Co-review: Stargirl

Back in May, I wrote a post about the Top 100 Children's Novels poll that was done by the School Library Journal blog.  Going through the list is fascinating and I've often gone back to look for books for my children.  Caren suggested we pick a book from the list for a co-review, so we narrowed it down to #61, Stargirl by Jerry Spinelli.  We tried to find a book that was closer to the top of the list that neither of us had read, but these are classics that most people have read, including us.  It wasn't as easy as it looked.

Jerry Spinelli is probably more known for Maniac Magee, #17 on the list and a Newberry winner.  Spinelli shows that he isn't shy about tackling sticky subjects when he writes about racism in Magee, and Stargirl is his platform for examining conformity.  It takes place in a smallish town in Arizona and told from the point of view of high school student Leo Borlock.  High school is typically a homogeneous place with everybody fitting into their allotted cliques.  Once you fit into a spot, it's hard to move out of it, if my memory of high school serves right.  Mica Area High School is no different.

The entire school is thrown for a loop when Stargirl Caraway shows up.  She wears bizarre clothes, plays a ukulele during lunch and serenades kids on their birthdays, has a pet rat named Cinnamon that rides around in her purse, and seems completely at ease with her uniqueness.  Most of the other students find her unnerving, but eventually they start to love her, especially after she brings school spirit back to the sports teams by her antics during football.  Some of the other students hate her, especially Hillari Kimble, head cheerleader and queen of the school.  Hillari doesn't enjoy her spotlight being occupied by Stargirl.

When Stargirl becomes a cheerleader, the basketball team suddenly begins to have enormous success.  The whole school and community becomes obsessed with their winning streak, but when Stargirl cheers for both teams at the games, everyone turns against her.  Where she was once loved, she is now universally reviled.  Leo, who fell in love with her quirkiness and was fascinated with her generosity and love for people, is conflicted as soon as all the negative attention starts.  He wishes that Stargirl would just be like everyone else, but not for her sake but his own.

Not that there's much to spoil in this book, but as always, we talk about everything.

Jenny:  One of the hardest things about high school for me was that demand to blend in, to find a group of like-minded people and stay put.  It wasn't until I left for college that I felt like I finally was able to become the person I always wanted to be.  There just wasn't any room or tolerance for it in high school, but I was also too afraid to step outside my comfort zone.  I related to Leo so much because he loved Stargirl's individuality, but he was also afraid of it.

Caren: I don't think I was self-aware enough in high school to know what I wanted to be, but I definitely felt like my peers' perceptions barely scratched the surface of who I really was. Like you said, college was a refreshing opportunity to reinvent myself away from the stifling confines of high school.  Reading Stargirl, I found myself wishing Leo would stop worrying about what everyone thought and just enjoy their friendship.  But then I would have to remind myself that I can't apply adult perspective to a teenager who literally cannot envision life after high school.  When that's all you have and you can't imagine it ever changing, the risks for not conforming are a lot higher!

I was intrigued by the character of Stargirl.  Not at first.  At first she seemed to try to hard to be weird.  But eventually she won me over and I believed that her uniqueness was genuine and not just an act.  I think her believability was crucial to the success of the story, and Spinelli did a good job pulling it off when all was said and done.

Jenny:  I think what made her genuine to me was when we found out all the nice things she did for people.  Someone who is weird just to get a reaction out of people or draw attention to herself wouldn't be so generous and kind, I don't think.  The bit with going into the desert and meditating wasn't as believable to me as taking pictures of the neighbor boy or a future scrapbook.  That was sweet.

It really bothered me how the group of kids reacted when Stargirl was the guest for The Hot Seat.  It was a prime example of mob mentality and how dangerous that can be.  At first I thought it was an outrageous example, except that I remember from high school that if someone fell out of favor, their lives would become truly miserable.  It was like the whole school turned against them.  There wasn't necessarily screaming mobs in public places, the shunning was definitely common.  What happened to Stargirl was awful, but not unrealistic.

One of my favorite characters was the old professor across the street from the school, Archie Brubaker.  I thought it was a cool idea, but it made me sad to think that in real life, there wouldn't be someone like that.  It's too easy for people to assume horrible things of an old man who has kids over at his house all the time.  It's a nice idea, though.

Caren: I was actually relieved when the Hot Seat was over that it wasn't any worse than that.  Having seen what the teenage mob mentality can do, I was expecting worse!

The whole time I read Stargirl, I couldn't help but think of As Simple As Snow that we reviewed back in March.  There were a lot of similarities, but while Galloway seemed to be intent on forcing a dark edginess to his story, Spinelli kept his lighter and therefore more realistic.  Spinelli really seemed to be speaking to teenagers, whereas I'm not really sure who Galloway's audience was supposed to be.  Contrasting the two, I marvel that Spinelli's climax revolves around something so mundane as the bunny hop, and yet he relates it so skillfully that you really feel like those kids were changed when it was over.

Jenny:  That's true.  I loved that scene, with everybody happy and exultant after bunny hopping way out yonder and back.  It was a good way for Stargirl to disappear into the sunset.  I'm glad it ended that way instead of Stargirl just evaporating and everybody realizing after the fact that she only did good things for them.

Apparently there's one book after this one, Love, Stargirl.  I haven't heard great things about it, but it's written in Stargirl's point of view, which might be interesting.  Also, according to Jerry Spinelli's website, you can start your own Stargirl society.  Maybe it's because I'm not a teenager, but I didn't feel so moved by the book that I felt like I should start my own Stargirl society.  Then again, I suppose promoting individuality in teenage girls isn't a bad idea.  Most girls that age need a boost to break out of the mold.

Caren: I had mixed feelings about the ending.  While I was glad that Leo had come to realize what a treasure Stargirl was, I was kind of bothered that he still hadn't gotten over her fifteen years later.  I mean, she was great and all, but that seemed a little much.

I liked that the things that endured were the kindnesses to others.  Individuality for its own sake can be just as forced and fake as conformity with the masses, so I don't think that's the most important thing that Stargirl brought.  But the sensitivity to others and getting outside oneself -- that really was a gift.

I felt the same way about being moved by the novel.  It was good, but I wouldn't read it again, and I'm kind of surprised that people love it so much that it would have made it on the top 100 list.  I'm curious if I would have felt differently if I'd read it when I was a teenager, but we'll never know!

Jenny:  Yeah, I was kind of surprised to see it on the list lumped in the same group as The BFG, Henry Huggins, A Long Way From Chicago.  Good, but not Top 100 of All Time good.  Maybe we're missing out on something because our teens are too far behind us.  I'd love it of one the RHE readers read it as a teen and could give us feedback.  Or if anybody has a teenager handy to read it and report back.  Anyone?

Co-review: Beatrice and Virgil

It has been seven years since Yann Martel's unforgettable first novel was published. (And if you haven't read Life of Pi, stop what you're doing right now and request it from your local library.)  His second novel, Beatrice and Virgil, is much shorter in length and thinner in plot and character development.  Any reader of Life of Pi will be on the lookout for allegory and symbolism, and Martel recognizes that and addresses his central theme right up front, basically giving the reader a little essay about both the limitations and necessity of depicting the Holocaust through fiction.

So with a little heads up from the author about what to expect, we are equipped to forge ahead.  But of course Martel doesn't keep it quite that simple.  The story itself is brief and uncomplicated, but its layers of meaning offer plenty of fodder for any book group discussion.  It begins with an air of autobiography surrounding the main character.  Henry is an author who experienced explosive success with his first published novel, an allegorical work featuring animals.  After five years of intense personal investment, Henry finishes his next work that is both a fictional and non-fictional treatment of the Holocaust.  It is rejected for publication so forcefully that it sends Henry into such a funk that he decides to give up writing.

Looking for a change of scenery, he and his wife move to a foreign city and he enjoys a measure of anonymity in pursuing varied interests.  When he receives an unusual package from a reader in the same city, containing an unfamiliar yet intriguing short story by Gustave Flaubert, a scene from a play, and a plea for help, Henry decides to investigate further.  The sender turns out to be an old taxidermist who is writing a play featuring Beatrice and Virgil, a donkey and monkey long preserved in his shop.  As Henry gets increasingly involved in the story of Beatrice and Virgil, he is increasingly frustrated at the taxidermist's either refusal or inability to connect with him on a human level.  But he continues to return as he realizes that there is more to Beatrice and Virgil's story than he first suspects.  What he discovers leads him back to his own attempts to grapple with the Holocaust in his fiction, and with a surprising conclusion, changes his life forever.

As with other co-reviews, be aware that we may give more away than you want to know if you haven't read it.

Caren: I had serious mixed feelings about reading Beatrice and Virgil. I enjoyed Life of Pi so much that I was excited to see what Yann Martel would come up with for his second novel, but I was also worried that after such high expectations I couldn't help but be disappointed.  And I wasn't sure I wanted to read something with the intensity of Life of Pi and just be let down.  Fortunately, some of those fears were complete non-issues.  First, Beatrice and Virgil is pretty short.  No more than a couple hundred pages, so even if you don't like it you don't have to invest huge amounts of time.

