, all the characters have practical things to consider about one another, such as their age, ability to earn money for the family, or even the rules that the army, government, or culture have about relationships. One aspect I really liked was when the characters would have internal dialogues and almost fight with themselves about this battle between practicality and feelings. Even though their situation was so far from my own, I found it relatable.

Waiting is strangely compelling, even though the story is somewhat predictable and half the book is built on the suspense of whether or not Lin will get a divorce, though we know from the beginning that he will not for the first eighteen years and then he should be able to. The story is not in the actions but in the everyday thoughts and feelings of these ordinary people, who each want what is best for themselves and their own lives while still wanting to be good people in the world. There are moments that are sad, brutal, and confusing, and the overall awareness of the disadvantages women in the story faced gave a mournful tone to even the happiest passages.

This is not a beach read by any means. It is an easy story to follow, and so it can be read in little bits, because you won't forget these characters and what they're going through. There are passages you will read a few times, just to put yourself in them and look around. And while it wasn't written for young adult readers, I found it accessible and, surprisingly, it actually made me more interested in Chinese culture and history without feeling like it was trying to.

- Charlotte 

The Optimists Daughter: A Novel

Eudora Welty's The Optimist's Daughter was a lovely holiday read. My sister had a copy that I snatched up to keep me away from my family because they were driving me nuts enjoy.

A young woman comes south to be with her father at a doctor's appointment about the father's eye. What her very young stepmother believes is a simple briar scratch is more likely a detached retina and will require major surgery. Recovery is much more difficult than originally assumed and it does not take long for the father to pass on from this world, leaving his daughter navigate the funeral and his estate in her hometown with her stranger of a stepmother.

This novel was a beautiful piece of work. (Well duh, you are probably thinking, it did win the Pulitzer!) Welty has such a way with prose that makes you feel as though you are a member of the family, or a visiting friend and that you are actually there witnessing the events, even those as private as the emotional take-down of the stepmother. I shuddered in embarrassment when the stepmother's small-town Texan relatives came, how out of place they were! How awkward those moments were for the daughter and her friends!

This was not a very long book and was perfect for sneaking away during the vacation to get some peace and quiet, and maybe even disappear into someone else's world.

 

Auggie & Me: Three Wonder Stories

For those of you out there, like me, who loved Wonder, then have I ever got the book for you. R.J. Palacio just released (yesterday!) Auggie & Me: Three Wonder Stories, and it's just what you have hoped for.

Wonder was the incredible story of a boy born with a craniofacial deformity who entered into public school. Those he knew in school, though, also have stories both before Auggie came and after the year was over. This book follows three of those characters: Julian the bully, Christopher the old friend, and Charlotte the new friend. These stories dig deeper into the characters that you grew to love and to hate in the original novel, and motivations are shown to be deeper than Wonder could have revealed.

This was such a lovely companion to the original novel. Palacio gives us an introduction explaining that there will not be a sequel to Wonder, only because it's so important to her readers to imagine where Auggie would be as he grows up. I loved that sentiment, and honestly, it may have been my favorite part of this book! Only because I love how much everyone loves Auggie, but I also love how much Palacio cares for her own characters.

That being said, I was impressed with this book. Julian's story told so much about the class bully that I was moved toward the end. It wasn't overwrought, but it certainly brought some context to who Julian was and his motivations. We knew in the original novel that his mother was probably a pain in the butt, and this story confirmed it. It was also super interesting to watch Julian's transformation over the summer visiting his Grandmere in Paris. Similarly, reading about Christopher and Charlotte was also eye-opening, and watching their character arcs through their own stories made for a superb companion piece for the life-affirming story of Auggie.

For those of you out there who use Wonder in your classrooms, consider adding in this companion piece. You will love it as much as I did.

For purchase below. 

The Hours: A Novel

While I was a fan of the movie many years ago, I have never taken the opportunity to pick up Michael Cunningham's novel The Hours, so I took advantage of my summer and took it on vacation. 