Second, it has what my marketing husband would call a "low barrier to entry."  It was very easy to begin a harmless story about a successful writer facing rejection, to get involved without having to invest very much.  By the time it started turning more dark and serious, it was too late.  I had to know what Martel had up his sleeve, even though I knew it had to do with the Holocaust and wouldn't be pleasant.  But I think that was part of what made it so powerful.  When the violence comes at the end -- the violence in the play and the violence against Henry -- it was all the more intense because it was such a contrast to the safe narrative we'd enjoyed all along.

Jenny:  I had a hard time getting into the story.  The blurb in the front inside cover gave almost no hints about the story so I didn't know what to expect.  All the blathering on about getting his flip book about the Holocaust published seemed autobiographical, like you said, and I couldn't really understand what this had to do with a donkey and a monkey.  I kept reminding myself that Life of Pi had all the information about zoos at the beginning and how that tied into that story, so I should just keep going.  I'm dense, but I didn't catch on that the part about the Holocaust in the beginning tied into the play that the taxidermist wrote until it was getting creepy.  By the time I realized what the taxidermist was writing, it was like watching a car accident take place.  You know it's going to be horrific and terrifying but you can't look away.  I couldn't look away and now it's seared in my mind.

I seriously misjudged this story, which is just stupid.  I mean, Life of Pi is not just a story about a boy and a tiger stranded on a boat, but for some reason I thought this was a story about a monkey and a donkey.  I thought that the taxidermist was disturbing with a capital D, but didn't realize that he was telling his own story through the play.  I mean, Beatrice and Virgil don't really talk about anything.  Half of what they did talk about I didn't understand.  Maybe a second reading will help me see all the clues that Martel gives, but I don't know if I want to read it again.

That sounds like I didn't like it, but I did.  It was just kinda horrible reading.  But really, really amazing horrible reading.  After I finished the book, I was paralyzed on my bed.  I couldn't hardly breathe from the shock of the ending.  And then I spent the rest of the day thinking about the Holocaust and thinking about how I never think about the Holocaust.

Caren: I can see how the beginning would put you off.  There is a lot of philosophizing about art -- particularly fiction -- and not very much advancing the plot.  And I did the same thing at the end.  I was just going to read a little more before bed one night, but then things rapidly grew intense and I had to stay up late and finish it.  Then I had a hard time unwinding for sleep because I just wanted to talk to someone about it!

I felt like I didn't understand a lot of details about the play too.  Like, what was the deal with the setting being a shirt?  And the sewing kit?  I felt like I basically got the overall point about stuff (the Holocaust victims who don't have a voice finding other ways to express the Horrors they suffered), but that I missed some of the deeper levels of meaning by not understanding everything.  What was the significance of both the writer and the taxidermist having the same first name?  And why does the taxidermist stab Henry at the end?  Was it because he felt like he was being denied redemption when Henry wouldn't take his play?  Was it because -- like St. Julian -- he longed for violence and this was an easy outlet?

Jenny:  I am so glad you didn't understand details of the play.  I felt stupid because it seemed like symbolism I should be getting, but I just didn't.  Does it seem really obvious to other people besides Martel?  I'd love to know that.

When I realized who the taxidermist was and what he had done, I felt overwhelmed with disgust, like Henry.  Then, when he stabbed Henry, I wondered why he bothered to seek redemption if his plan was to kill Henry if he didn't like his play.  Then again, maybe he didn't have that plan, it was just a reaction to Henry's loathing.  This is a guy accustomed to violence, after all.  He's pretty handy with a knife due to his choice of profession and his past.  Maybe his calm, stony exterior was masking rage and violence.  Super creepy any way you look at it.

So here I finish the story and then Martel adds the Games for Gustav at the end.  I don't even know what to write about that.  I'm sitting here at the computer, trying to find words and failing.  What keeps coming back to me is that my generation and future generations must be reminded of the Holocaust because it isn't part of our personal history.  Like, 9/11 won't mean much to my kids who didn't watch the planes crash into the towers on television.  That's not a perfect comparison, but it's the closest thing I can think of.  The Holocaust will mean even less to my children who will be nearly a century removed from it by the time they are adults.  This is a little of what the sewing kit means to me, that we need to write what happened into ourselves so we don't forget.

Caren: I agree.  I like what you said earlier about how you were left "thinking about the Holocaust and thinking about how I never think about the Holocaust."  How do you avoid relegating the Holocaust to just a footnote in history?  How do you depict it in a way that makes it fresh and impressionable, without stripping it of meaning with overuse?  I think Martel did just that.  And for me, Games for Gustav was the most powerful part.  A handful of sentences and questions.  That's it.  But so vivid that I felt almost a physical recoil against trying to make my mind accept them.  I know that was only the briefest glimpse into the horrors that went on for millions of victims, but it was strong enough that I felt like any more and I would have started shutting it out instead of being open to it like I was.

I have a hard time talking about the book in an objective way, because those final pages evoked such a strong emotional response.  I can't separate that response no matter how hard I try.  I would be willing to read it again, and would be interested to see what more I could get out of it.  (Which is interesting since I can only handle one reading of other novels which portray horrible things, like The Kite Runner).  But with this one being so simple and allegorical for most of the story, I think I could handle a second reading.  I guess some readers and reviewers have hated it, but I feel like it is well worth reading and especially discussing.

Jenny:  Absolutely.  I think I need to wait about a year and then read it again to see if I can understand it better knowing from the start how it will end.  But I need to give it some time because it was emotionally wrenching.  I thought I knew what people in concentration camps went through and then I read Games for Gustav.  That's when I realized that I have no idea of their suffering.  No idea.  It felt like a punch in the gut.

Reviewers have hated it?  How interesting that Henry's editors and publishers hated his fictional work on the Holocaust.  What foresight.

Caren: Pretty ironic, huh? That's what I've heard, but I haven't looked into it further.  One complaint I've heard is that using animals somehow trivialized the Jews' suffering and some people were offended by it.  But I think those people totally missed the point.  I think the Flaubert story was a great explanation for the human/animal connection, and how redemption did (or didn't, in my opinion) play into it.

So many aspects of this story deserve to be fleshed out more fully.  This is definitely one I'll be thinking about for a while.

Co-review: The Weed that Strings the Hangman's Bag

Caren and I both loved Alan Bradley's book The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie and decided, since we're on a sequels kick for co-reviews these days, that we would do one for his next book.  The Weed that Strings the Hangman's Bag is another tale of mystery and murder with Flavia de Luce, chemist, poisons expert, detective, adventurer, clever liar, and not-quite-eleven-year-old.  This time she is investigating the mysterious murder of Rupert Porson, a puppeteer who arrived in Bishop's Lacey--the town in England where the story takes place--under unknown circumstances.  Porson is a famous man with his own television show on the BBC, and his puppets are beloved by children and adults the country over.  When his van breaks down in Bishop's Lacey near the parsonage, Flavia starts to help him out of curiosity.  As she noses out some mystery having to do with Porson's assistant, Nialla, Flavia can't resist snooping some more.

Flavia discovers that Porson is not a stranger to her small town and that somehow he is tied up with the mysterious death of Robin Ingleby, a young boy who died five years before.  Flavia also stumbles across a German POW who is working for the Inglebys and his role in events also surface.  In addition to all this, Flavia's Aunt Felicity comes to town to put their disastrous financial affairs in order and to chastise Flavia's father.  There's a lot going on, I know.  There's so many more new characters in this book, but we still have the delightful, gossipy Mrs. Mullett, the traumatized and complicated Dogger, and Flavia's fiendish sisters.  Each character is a delight.

With prompting from the vicar, Porson puts on a puppet show for the town.  It's like nothing anyone has ever seen, with obvious skilled craftsmanship.  When Porson drops dead at the finale instead of his giant puppet, Flavia instantly begins her detective work.  With her fascination with death and her precocious ability to ferret out facts, the police department is lucky to have her on the case. 

As always, we don't hold back in these co-reviews.  Since this book is a mystery and the ending a fairly good surprise, I don't recommend reading this if you don't want it ruined for you.  Seriously.  Don't read this.  Go read the first and second books, then come back.

Jenny:  Flavia is one of my new favorite characters.  She's so clever, so funny, so delightfully macabre that I can't get enough.  I wrote down page numbers of sections where I laughed out loud.  The part where she decides to ask Dogger what it means to have an affair?  Oh my gosh, I giggled so hard that my husband had to put down his book to ask me what was so funny.  Flavia is unapologetic about her methods and means.  For example, I loved this sentence so much I wrote it down: "I suppose there must have been times when I hated myself for practicing such deceits, but I could not think of any at the moment.  It was Fate, after all, who thrust me into these things, and Fate would jolly well have to stand the blame."  Oh man, she's a hoot. 

I think I actually liked this book better than the first one.  It was more shocking and funny and engaging.  I remember having to give the first book a second chance after almost returning it to the library, but this one I dove in and finished in a few days.  But that could also be because I knew what good stuff was waiting for me.

Caren: I loved the first book, and enjoyed this one just as much.  Maybe even more because I am a bigger Flavia de Luce fan now.  During the first book, I was so unsure of what to make of her -- she amazed me and creeped me out at the same time -- so I hesitated to fully embrace her and her quirkiness.  But now that I've had some history with her, I felt like I could relax and enjoy her bizarre talents without reserve.

While I was reading, I tried to decide if you had to have read The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie to appreciate this one.  I think it would definitely help, but isn't necessary.  Bradley did a good job of filling in any important information without giving away spoilers from the first book.

Oh, and I loved her conversation with Dogger about what it means to have an affair too!  And she is perfectly satisfied with his explanation that two people having an affair "became the greatest of friends."  Priceless!  Her maturity and intelligence juxtaposed with moments like that which showed her youth and vulnerability made her all the more likeable.

I'm curious how much of the chemistry in the story is accurate.  She's such a MacGyver when it comes to her homemade experiments.  It's awesome!  And I can't help but wonder how much research Bradley does for these novels and whether her exploits are at all realistic.

Jenny:  I bet he does his research, especially if you look at how long his acknowledgments are at the end of the book.  Plus, you gotta know people will write him and say, "Now on page 137, you mentioned these two compounds and they wouldn't really do that, blah blah blah."  The prospect of dealing with that would get me to do my research, anyway. 

I didn't feel any hint of how the mystery would unfold.  Bradley kept me in the dark.  I'm curious if you had any hints as to how it played out.

Flavia is MacGyver!  If MacGyver was a prepubescent girl obsessed with poison, anyway.  I was totally impressed with how she used her wits to save Grace at the end.  But those moments in the book make me think Bradley is trying to make her too clever and fast-thinking, beyond what is believable.  Then he reminds us that she's just a little girl through the torment her older sisters put her through.  Ah, Bradley, you tricky author you.

Caren: I didn't figure out who did it either.  I did suspect it was Rupert at the seaside when Sally mentioned the Punch and Judy show, but I didn't figure out the implications that he and Grace Ingleby had a thing going.  And I sort of had a hard time remembering Rupert was supposed to be such a ladies' man when all we saw of him was being an abusive jerk. I had kind of hoped that it was Cynthia or Mad Meg who killed Rupert because they would have made much better murderers than poor, pathetic Grace.

I really enjoyed learning more about Harriett, especially when Aunt Felicity tells Flavia that she is just like her mother.  I loath Flavia's sisters for how horrible they are to her and I hope that Bradley has some sort of redemption planned for her, because her home life really stinks.

One thing Bradley does really well is setting an eery tone.  The rotting gallows at the abandoned crossroads in the middle of the wood; the puppet with Robin's face; the shrine in the dovecote; they were all wonderfully creepy!

Jenny:  Yes, Bradley does masterfully create a scene.  I often felt like I was right beside Flavia as she raced around on Gladys, her bicycle.  When Flavia went to the old auto shop to retrieve some research, I got shivers when I remembered how she was trapped in there in the first book.  I love an author who can describe a scene so well that I find myself there with the characters.  Makes it so much more fun to read.

When Aunt Felicity tells Flavia that she is just like her mother, I cheered!  Those stinky sisters of hers, aptly nicknamed Feely and Daffy, are probably just jealous that their little sister ended up so much like their mother.  Like you said, I really hope Bradley has something nasty in store for them.  Of course, the rank chocolates at the end was pretty hilarious, though it would have been more funny if Feely had actually eaten some of them. 

Here's a random question: what's up with the butterfly on the cover of the book?  Do you remember anything about butterflies?

Caren: I think it referred to Nialla's butterfly compact that Mad Meg stole, but I was surprised it didn't have any real significance in the story.  I expected it to be a pivotal piece of the puzzle, but it wasn't.  Unless I missed something!

Speaking of the cover, I have to say that Alan Bradley does come up with the most unusual and unforgettable titles.  Kind of a pain to write out, but pretty cool!  And all the references to art, literature, history, and the sciences -- either he's one very well-educated writer or he's good at faking it!

Jenny:  I'm a fan whether or not he's faking it.  This is good stuff, my friend.

Co-review: About A Boy

We weren't supposed to read About A Boy by Nick Hornby for our co-review this month.  We were supposed to read How To Be Good by Nick Hornby, but Caren's library system had a computer meltdown and couldn't get a hold of it, or find out if they had it.  They did have About A Boy on the shelves so she picked that up instead and I requested a copy for myself.  It wasn't what I had picked to read, but I figured it was still by Nick Hornby--whose work I've been curious about--and that was good enough. 

I'm guessing that at least some of our readers have seen the movie, About A Boy, so they're already going to know the basics of the story.  Will Freeman is a man who has perfected the art of doing nothing.  He lives on the royalties of a song his father wrote many years ago.  He is a casual drug user, an inept liar, and a person who has chosen to be disengaged from humanity.  He's only interested in music and television and does not desire, nor see the point of, having a family or deep emotional connections with other people.

Enter Marcus and his depressed mother.  Through a series of events that include Will lying about having a child to get into bed with hot single mothers, Will becomes involved with twelve-year-old Marcus and all of his many issues.  After his mother's suicide attempt, Marcus has decided that he needs more people in his circle than just his mother and rarely-seen father.  He decides that Will knows the secrets to dealing with school bullies and social situations that require behavior that eludes Marcus, so he keeps coming to visit Will despite Will's strong desire for him to just disappear.  Will has no interest in dealing with anything that smells of responsibility.

As always, we don't hold back for these reviews, but don't worry.  There isn't exactly some big secret that gets revealed at the end anyway.  It's more of a gradual evolution of the characters.

Jenny:  I wasn't too excited about reading this book after you told me how bad the language was.  You were right, there were way too many f-words.  It got old. 

What I did like was how well Hornby portrayed Marcus' inner dialogue.  The constant fear of a repeat of the Dead Duck Day was so real and made me feel that same dread that Marcus was feeling.  It made me want to just hug him and make it all better.  Also, he doesn't get sarcasm at all and his puzzlement over what Will was saying to him half the time was fun.  I loved how he wanted Ellie to be his girlfriend, but had no interest in physical intimacy.  I understood his frustration at adults not understanding what he needed or was saying because I remember feeling that exact same way.  "Just stay out of their way" has got to be the worst advice for dealing with school bullies an adult has ever said to a kid that age.  These things were probably my favorite parts of the book.  Marcus is just wonderfully likable.

Caren: Yes, Marcus was great.  And I couldn't help but like Will too.  Even though he was such a waste of human flesh for the first half of the book, the humor and absurdity of his life engendered affection whether he deserved it or not.  Aside from the language (which was really over-the-top, I thought), I really enjoyed Hornby's style of writing and sense of humor.  And as funny as the writing was, there was more to it than that because as the characters developed the overall message was that the bonds that tie us to others are bonds of security, not captivity.

Towards the end of the book, though, I was less impressed with the evolution of Marcus and the message that came along with that.  I like that he became more accepted, but did he have to do it by embracing the frivolous trappings of his peers?  He ends up turning his back on the things he valued in the past because they were all things his mom kind of thrust on him and were making him geeky.  That's fine, and I think it was great for him to exercise some independence, but did he have to do it by completely rejecting his mother's lifestyle in favor of the superficial?  I thought some middle ground would have been better.

I was also disappointed with the final message that you can't count on the marriage relationship surviving so it's best that you surround yourself with as many people as possible outside of marriage because they'll always be there no matter what.  Sadly, that may be true for some people, but it still bugged me that it was portrayed as a good thing.  That every other relationship can be counted on except the one between your mother and father, or you and your spouse.  With that kind of a depressing outlook, Marcus is doomed to misery in his adult life!

Jenny:  I feel like we got a glimpse of how Marcus would end up when Will was trying to help him fit in at school, telling him to become invisible by becoming like everyone else. It made me sad that that was how Will taught him to be accepted was by conformity.  That's why kids who stand out are mocked and scorned and tormented, though, is because they refuse to be part of the crowd.  Or they are oblivious, like Marcus.  It makes me wonder why that's so threatening, to be different.

I've been thinking about Ellie all day.  Did you know anybody like that in high school?  Constantly in trouble and mad at the world?  There was a guy who sat next to me in my English class my junior year who had a blue mohawk and tons of piercings.  He acted like he was this rebel, had big ideas and nobody understood him.  Then I realized he did all that to get a reaction out of people.  He was pretty shallow, really.  I felt that way about Ellie.  She liked pushing buttons with her Kurt Cobain sweatshirt and black lipstick.  I think it was an act.  Then when Marcus called her out on her insincere comments about suicide, I was cheering. 

Will's evolution through the course of the book was one of my favorite aspects.  Here's my favorite passage from the end of the book when Will is at the police station with Marcus' parents and Ellie and her mother:

Some of these people he hadn't known until today; some of them he had only known for a little while, and even then he couldn't say that he knew them well.  But here they were anyway...all of them bound to each other in ways that it would be almost impossible to explain to anyone who had just wandered in.  Will couldn't recall ever having been caught up in this sort of messy, sprawling, chaotic web before; it was almost as if he had been been given a glimpse of what it was like to be human.  It wasn't too bad, really; he wouldn't even mind being human on a full-time basis.  