Virginia Woolf, in 1923, is beginning what would become her most famous novel, Mrs. Dalloway, while struggling with a deep depression that will eventually overcome her. Laura Brown, in 1949, is a struggling housewife with a young son who only wants to break out of the confines of her suburban life. Clarissa Vaughan, in present day, is planning a party for her best friend, who has just won an award for his work as a novelist but is also dying of AIDS. These three women have lives that are intertwined without ever knowing it, and once they are woven together no one will ever be the same.

Ok, so we all know that this is the 1999 winner of the Pulitzer Prize. (Really, there is a sticker on the front of the book that says so.) We also know that the Academy Award-winning movie starred some heavy hitters. So it would be redundant of me to go on and on about how good the book is. At this point, 15 years after it's publication, I have a distinct feeling you might already know that, or at least that you can glean that from a bit of internet research.

Instead, I want to tell you about a reaction that is not like me. I was surprised at how angry I became halfway through realizing that people were going to die. Now, this is not a spoiler as anyone who knows anything knows that Woolf committed suicide a few years after the publication of her novel. I also told you in the synopsis that Clarissa's best friend has AIDS, so he will also have to go at some point. Maybe it's just because I read this book at the beach, I was upset that people had to die. I mean, look, I love murder and mayhem just as much as the next person, but it was the suffering of everyone that took me aback. Please note that this is not a criticism of Cunningham's work, but more of a personal exploration for why I felt the way I did. In fact, I would say it's a testament to Cunningham's writing that I was so bothered in the first place. I always say that if you care enough to have feelings about a story or a character, even if you dislike them, then it's the sign of a strong writer and a strong work.

I had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Cunningham this past fall in conversation about his new novel at Queens College. He had some really great things to say, but what stayed with me the most was his discussion regarding how he sees his characters. He said that he pictures his characters vividly, and sometimes he will be walking down the street and he will see someone who looks exactly as he pictured one of his characters. He also said in response to a question from the moderator that even after such heavy-hitters were cast as these three women in the movie version of this particular book, he has two versions of who the characters are in his mind: his original depiction and then these fabulous counterparts in the movie. I realized I feel the same; that it doesn't matter to me if I see the movie first or not; I still have a picture of how I see the characters in my own head.

Hard copy for purchase below.

The Wives of Los Alamos: A Novel

Los Alamos has to be one of the most interesting government secrets kept during the Great War, so I jumped at the chance to read TaraShea Nesbit's The Wives of Los Alamos last month.

An exceptional group of women inhabited Los Alamos during WWII. They came from all over the United States, leaving behind their homes and the lives they had built to accompany their husbands to do a strange, secret job in a strange, hot place with strange, unfinished homes and strange, unknown people. They banded together for an unknown length of time, forming deep friendships that were so desperately needed without contact with the outside world. They raised children and together created a community that would sustain them as their husbands made history and changed the world for better or  worse.

This novel is a tribute to the women who held up their husbands in a history-making time that so many of us forget. Not about the atomic bomb; that is covered in history classes and on anniversaries. What so many of us forget is that behind the scientists, the physicists, and the engineers were their families--those who gave up their lives to move to this hot, sandy, far-flung place with nothing but their china and curiosity. Nesbit has written a book that is solid, honest, and eye-opening.

Nesbit's writing style is particularly interesting; this book is written in first person plural. It is unlike anything I have read in recent time. This style allows the author to tell us the story of the Los Alamos everywoman--each had a story to tell, and Nesbit lets us in on the secret of their quiet lives. This wasn't an easy transition for most women; some (if not most) were war brides, coming along after only being married for a short time. Their husbands kept secrets from them daily, and there is no way this did not take a toll on a marriage and a family. Nesbit is able to get this across while telling us that every woman's story was different.

I also found that Nesbit was able to get across quite clearly the reservations of the men in the story regarding what they were doing and the toll it took on their psyche. They understood what they were making, and at times (we are told in this story) some men had crises of conscience, wondering if maybe they un-wove every night the fruits of their labor during the day a la Penelope if maybe they could keep the power of destruction away from those in power. Alas, we may never know if this had been an option to occur.

This was a genuinely beautiful book and I loved living in it for such a short time. 