Will had spent his whole adult life trying to avoid these situations and now has discovered that it's not so bad after all.  Compare that to the beginning of the book where he is repulsed by his friends with a new baby!

Caren: That's a great quote!  I was a bit disappointed in Marcus' ending, but I was happy that Will had a lot more potential to really live life at the end.  And I felt the same way about Ellie.  It was all just a show, and I was so glad that Marcus figured out that her act was so shallow and meaningless.

I'm curious if you liked it enough to read some more of Hornby's stuff.  I don't think I will -- unless it's by recommendation.  There were a lot of things I liked about it, but I didn't like it so much that it was worth putting up with all the language.  There are just too many other things I'd rather spend my time reading.

Jenny:  Nah, I probably won't bother again unless somebody raves about something else.  It's kind of sad that we bothered to do it in the first place since there are other books out there worth the effort.  This wasn't really worth it.  Oh well, live and learn, right?  I'm feeling a little gun-shy about my choices for co-reviews this year since both have been duds.  Hopefully the Swan Thieves for next month will be amazing.  It'll redeem my choices so far. 

Co-review: As Simple As Snow

Gregory Galloway's first novel, As Simple As Snow, has a deceptive title. There is nothing simple about either the story or it's characters, and the title itself comes to have multiple meanings by the time the novel is finished.

Galloway's approach is unconventional in many respects. The story is told as a first person narrative, but we are never given the narrator's name. In fact, his name is censored on the few occasions it's used, but there is evidence to suggest it is Galloway himself. Why? I don't know. Because he could, I guess. But that's one indication that the reader should expect the unexpected when reading this story.

Whatever his name is, the narrator's boring life is forever changed by Anna, a new girl who moves to town at the beginning of his sophomore year. She hangs out with the Goths -- a group he ordinarily avoids -- but attracts his attention with her colorful and engaging personality. (It doesn't hurt that she's cute, too.) Anna is full of paradoxes. She gets D's in every subject, but is incredibly smart and knows more about every subject than anyone he knows. Her insatiable curiosity seems to apply particularly to artistic and historical figures, and she soon begins giving him riddles and games to solve that require him to get outside of his comfort zone and learn more about the world around him. Her Goth attire and obsession with ghosts and obituaries (she writes one for each member of the small town) seem morbid and gloomy, but she is generally a happy person who appears optimistic about the future and more full of life than anyone else in town.

Things go well for several months (meaning they fall in love, if you can say that with a straight face), until she mysteriously disappears a week before Valentine's Day, leaving nothing but her dress laid out next to a hole in the ice of the frozen river. Her body is never found, and the narrator is torn between his need to get over her and live his life and the possibility that she is still alive and this is only an elaborate game she is setting up. That idea is further supported when he starts receiving messages that seem to come from her and he -- together with the reader -- desperately tries to reconstruct and solve whatever puzzle she has created.

Just as a reminder, in order to discuss this book openly in the co-review, we may give away spoilers!

Caren: First, I just have to ask. Was this supposed to be a young adult novel? The age of the characters and coming-of-age theme would certainly support that. But the sex and use of the f-word seemed way too adult in my opinion. Is that more typical of young adult novels these days? My library had the book catalogued under adult fiction, but the audio version under youth. So apparently they couldn't decide either!

Jenny: I wondered the exact same thing but my library said adult fiction, which seemed more accurate. I don't know what I was expecting from this book since I read a summary about it months ago and I put it on my to-read list without thinking too much about it. I was expecting adult fiction, but was surprised to see that it had more young adult themes. Just another puzzle with this book.

Speaking of puzzles, I like them and find them to be fascinating when they are interwoven in fiction, but I appreciate it when I can either figure out the puzzle or the characters figure it out for me. This had neither. It was puzzle after puzzle with no solution. It was irksome.

Caren: Yeah, I was pretty irritated with the ending. I stayed up late one night to finish it because as the suspense grew closer to the end I couldn't put it down. So to find out that nothing gets resolved felt like a mean trick! And I mean, nothing! Not what happened to Anna. Not why she hated Mr. Devon. Not who was giving her bruises. Not what was going on with Carl's dad and why he was even a part of the story. Nothing.

I don't mind enigmatic endings where every loose end isn't tied up and there are multiple ways to interpret events. Sometimes those are the best endings. But this time I wasn't very attached to the characters, so the only thing drawing me on was the anticipation of getting answers and then those answers never came. Very frustrating. The ending wasn't bad, necessarily. It did end with a lot of hope for a fresh start and the narrator's escape from the suffocating dullness of his parents' dysfunctional life. But the whole thing just felt too cerebral for me. Like something I would read and dissect in a postmodern fiction class, but not necessarily enjoy in the process.

Jenny: I agree with you completely. This could have been an amazing mystery. It could have been like John Green's book Paper Towns that I read some time ago. In Green's book, the story is really similar, with the crazy out-of-the-box girl and her puzzles she leaves behind when she suddenly disappears, but it is so much more satisfying. But no, Galloway decided not to tie up any loose ends and leave us all scratching our heads.

The only reason I can come up with why Galloway wrote it the way he did is because not all puzzles are solved and not all questions are answered. There are plenty of people in the world who lose a loved one and never find out what happened to them. Maybe the point was to observe what happened to the narrator as he grieved. I have no idea. I don't mind reading a book that needs analyzing, but I didn't particularly like this book so I'm less enthused about picking it apart. The characters weren't very likable.

Caren: Note to self: Check out Paper Towns. Satisfying is a good description for what was missing in this one. And sometimes I felt like I was missing something important. Like, why the ambiguity about the narrator's name? What was the point of that? But since I didn't really care about the characters or the story, I didn't really care that much about the cryptic things he did with it.

Another thing I thought was odd was his portrayal of small town life. I grew up in a small town about the size as the one in the story and while some of the things rang true, a lot really didn't fit. He describes a three-story high school, but none of the small towns I'm familiar with can justify a three-story high school building. And all the cliques? I counted at least eight different groups (he names jocks, bandoids, arty types, 4-H'ers, geeks, bandoids, speech and debate team, and Goths). But in my experience, a small town high school doesn't have enough students to support that many different cliques. The jocks are often also the kids who get good grades, play in the band, participate in the arts, do 4-H on the side, etc. There's a lot of overlap between disciplines because there are so few kids to spread around. So that seemed like an unrealistic view of small town high school life. (Though the football coach who gave alcohol to his players definitely fit.)

So, what are your thoughts on what happened to Anna? It's clear that she planned her disappearance, but did she commit suicide or just run off?

Jenny: First I have to say that I'm glad you know stuff about small towns because I grew up in a large suburb of a major city, so I totally didn't catch any of those inconsistencies about small towns. Very interesting. I wonder if the author even knew anything about small towns or if he just needed the high school to exist a certain way so he threw aside any small town characteristics and did what he wanted.

Okay, as far as Anna goes, I think she ran away. I think all her hinting around about holding her breath in cold water was just another cryptic puzzle, along with the dress on the ice. Oh man, all the puzzles are making me tired. I think Anna was way too insatiable about life to do away with it. I think there might have been an abusive situation either between her and Mr. Devon or between her and her dad (bruises on her arms? weird situation with the ladder?) or between her and the jock/goth guy whose name I can't remember. I think she wanted a dramatic exit. If that's the case, what a selfish kid. The torture she put her parents and the narrator through is unbelievably selfish. This girl cannot be mentally healthy.

Caren: I agree. I don't think she committed suicide either, because that would be way too mediocre for her. And what you said about her insatiable appetite for life wouldn't fit with suicide. Her theatrics -- though interesting -- just proved how immature she was, and how easily discarded her relationship with the narrator was. Does the final obituary indicate that she plans on tracking him for the next 14 years and then re-entering his life? No matter how you look at it she was definitely a disturbed girl!

Add it all up and I'm pretty sure I won't be trying anything else from this author anytime soon!

Co-Review: Wuthering Heights

Emily Bronte's book Wuthering Heights is considered a classic in English literature. It takes place in the English moors, with most of the action between the two great houses Thrushcross Grange and Wuthering Heights. The narration is interesting in that it's told by Mr. Lockwood, who is renting in one of the homes. He wants to know the turbulent history of the strange man Heathcliff that owns the home, so he gets the story from Nelly Dean, who was playmate and housekeeper for the families who resided in these houses.

Heathcliff was brought to Wuthering Heights as a young boy, described as a gypsy-like street urchin. His father favors him over his own son, Hindley, and his daughter, Catherine, becomes Heathcliff's best friend and eventually, his object of affection. Hindley treats Heathcliff horribly, as do the Lintons, who live in Thrushcross Grange. In a misunderstood moment, Heathcliff perceives that Catherine will never marry him and he disappears for a few years. He reappears after Catherine has married Edgar Linton, now as a man of wealth and full of plans for revenge. His plotting and malice reach down into the next generation.

The tale of Heathcliff and Catherine's tragic, violent love is well known, well-analyzed and has been discussed by smarter people than Caren and I, but we're going to take a crack at it anyway.

Jenny: Having never read this book before and only knowing the characters' names and not much else, I assumed it was a love story. I expected something like Jane Eyre. Gothic, dark, and tragic but eventually redemptive and beautiful. Wuthering Heights is more a tale of revenge, the way it consumes and destroys Heathcliff and those he preys upon. What do you think?

Caren: Yes, I agree that it is definitely a tale of passion, but not love. My copy had an essay at the beginning that briefly talked about its history and how it has been interpreted over the years. It has only become well-known and enjoyed in the last hundred years or so perhaps -- according to the essayist -- due to modern society's ability to enjoy it as a story of enduring love that cannot be bound within society's constraints or even by death.

I completely disagree with that interpretation. There may have been potential for love, but it was corrupted through selfishness and greed until the characters were destroyed by it. The choices they made to pursue revenge, vanity, and ambition twisted them into people who were incapable of feeling love. Love arguably requires a degree of selflessness, and the only person in the triangle who was capable of that was the unheroic Edgar Linton. Heathcliff and Catherine had no clue what real love was. Passion, yes. Obsession, yes. Manipulation, yes. Love, no.

Jenny: Amen to that. I kept thinking about how horrible all these people were and poor Edgar Linton was caught up in their manipulations because he was stupid enough to love Catherine. There is a sweetness to the love that blossoms between Cathy and Hareton, but it certainly was sowed in very poor ground. Catherine Senior wasn't much of a healthy example so it's not too sad she died before her daughter could know her and be influenced by her.

Something else that was upsetting, and that was pointed out in the introduction to my copy of the book, was the way characters refused to eat to manipulate others. Isabella does it, Catherine does it, and then Heathcliff does it at the end, refusing to eat for four days. The introduction said that Emily Bronte was known to do that to her family when things weren't going how she wanted to and that she eventually died from the effects of anorexia. I had no idea that even existed in that time period, figuring it was a product of our culture's obsession with size. I don't know much about eating disorders, but this made me think that it's more about power than a certain look. Well, and mental illness as well.

Caren: Yes, very interesting. I'm not sure I would have picked up on that on my own. Considering the relatively sheltered -- and short -- life that Emily Bronte lived, it is astounding that she could produce such an intense work. Such amazing women those Bronte sisters were! I wish there was some way of knowing exactly her feelings and intentions behind Wuthering Heights. My introduction said that Bronte doesn't allow her feelings to color the narrative, but I couldn't help but wonder if the biases of Nelly and Mr. Lockwood were more representative of her views than the intro gave them credit for. In any case, I'm intrigued that she would have poured so much energy into characters that inspired such a love-hate relationship with the reader.

I did like that the hopeful ending with Cathy and Hareton creates a slight feeling of redemption. But it's interesting that after such an intimate look into the poisonous lives of Heathcliff and Catherine, the narrator is prohibited from getting more than a cursory glance at the future happiness in store for Cathy and Hareton. Is that because Emily Bronte didn't have enough experience with healthy human relationships to know how to portray them? Or just because she didn't want to detract from the brooding melancholy of the novel?

Jenny: Now, that's interesting. Jane Eyre is very autobiographical, because Charlotte Bronte taught at a girls' school and had some of the experiences she wrote about, but Emily was very sheltered. She tried going to that same school that Charlotte was at and didn't do well. That was where some of the starving episodes started. It seems that Wuthering Heights is pure imagination. Not every book has to be based on personal experience and maybe this is one of them. I felt relieved at one point when Nelly said that she wondered if the only soul around that had any common sense resided in her own body. At least Emily knew that this wasn't normal behavior!

The only part I found romantic was the idea of a windswept English moor. I didn't find much romantic about this book, but that enchanted me. Now that I think about it, it's more a carry over from Jane Eyre, where the moors are very dramatic and romantic. I could write a whole post about how much I love Jane Eyre. Mr. Rochester is gruff and difficult but inherently likable. There is nothing likable about Heathcliff or Catherine. I think that was a barrier for me to really enjoy the book since the only person I liked was Nelly and she mostly served as narrator and observer.

Caren: Yeah, this type of "romance" certainly doesn't fit our modern use of the word. Why has it endured as such a famous love story? No idea. Maybe because it's so disturbing! I realize that it's not autobiographical, but how an author can write so convincingly of such dark relationships without having much life experience herself is fascinating to me. And I think that's part of what has made it an enduring classic. Her skill and insight go far beyond your typical young woman's romantic imagination. I can't help but be impressed at what a keen and sensitive awareness she must have had, even though I didn't care for her characters and their ruined lives.

One thing that I just have to mention before we end (because I kept being reminded of it while I read), is the comparison that Stephanie Meyer makes with Wuthering Heights and her Twilight love triangle. If I remember right, the Wuthering Heights entanglement loosely served as the model for Meyer's Eclipse. Reading it for the first time (though I've seen the Ralph Fiennes/Juliette Binoche film version) I couldn't help but wonder why Meyer would ever think such a love triangle deserved to be recreated. No wonder her characters seem immature and selfish and obsessive in their relationships! And no wonder of the four books in the series (which I enjoyed overall), I absolutely loathed Eclipse!

Jenny: Now I'm really interested to see what our readers have to say about the relationship between Catherine and Heathcliff and if they think of it as an enduring love or if they agree with us, that it was a selfish and destructive obsession.

I have to say, I love Jane Austen's books but there's something about the darkness of the Bronte sisters' books that I love even more. I wish there were more books to read and examine. I didn't like Wuthering Heights, but I did appreciate how new and dangerous it was for the time, the supernatural elements, and the imperfect ending. I could have skipped most of the violence though, especially baby Hareton being tossed over the stairwell. Yikes.

We'd love to hear what the readers of this blog thought, especially if you can find more worthy aspects of the book that we missed!

Co-review: 2009 Best and Worst

Happy New Year! But before we move on to 2010, let's take a look back at 2009. For December's co-review Jenny and I decided to share the best and worst books we read in 2009. Keep in mind that these are not necessarily books that were published in 2009, but rather were read for the first time that year.

Caren's List of Favorite Reads:
I had quite the battle trying to decide which books should make the "best" list. Some deserved to be on it because I had so much fun reading them, but weren't necessarily amazing examples of literature. While others deserved to be on it because they were fantastic literature that left me deeply moved, but weren't necessarily the kind of thing I would pick up and read again anytime soon. In the end, I decided to include both.

1. The Story of Edgar Sawtelle, by David Wroblewski. I love when a new author can blow me away with an amazing work, and this was definitely one of those "wow" experiences.
2. A Girl Named Zippy, by Haven Kimmel. This lighthearted memoir is elevated beyond just a funny-yet-forgettable personal story by Kimmel's keen wit, observation, and powerful command of language.
3. The Kite Runner, by Khaled Hosseini. Definitely not to be taken lightly, this is one work that gets deep inside you and won't let go, leaving you forever changed.
4. The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows. A delightful story with a deeply human touch, as well as a wonderful nod to the power of literature in improving the human condition.
5. These is My Words, by Nancy E. Turner. A fascinating period piece with a great mix of action and sympathetic characters.

A Few More I Just Can't Leave Out:
And then there were a few more that I can't in good conscience fail to mention, even if they didn't quite make the "best" list.

1. The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie, by Alan Bradley. Fun and a little bit freaky, but in a good way.
2. The Lace Reader, by Brunonia Barry. More than a little bit freaky -- okay, a lot freaky -- but a well-crafted story if you can stomach the bad language and themes of abuse.
3. The Thursday Next Series, by Jasper Fforde. Some were better than others, but the whole series provided me many hours of entertainment this year.
4. She Got Up Off the Couch, by Haven Kimmel. This follow-up to Zippy continues Kimmel's story in a similarly delightful style, but leaves some of the childhood innocence behind.
5. Three Cups of Tea, by Greg Mortenson and David Oliver Relin. Worth reading even if it did put me to sleep more than once.

Definitely Worth Skipping:
I try to avoid books that I suspect I won't enjoy, which helps keep my "worst" list pretty small. But these are the ones that I disliked the most, ranging from mild irritation to serious aggravation.

1. Spare Change, by Aubrey Mace. Such a major waste of ink and paper that I didn't even bother reviewing it. Think "local author spends too much time watching lame romantic comedies" and you'll get an idea. To add to the insult (because I did feel insulted reading it), I accidentally spilled water on it right before returning it to the library and had to buy the stupid thing!
2. Freddy and Fredericka, by Mark Helprin. Helprin's sense of humor might have redeemed it if he had cut the thing down by, oh, about 500 pages.
3. The Friday Night Knitting Club, by Kate Jacobs. This one falls more into the mild irritation range. Jacobs over-estimated her abilities and the result is shallow and forgettable.
4. Running with Angels, by Pamela Hansen. Worthy message, but poor execution. But what else can you expect from someone who isn't a writer?
5. The Middle Place, by Kelly Corrigan. Corrigan has some skill as a writer, but I had a hard time really connecting with her as a narrator of her personal story.