Kindle version on left, hard copy on right.

The Harry Potter Series

A beautiful, lovely, merry Christmas to you all! For those of you who do not celebrate this particularly holiday, I hope your season is merry and bright. To celebrate my love of book reading today, I am bringing you J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series, but not in the usual way. 

I came to this series as an adult. I was just a little too old for the first couple of books when they were released, and by the time they caught my attention in college my tastes skewed away from fantasy. I always wanted to read them, but I was always distracted by the gazillions of other books I wanted to read. 

Finally, this summer, the Museum of Modern Art did a showing of all 8 movies in the course of a week. At this point I had read Sorcerer's Stone, Chamber of Secrets, and Prisoner of Azkaban. I was definitely interested in finishing the series, but again, I was distracted. I had even tried racing the 3rd grader I was babysitting to finish the series--she won.

So I took on the challenge of 8 Harry Potter movies in 7 nights. The first two movies mimicked the feel of the first two books--almost children's lit and children's movies, and I appreciated that the director was able to hold on to that feeling of whimsy and danger but still staying safe. By the time I reached the fifth movie, Order of the Phoenix, I got it.

Half way through the movie, it hit me like a ton of bricks: "I get why people love these stories." I get how meaningful they are, the fight between good and evil although it is only as clear as you understand it. I get the protectiveness that fans have over this series, and why they hold it so close to their hearts. It's not just because Harry is a great character--he certainly is, but that's not just it. These stories are epics in the most literal sense; they are one long, narrative poem that tells the story of a flawed hero and his incredible, strong, growing, loving companions fighting for what they believe is right and just. It is classic in every sense--it's what we as humans have been drawn to since the dawn of the story.

So I decided to make the last four books happen before the end of the year.

This will not be a post as per usual. I will not be synopsizing the books; many other websites will do these books justice where I can only scratch the surface. Wikipedia is just one of many. Head there if you need a catch-up before continuing. I will wait.

Ok, then. Good to go? Me too.

The first two books were very YA, and I liked them for what they were. It was Harry's childhood and it is hard not to love him and his raggedy group of friends. These are classic stories of good versus evil, whether that evil is as simple as a bully (Draco Malfoy) or as complicated as You-Know-Who.There is a certain simplicity about these first two stories, and arguably the third, that resembles what an ideal childhood should be--for a wizard, or a boy. The reality is that we all have simple evils

and complicated evils, even if they aren't wizards and witches. Moving forward in life is necessary if we want to keep living. There is also a certain simplicity in Harry's ignorance as to the enormity of his role in the world that is heartbreaking. He is a child, and there is no reason he should know what he must come to know at the end of Order of the Phoenix. The larger truths and complications with which he must wrestle as he matures are a part of his identity formation and begin to define him. I am specifically thinking of the mental wrestling Harry does in Half-Blood Prince when dealing with the weight that comes with being chosen rather than Neville. (You didn't think you would get out of here without some psychobabble, did you??? Nonsense, my friends.)

There is, though, a certain weightiness that comes with reading these books for the first time as a fully-formed (I think, anyway) adult. The

questions that loom over me in these books are not ones that I could formulate as a teenager, let along grapple. What if you were asked to sacrifice yourself for the greater good? Dumbledore's choice was of a great magnitude, one of which I am not sure I could ever understand nor do. I can sit here and say I would, but to know your death and to accept it so readily is heavy stuff. Harry's willingness to put his life on the line to save Sirius in the Ministry, and even more than that, his friend's willingness to possibly sacrifice their own lives, is enormous. It shows a kind of love that is only possible when given wholly and selflessly. That is a hard thing to grasp if you have never felt it, but Rowling dives deep and gives you it.

Moving away from the story for a moment, I was astounded by the gift of watching Rowling's writing grow over the course of a decade and seven books. I think she is a beautiful writer (see

her newest here), and it is clear how much she cut her teeth on these beloved characters. She is talented to begin with, but her growth with Harry and the crew is just beautiful. Stunning, even.