And now I'm excited to see what Jenny has picked for her top reads of 2009!

Jenny's List of Favorite Reads:
This project of picking favorite books over the year is harder than it looks, people. It has taken me literally minutes and minutes of thinking to determine what I loved best this year. Like Caren said, it isn't always about great literature but about how much I enjoyed reading it.

1. The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows.
I kept coming back to this book whenever I would try to tabulate my favorite books of the year. The story was so engaging and the people so lovable that I felt like I was living on the island with them. It was the best book all around.
2. The Help by Kathryn Stockett. I put that book down and felt altered forever. Stockett gives the women of this story three dimensions and made me respect and relate to them. Amazing writing.
3. The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova. This book completely freaked me out, frightened me to death and refused to be put down for more than a few minutes at a time. Kostova reinvented the Dracula tale in such a compelling way that anybody could enjoy it, if they can handle the scariness.
4. Snowflower and the Secret Fan by Lisa See. Such a beautiful tale of friendship in a setting that completely blew me away with its beauty and painful atrocities.
5. The Little Giant of Aberdeen County by Tiffany Baker. An unusual heroine who you can't help but root for, with mystery, love and suspense all tied in.

Honorable Mentions:
I read and review lots of books for young adults and younger readers and oftentimes, I find them to be the very best of books to read for both me and my kids. A few of those made it into my honorable mentions list.

1. Clementine by Sara Pennypacker. Not since Ramona Quimby has a little girl caught my family's adoration like Clementine. The three books written so far were read out loud with delight and thoroughly enjoyed.
2. The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman. Never has a group of ghosts been so lovable. Or a villain quite so deliciously terrifying. It got me hooked from the first chapter.
3. Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons. Oh my heavens, the quirk! The hilarity! The quirky hilarity!
4. Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver. Eye-opening and informative, a look at how Americans eat and where our food comes from. It made me take a serious look at what I was feeding my family.
5. The Gathering Storm by Brandon Sanderson and Robert Jordan. The long-anticipated newest installment of The Wheel of Time series was given new life by Sanderson and did not disappoint.

Books I hated with a fiery vengeance or just plain didn't like:
1. The Actor and the Housewife by Shannon Hale. A book by Hale should never leave me with a bad taste in my mouth, but this one did. It had many redeeming qualities but the inappropriate and incomprehensible friendship ruined it for me.
2. Freddy and Fredericka by Mark Helprin. Oh my gosh, will it never end? I have never forced myself to read beyond my tolerance of a book since I was in college. It was painful.
3. Pride and Prejudice and Zombies by Seth Grahame-Smith and Jane Austen. Was funny for about five seconds then just turned out to be stupid.
4. My Abandonment by Peter Rock. Child abduction is terrifying and upsetting, and yet this author makes us want to believe that a 10-year-old girl would be okay with it. Sick.
5. Julie and Julia by Julie Powell. I never blogged about it because I never finished it. After pages and pages of her sexual awakenings and exploits, I couldn't stomach another page. Plus, Julie Powell comes across as a selfish, horrible person. Wasn't this supposed to be about cooking? And Julia Child? The movie was a million times better and not at all a waste of time, unlike the book.

Hey, I'm impressed by all the reading we did in 2009! Not bad for a couple of moms with nearly ten kids between them.

Co-Review: The Persian Pickle Club

We're late for this November co-review, but better late than never, I say! It's not often you can find a light-hearted book about the Depression and the dustbowl midwestern suffering during the thirties. When I hear those two qualifiers I immediately think of The Grapes of Wrath and I wouldn't exactly call that book a laugh riot. The Persian Pickle Club by Sandra Dallas is sweet and mostly light-hearted despite being about Kansas farmwives dealing with poverty, death, and deception. Probably because our narrator, Queenie Bean, is a happy person despite her trials.

The Persian Pickles are women who gather to quilt and talk and read aloud to each other once a week. Queenie is by far the youngest member of the group, if you don't count the sour and embittered Agnes T. Ritter who's got a chip on her shoulder the size of Texas. The other members are women in their 50s and 60s and in various degrees of life circumstances, though no one is all that well-off in Harveyville, Kansas in the 1930s. The Pickles take care of each other and are bonded through their quilting, which they all love to do. When Rita is added to the group as a new member and Agnes' new sister-in-law, she shakes things up a bit. She's a city girl, reluctant to the farm life and anxious to make a name for herself as a reporter. Not that there's much to report about until one of the members of the club's husband is dug up in a field on her property. Rita is determined to get to the bottom of the murder and stir up trouble that everyone else wishes would stay hidden.

As usual, we don't hold back on spoilers. It's no fun trying to discuss a book in coded phrases, after all.

Jenny: The murder mystery part of the book was fun, but for me the friendship between the Pickles was the best part. I found myself wishing throughout the book that I had my own group of Persian Pickles. They were all such different women, but they had that bond of friendship through quilting and all kind of being in the same boat with the hardship of that time. There were plenty of quirks and foibles but they loved each other anyway.

It's interesting how hard Queenie was trying to make Rita become a true Pickle and that it took her some time to figure out that she was never going to make Rita love farming and quilting. It cracked me up at one point when Queenie said something about how farming was the most interesting work in the world and couldn't understand why anybody would do anything different. Wow.

Caren: Yes, and I laughed when she thought Rita was crazy for wasting her time reading. Unlike quilting, she couldn't understand how anyone would spend time on something that didn't lead to a finished product! But Dallas made Queenie such an endearing and sympathetic character that I could enjoy her even though her life experience was so different from my own. And I have to admit that she would probably judge my quilting abilities to be on the same level as Rita's!

I read this book some years ago, and reading it again knowing the ending helped me enjoy even more the bond that these women shared. It didn't seem naive for Queenie to trust them with the secret of her adopted baby when you know the deeper secret that already bound them together. And I was better able to acknowledge Dallas' craft in leading us to believe that the women wanted to avoid the subject of Ben Crook's death because they were uncomfortable with the topic of murder, and not because they were trying to protect the murderer. And all along, you never got the sense that Queenie as the first-person narrator was keeping anything from the reader. It was a clever narrative sleight-of-hand, but didn't feel manipulative or forced, so I thought it was well done.

Jenny: Yes, I never once caught on to the fact that they as a group were hiding Ben's true end. It just seemed like a bunch of ladies who thought it would hurt more than harm to dig up the truth. I just chalked it up to the culture of the time, like sending away an unmarried mother to save her the shame as being known for having a baby out of wedlock. Some things people just didn't talk about back then, murder being one of them. But no, it's because they were all in on it.

I know of a quilting group from my church that gets together once a week and works on projects. I've seen some of the finished quilts and they are mind-blowing. My grandmother is in a quilting guild and has had some of her work featured in a magazine. I always associate quilting with something from a different era, until you see what our mother-in-law can accomplish and realize it's as much an art form as painting or sculpture and probably will be timeless. I loved the Massies--the drifters who Queenie and her husband take in and provide a home for--because despite their poverty and superstitions, Zepha Massie was as much an artist as the Persian Pickles. I bet if anybody had referred to the Pickles as artists, they would have scoffed.

Caren: I agree with the artistic nature of textile arts such as quilting. I know some women for whom quilting is an art and a passion and I am in awe at the things they can create. And some of the most amazing quilters I know are from our generation, so I do think it's an art form that is alive and well. But I am just not patient enough to put in the effort to elevate my skills above the rudimentary level! It's fun to dabble with, but that's about all I can do!

I really liked the Massies too, and it broke my heart when Zepha left Queenie her prized quilt. It bothered me that they left so abruptly like that to who-knows-what kind of future when they really didn't need to go. They added another human element to the story that contributed to its sensitive nature. Like you said, overall it was the relationships that carried the story.

I've only read one other Sandra Dallas novel and I was disappointed in it so I haven't tried any more from her. It was another period piece with captivating characters and an interesting plot. But there were some things that bothered me about the main character's development that I not only disagreed with, but also seemed false and insincere. So it was nice to read The Persian Pickle Club again and remember why I tried her in the first place, and maybe it would be worth giving her another shot.

Jenny: You'll have to let us know if you find another great Dallas book. This one was fun and worth a quick read.

Co-review: Murder on the Orient Express

In celebration of Halloween, we chose a classic mystery by Agatha Christie for October's co-review. I can't think of any authors who have been more prolific than Agatha Christie, the Queen of Crime who helped shape the modern mystery. Her classic who-done-its often include a brilliant yet unassuming private detective whose keen powers of observation and deduction culminate in a surprise conclusion where the murderer is revealed to the astonishment of all. Sound familiar? Yeah, it's pretty much your standard murder mystery template. But unlike Doyle's Sherlock Holmes, Christie's work doesn't center around any single character, though she does have a couple of favorites who get a lot of air time.

Murder on the Orient Express features Christie's famous Belgian detective, Hercule Poirot. When a passenger train gets stranded in a snowbank in Yugoslavia, one of the passengers is murdered in the middle of the night. Knowing the murderer must still be on board, the railway director entreats his friend Poirot (who happens to be traveling on the same train) to solve the crime. The majority of the novel consists of the various passengers offering alibis and evidence while Poirot sorts through the confusing mess to uncover the truth. It is a puzzle of logic and deduction for the reader as well since reserving the great unveiling for the end gives us a chance to develop our own theories along the way. And be forewarned that since this is a co-review, we can't promise not to give away any spoilers!

Caren: It's been many years since I've read an Agatha Christie novel, so it was fun to go back and revisit one of the classics. The most obvious difference from modern mysteries was the absence of action, violence, and nail-biting suspense. Instead, it was all about laying the information out for the reader to sort through and see if we could figure it out on our own. We weren't allowed much access into Poirot's mind so we had to rely on our own powers of deduction. But I have to admit that I didn't even bother trying to figure it out myself. I knew there would be an unexpected twist at the end, so I just decided to take the lazy route and wait for Poirot to spell it out for me. What about you, Jenny? Did any of the characters seem more suspicious to you than the others?

Jenny: No, in fact I kept thinking how strange it was that everyone was so devoid of suspicion. Of course, you realize why at the end and it starts to come together as more and more characters have a link to the Armstrong kidnapping/murder. Very different from modern mysteries. The other big difference I saw was the stereotypes that were used, like "women are hysterical" or "Italians like to stab with knives". Those kinds of statements in modern novels would be used to show how non-politically correct a character was. In Orient, they came across as completely normal. It was interesting to me to see how much our society has changed just from what we can read in a mystery novel.

The way the book was organized was very interesting. The crime section was first, then the testimony of each passenger, then the re-examination of evidence and testimony, then the grand unveiling. I would be interested to see if that's how all of Christie's novels are written. You can't beat Poirot for cleverness though. That guy has it together.

Caren: It's been a while, but I don't think Christie employs this same format in all of her novels. Some of them have multiple murders with suspense building the entire time, if I remember right. But they all include the grand unveiling at the end.

Good point on the stereotypes. Definitely written in a different time! There were some other things too that didn't fit with a contemporary audience. Some of the clues Poirot picked up on meant nothing to me -- like when he identified Miss Debenham as having spent some time in America because she referred to a telephone call as "long-distance." There were also times that Christie deliberately withheld information from us, and I thought that was a little unfair. For instance, the detail about the bolts on the even numbered rooms being in a different location than the odd numbered rooms. I don't mind if I'm not as smart as the guy solving the crime, but I do think it's only fair that I get the same information he does. Or at least a hint.

I had a hard time believing that these people were all capable of murder. It made for a good story, but it was hard to imagine some of them actually being able to stab another person. That's just so brutal, and they didn't seem twisted enough by revenge to be capable of it. But maybe I'm just looking at it through contemporary mystery eyes again.

What did you think of them all getting away with it in the end?

Jenny: Oh no, I agree with you on that point. I hardly think every single one of the characters capable of stabbing someone. And you're talking about people who were involved in the Armstrong household, not direct relatives or people I would think could hang onto that kind of fury and be part of such a nefarious plot. I think Christie probably thought it would make a good story and show off Poirot's skills and didn't think too hard about their motivation.

I have a hard time with endings like this. My innate sense of justice feels annoyed when people get away with murder (pun intended). Did Ratchett/Cassetti deserve to die? Yeah, probably, but it wasn't those people's jobs to carry out his sentence. Now they have to carry around what they did and know that they got away with it. I couldn't live like that.

All that said, this book isn't a moral thinker. It was written as a romp and that's what it is. See the famous Poirot solve a murder case while stranded on a train! See Poirot use his powers of deduction to discover the hidden identities of possible murderers! I think I prefer a protagonist that isn't quite so infallible. Now that I think about it, though, we are a product of our generation and the literature and entertainment of our time. I bet in the 30's (when I think this book was published) this was exactly what people wanted to read. Otherwise Christie wouldn't have been the best at what she did.

Caren: Yes, it's a fun romp, but I do think that Christie was also trying to nag our moral conscience. From what I remember, she has quite a few novels that deal with uncomfortable ethical dilemmas like this. But I agree with you, it's not so well-developed that I'll be losing any sleep over it. Still, it's nice to know that even something written that long enough and filled with cultural references of the time can still hold some appeal today. It might not get your palms sweating and your heart racing, but it's still a fun murder mystery without the side effect of nightmares afterward. Which, in my opinion, makes it great for young teens who are getting introduced to the mystery genre but are still too young for the intensity of contemporary writers.

Co-Review: The Actor and The Housewife

Shannon Hale has gotten quite a reputation and following for herself. And for good reason. She won the Newberry Award for The Princess Academy, wrote the fabulous book The Goose Girl and one of my favorites, Book of a Thousand Days. A few years back Hale ventured into adult fiction and wrote Austenland, which I also loved. She's also done a graphic novel and has another on the way. She is proving herself to be a woman of genre flexibility.

Her latest book is The Actor and The Housewife and it is a big departure from Austenland and her young adult novels. For one thing, her main character's membership in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints plays a big role in the book, a membership that Hale shares. The other thing is that her main character, Becky Jack, is already happily married, not on the hunt for romance like in Austenland or a young girl who encounters love for the first time, like in her YA books. This book is more about friendship and what that friendship costs.

Becky Jack is pregnant with her fourth child when she goes to LA to sell a screenplay she has written. While talking to the agent, in walks Felix Callahan, object of Becky's screen crush. He's dashing and so very Hollywood and she finds herself having dinner with him, despite having mocked him to his face while wearing tent-like maternity clothes. She finds him fascinating and he feels the same, so when he shows up in Salt Lake City to see her, she's delighted and surprised. He interprets their connection as romantic and Becky sees it as potential best-friendship. She sets him straight and they go forward, with spousal approval, to be the best of friends.

Don't forget that we tend to spoil endings in our co-reviews, so beware. With that in mind, let us chat, shall we Caren?

Jenny: My first comment is positive. I love how Becky's religion is portrayed. Most LDS people (myself included) are normal people who work normal jobs, raise normal kids, deal with normal life stuff. I love how when she encounters opposition to what she believes she doesn't rant or rail against them, but is able to contradict misconceptions and attitudes with humor. Her faith is a guiding force in her life and she doesn't compromise her values.

That said, what the heck is she doing having a best friend who is a married celebrity hunk? It's just weird to me. I read the book over a month ago and have tossed it around in my brain since then, trying to decide what it was that rubbed me wrong about this book. I believe that women need friends, they need wonderful best friends who are not their husbands. They need people to connect with that build them up and make them happy. I have friends who I adore and love to hang out with that do not diminish the relationship I have with my best friend, my husband. But I cannot even fathom having a best friend, someone I talk to on the phone almost every day and plan get-away trips with, that was a married man. It goes beyond my comfort zone and it rubbed me raw all through the book.

Hale goes to great lengths to make sure the reader understands that Becky loves her husband, Mike, and is absolutely faithful to him and that Felix is only a friend. But she wouldn't have to do any of that reassurance if Becky's best friend were a woman. It's like Hale knows we're going to have a hard time buying the concept so she's working really hard to sell it to us. And what makes them best friends, anyway? I have never had a best friend that I didn't share some commonalities with. Becky and Felix have nothing in common, not beliefs, not lifestyle choices, not family, not education, nothing. But they seem to find enough to talk about for hours on end on the phone. I just don't get it.

I sure hope you have wonderful things to say about the book that make me see it in a different light, Caren, because it's like an itch I can't reach.

Caren: I agree with you about the weirdness of having a male best friend. When the book first started there was so much comedy and delightful ridiculousness that I was really enjoying myself. (The Valentine Ball scene where she is only 4-weeks post-partum and wearing a pink cotton maternity dress with Fred Meyer earrings while dancing with the dazzling tuxedoed Felix was a hoot!) But as the story progressed and their friendship developed, I felt the same way you did. What is she doing?! She should know better! And I agree that with so little in common, how could their friendship really be that deep? The fact that she mourned for him after their first separation made me think that she had her priorities messed up, to feel that much of a loss. But then, later, when they lose contact during Mike's first cancer treatment, she only thinks of him as a passing thought. So that felt more right to me and more like she didn't really need him in his life as much as she thought she did. Maybe "best friend" was less applicable than just "most exciting and glamorous friend." And her other relationships (especially with her husband, Mike) were fulfilling enough that it seemed silly to think that Felix was really serving any special purpose that made it worth the risk.

And what in the world was she thinking going to New York by herself to comfort Felix after his wife leaves him? What happened to the Becky from the beginning who is hesitant to get into a car alone with a man who isn't her husband? There were so many times that she crossed the line that it just made me really uncomfortable. Hale acknowledged the dangers through other characters' perspectives, so I think it was clear that we were supposed to view this as an exception to the rule, but I still wasn't convinced that their relationship was so special that it deserved to be made the exception. I do think that there was enough pain and heartache caused by her relationship with Felix that in some ways you could title this book, "Why married women and men shouldn't have close friendships with the opposite gender." Seriously, who would want to go through that? But I guess another reader who only focused on the positives could easily see it the other way, "Why it's okay and how to make it work."