I find that I want to spend more time in the world of Hogwarts and Harry more as an adult than I would as a child. I think I would have sped through these books and loved them for their story, but as a grown woman I want to sit and ponder on their greater meaning. The battle in Deathly Hallows is soul-crushing and soul-satisfying; the build-up, though, in Half-Blood Prince might have been my favorite. We live in this day and age in a world filled with fear of the unknown, be it terrorism, disease, or the economy. I found this resonating with the inhabitants of Rowling's world while they were lying in wait for Voldemort to return. No one knew quite what to expect, only that the other shoe had to drop. It was, after all, prophesied.

This post has not been to sell you on reading the books; in truth, you have probably already read them and found your own reality within them. This was a coming of age story of such depth, breadth, and beauty that it is hard to not sit down with them and judge them each on their own merits.

I am glad I finally came to these books, but it had to be in my own time, in my own way. These are a joy to experience, but it has to be when you are ready. They hold so much within their spines, and the journey must be your own.

I have links below to purchase the books in all forms. If you haven't yet made the journey, choose your time and crack them open.

Meet you on platform 9 3/4.

Behind the Beautiful Forevers: Life, Death, and Hope in a Mumbai Undercity

After winning the 2012 National Book Award for Non-Fiction, of course I picked it up. This is Katherine Boo's Behind the Beautiful Forevers: Life, Death, and  Hope in a Mumbai Undercity.

A young man, his father, and his older sister are arrested for beating and setting fire to a one-legged woman in the slums of Mumbai. But this case is not as clear cut as it initially sounds. The people in question are neighbors, and the woman was their next door neighbor who set herself on fire. How did this all get so tangled? It's a story you can only understand from the beginning--and through the lens of a life so many of us will never see. Right on the other side of the airport wall in Mumbai is the Annawadi slum, and the course of events over three years are chronicled in Boo's tale of life, work, and just trying to stay afloat.

Holy moly, there is not a single shred of doubt in my mind as to why this book took home the National Book Award. It reads like an incredibly thoughtful and intense novel, but it is so much more than that. I had to remind myself several times throughout the book that this was something that truly happened, not just an intricate and deeply moving tale weaved by an ingenious mind. It could have easily been that.

But as they say, truth is always stranger than fiction.

I was so taken with this book from the very beginning. Boo sets up this story with a hook that grabs you from the moment you crack open that cover. Abdul and his family, his neighbors, the crooks and the thieves, all of these people make up the story that you will read. (And you will read it; links below to buy the book for yourself.) It breaks my heart that this kind of corruption exists, and with it there is pain, suffering, and a desperate daily fight to keep your head above water. It is astounding and amazing and stabbingly painful to inhale these stories.

This book was absolutely incredible and is a must-read for your upcoming edification.

Get this amazing piece of work for yourself. Kindle on left, hard copy on right:

The Invention of Hugo Cabret

I loved the movie--yes, I was one of those. I picked up Brian Selznick's The Invention of Hugo Cabret as a baby gift for a friend (I believe in small humans reading at advanced levels) and decided to read it for myself before wrapping it.

Hugo Cabret is a young man living in the attic of the Paris train station. He winds the clocks everyday; this job used to be his drunk uncle’s until the day he disappeared. Hugo continues the work without anyone knowing in order to have a place to live and food to eat. Hugo spends his spare time rebuilding an automaton that his father worked so very hard on reconstructing before he died; it’s the only thing Hugo has left of his father. When the owner of the toy store in the station catches Hugo stealing, Hugo is led on a journey of self-discovery that could only happen in the most serendipitous of ways.

I lovelovelove this book. It’s my favorite children’s book that exists anywhere, because the story is so rich and so fulfilling, and about half of the story is told through illustrations. I love when a story can be told through pictures; I find graphic novels so powerful for this very reason. The illustrations in Cabret are gorgeous pencil sketches that are expressive and lovely. I adore the narrative, and I love that it is enough to keep adults interested while being full of intrigue and depth for kids. Anything that can entertain all generations at once is simply marvelous as far as I am concerned. (Yes, I also loved the movie, thanksforasking.)

Get this for the short person in your life.