In your introduction you described the book as being "about friendship and what that friendship costs." But I got a different impression. I felt like Becky's relationship with Mike served as the real meat of the story. I thought it was more about what it means to truly love and honor your spouse (as opposed to the temporary thrill of infatuation), and the joy that comes from facing the challenges of life together. And then, as Becky loses Mike to cancer, the difficult question arises, "When you have been married to your perfect match, the person who completes you and fulfills you unlike anyone else, and then you lose that person; how do you go on? Can you ever love again? Can you ever heal from such a horrible loss?"

Ultimately, that's what I felt this book was really about. It only constituted about the last 1/4 of the book, but once we got there that's where I felt it was really leading to all along. And all the material about Mike wasn't filler or a footnote to the story about Felix, but rather, that was where the real heart of the story lay. Of course, the silly premise of a Mormon housewife being best friends with a famous movie star provided a more interesting and humorous backdrop than if Felix had just been a normal person. But the themes that stood out strongest to me were how mature love is worth far more than fantasy, and the paradox that a strong marriage can make your life so meaningful, but then can almost destroy you when you lose your spouse.

It made me ill when Mike first died to think that maybe she and Felix would end up together in the end, because it seemed like such an unfair conclusion to the story -- as though Mike was only an obstacle to overcome to bring them together. But as the years passed and Becky struggled to find her footing, I almost wanted them to be together just so that she could have some anchor in her life again (even if he could never measure up to Mike). Plus, I was touched that Felix would be willing to give up so much of his old ways to be worthy of her and make her happy, so I almost felt like he deserved it. But in the end, I was happy that they ended just as friends, with the promise that they would be there for each other in the years to come.

Jenny: Yes, Becky and Mike's relationship was the best part of the story. But even when they were going through all the cancer and you knew Mike was going to die, I felt like Hale was deliberately setting it up for Becky and Felix to be together in the end, even if that's not what happened. It felt like it cheapened all the beautiful writing she had done for Becky and Mike. I never wanted Becky and Felix to end up together because then it would make it seem like Felix was introduced into her life to be her spare husband when the first died. I was glad for Felix's progress as a person, but I never once thought they should end up together. There were too many fundamental differences. Plus, I was just mad when I thought that was the direction Hale was heading.

Another thing that bugged me was that I felt like Felix harbored feelings for Becky for years, especially after they made the movie together. They could laugh about the thought of getting together at the end, but when it came down to it, Felix would have married her on the spot if she had said yes. He wasn't the one who had doubts. Was that just me, or did you get that too? And how could they go on being friends when she has now turned him officially down for keeps?

So what do you think Hale's point of the book was? Did she write it to express all the beauties of mature love and the horror of losing your perfect match, like you said? If so, why did she need Felix at all? So Becky could make a movie? So there'd be controversy? So it would be more marketable instead of the story of how much a Mormon couple love each other?

Caren: Yes, Felix would have married Becky if she would have agreed. But the final kissing scene proved to her that she just didn't have it in her to love him that way. And while he went along with the joke, it was clear that he really was in love with her and I suspect won't fully give up on her until she's happily married to someone else. But he showed a sense of maturity too that his love for her was selfless enough that he could be for her what she needed (a close friend) and not insist on what he wanted (lover/husband).

I'm laughing that you got so mad thinking Hale was setting them up to be together that you couldn't get over it when that's not how it actually ended. I think Hale very specifically did not want them together as lovers either for that same reason -- because it would have cheapened (narratively speaking) everything Becky had with Mike. So even though I think Becky was foolish for getting that close to another man in the first place, I think one of the most mature aspects of the story is that it didn't develop into a romantic relationship even when they had the green light. Which brings us to another theme of how ridiculous fictional romance stories are compared to the real deal. According to the fictional story, she and Felix should have been together, so kudos to Hale for not resorting to that cliché.

You asked what Hale's point was and why she needed Felix in the first place if the real meat of the story was exploring mature love and loss. I think she started with the Becky-Felix idea because it was just plain funny. But in true Shannon Hale fashion, her characters weren't allowed to just be shallow pawns for a joke, and in developing their depth and complexity the natural outgrowth was into the deeper and more mature side of the story. So in the end, while the story may belong to Becky and Felix, the heart and soul of it is in Becky's devotion to her husband and children. (Children who did not drive me crazy, by the way, which is always refreshing in adult fiction.) You could enjoy it just as a silly "What if you became friends with your dream celebrity?" idea, or as an exploration of the question "Should a married woman have a close man friend (and vice versa)?", or as the poignant question I already brought up of "How does a person learn to love again after losing the love of their life?" I think it works either way, and I appreciate that she didn't just leave it as a fluff comedy, but explored those deeper issues.

Okay, you got me curious so I went to Shannon Hale's website to see what she has to say about it. She talks about the premise in relation to her dedication at the beginning of Austenland. Do you remember it? I do because it made me smile. It's dedicated to Colin Firth and says, "You're a really great guy, but I'm married, so I think we should just be friends." She says that idea must have been percolating in her mind somewhere because one night she had a dream about what ended up being the beginning of Becky and Felix's story. She also addresses the difficulty of incorporating religion (and mentions that the narrator doesn't share Becky's faith to help keep the objectivity -- did you catch that? I didn't), and of course mentions the controversial idea of whether it's appropriate for men and women to have opposite-gender friendships outside of marriage.

After recognizing the potential this story has to offend on multiple levels, Hale says this in relation to what she hopes readers get out of it.

I hope that readers want to talk about it. I have a lovely dream of groups of readers, women especially, sitting around and talking, heatedly sometimes, questioning the actions of the characters, debating some of the questions raised, what the characters did or didn't do, and the way I chose to tell the story. I hope there are lots of questions, debates, and listening too. And I hope that activity is fun.

Jenny: Well, I think she accomplished just that. It certainly has gotten some debate out of us, hasn't it? I wish I had read what her initial concept was before reading the book. Maybe it would have changed how I read it. I think you're right, that she started out with this question about having a celebrity best friend of the opposite sex and went from there. I've been thinking about this all day and I think that I couldn't get past Becky's inappropriate friendship with Felix and it colored how I enjoyed the story, whereas you could and enjoyed the story despite it. Do you think that's accurate?

Caren: Yeah, I certainly know why you would feel that way. I don't think I completely got past their relationship either, because I just felt kind of anxious the whole time I was reading it. But I really enjoyed her relationship with Mike and that helped carry me through enough so that I can say I liked it, but didn't really love it. Looking back, I remember a lot of humor and clever dialogue in the beginning, but not really throughout the rest of it. And yet, on second thought, that really wasn't the case. But I think the reason why I remember it that way is that I was so uncomfortable with their relationship for the majority of the book that I couldn't just relax and enjoy the humor like I could at the beginning when they were just getting to know each other.

It certainly wasn't my favorite Shannon Hale book. But I will always laugh to myself when I think of the pink enamel Fred Meyer earrings!

Okay, one more question for you. One of the assumptions in this story is that everyone has a dream celebrity for whom they harbor a secret crush. So, do you have one? And if so, who is it?

Jenny: I have to say, I truly related to Becky during that Valentine's dance with her maternity dress and cheap earrings. I have been to enough work events for my husband where I was pregnant, recently pregnant, or just felt like the frumpy mommy of the group while everyone else was glamorous. It made me laugh and squirm at the same time.

To answer your question, I did have celebrity crushes before I got married. I used to drool over Hugh Jackman back in college. When I was a teenager I had a thing for Leonardo DiCaprio. That's embarrassing to admit. I used to have constant crushes on a stream of boys though, and I think celebrities were just lumped in with them. But since marrying my own handsome hunk, no more crushes, celebrity or otherwise. I just outgrew it, I think. There are actors that I enjoy to watch and I'm more likely to watch a movie if they are in it, but it's more because I love their work than I love their looks. How about you? Any celebrity crushes?

Caren: Yeah, I'm in the same boat. The revolving door on celebrity crushes I had when I was a teenager was so plentiful that it would take way too long to list them here! (And don't be embarrassed about Leonardo DiCaprio. I don't think there was a young woman who wasn't in love with him for at least the first five minutes after Titanic.) Not just actors, by the way. Athletes too -- pretty much anyone famous and remotely good looking or enchantingly mysterious was up for grabs. But once I got into college I didn't have as much time or mental energy for it (or money, since our apartment didn't have a tv so any movies we watched had to be in the theater). And with marriage, that silly teenage part of me officially died once and for all. Which was another funny part of this book that I just couldn't really relate to.

Clearly not everyone grows out of it, though. My friend and I went to see Twilight in the theater, and after it was over a woman sitting behind us says as one long sigh of longing, "It gets better every time...." We had a good laugh at that!

Jenny: Oh man, those actors are like twelve years old! How could anyone older than thirty crush on Robert Pattinson? So weird.

Well, I'm a bit bummed that this book didn't automatically become a favorite, since Hale's previous books have always hit the spot for me. You can't win them all.