Blythe's Book 50: The Girl Who Stopped Swimming

Here we are, the end of the year, and the end of the "project." Or experiment, challenge, whatever. I started out strong, but towards the end I really wasn't sure that I'd manage to finish fifty books. Nate told me I needed to-- that I'd made a commitment, and I think that was the push I needed. It now seems appropriate that I finished this project, my fiftieth book, on the same day we started our newest project-- raising a child. Cora was born at 11:30 a.m. on December 27th and was kind enough to doze in my arms on Dec. 28th as I finished the last forty pages of book #50. I hope that starting her first full day in the world with her face in a book bodes well for her and that she comes to love reading as much as all of us do. I really think books have been one of the greatest joys and comforts in my life, and I wish that for her as well.

I don't have a ton to say about The Girl Who Stopped Swimming, which is unfair to the author, because it actually is a pretty good book. The storyline follows the life of a woman named Laurel who enlists her crazy sister, Thalia, to help her discover how her preteen daughter's friend died. That sounds a little confusing, but it makes perfect sense in the book (and I'm working off of pretty much no sleep here, so bear with me). Laurel has chosen a life of comfort and quiet in a gated neighborhood near Pensacola; her sister, Thalia, is an actress who runs an experimental theater and despises the cozy, boring life Laurel has chosen for herself. Both sisters cannot come to terms with the life the other leads. Laurel thinks Thalia's life is a farce; Thalia thinks Laurel is hiding her head in the sand. I like that, even when the sisters are united in a cause, they still don't quite understand one another. Rather than tidying everything up in the end, there's still a level of difference between the two that suggests that, no matter how much they may love one another, they will always believe in different things and want different things-- there's a lesson in that, I'm sure; we can't judge what others are doing, or where their happiness comes from-- we may not understand it, but we can still respect it and allow everyone their bit of joy.

So now I'm off to revel in my new bit of joy, who is currently sitting under a lamp trying to get "unjaundiced." When they said she'd have to stay at the hospital for another day and that we wouldn't be able to hold her much while she's under the lamp, I was crushed. But now I'm feeling a bit better about it; she's getting her first suntan (no small feat with this nasty weather we've been having!) and I get to devote a few minutes to finishing this up properly. I'm so glad we all embarked on this together, and that I was given an excuse to do what I do best-- loafing around and reading, reading, reading. I've been exposed to new authors, new thoughts, and now have a list of about fifty MORE books I'd like to read, thanks to Pam, Erin, and Vanessa's posts... hmm, that sounds like a challenge for the new year :)

Happy reading,
Blythe

Blythe's Book 49: Star Island

At one time, I was a Carl Hiaasen fanatic. Once I discovered him, I read every piece of fiction he'd written and some of his nonfiction before taking a break... and then I realized that the only problem with Carl Hiaasen is that, in big doses, his work all kind of runs together. In fact, there've been two or three times I've started one of his novels only to get halfway through and realize, "Wait; this isn't a similar plot to [insert title here]...I've read this before!" However, Hiaasen never said readers should go on a frenzy and consume all of his work at once-- and you really shouldn't. His novels are best in small doses where you can appreciate the bizarre turns of events, the ridiculousness that is South Florida, and his idiosyncratic characters. And that is exactly what Star Island, Hiaasen's latest novel, delivers. I'm so glad I've taken a few years off from Hiaasen, because it allowed me to enjoy Star Island to the fullest extent. My favorite recurring character, Clinton Tyree, the former governor of FL, has a starring role in this novel and he's every bit as entertaining and eccentric as usual. There's a mutilated bodyguard complete with a prosthetic weedwhacker for an arm, a drugged-out, sex-crazed teen starlet, and several other memorable characters who fit perfectly into the South Beach scene Hiaasen depicts. I don't think this is necessarily Carl Hiaasen's best piece of fiction, but it was entertaining, familiar, and served to remind me of what had drawn me to his novels in the first place: Hiaasen knows Florida, and loves it in spite of all the drama and flash trying to overtake the natural. Through his characters, he can bitch and moan about the rich snowbirds, the pretentious starlets, the obscene real estate going-ons, but he still manages to show Florida as a place where there's hope for the wilderness and the people who fiercely want to protect it. He paints a picture of a land untamed and untameable, and in the end of his novels(here's one Hiaasen formula I like), sanity always wins out.

Blythe's Book 48: Washington Square by Henry James

When I first decided I wanted to read 50 books this year, it was mostly with the intention of giving myself a reason to read the classics. Look over my past 47 posts and you'll see how that went. Miserable, epic fail. BUT... here we are, nearing the end of the year, and I have finally read ONE classic: Washington Square by Henry James. There were so many times in grad school when someone would say something to the effect of, "Oh (blah blah blah) is sooo Jamesian," and I would sit there, nodding sagely, having no idea what the hell a Jamesian sentence would look or sound like. Well, now I've read James, so there. I thought the plotline of Washington Square was pretty similar to some of Jane Austen's domestic novels: girl is raised by widower father who is to leave her a fortune; fortune-hunter comes, woos her, and father refuses to allow them to marry; busybody aunt tries to push the two together, and a bit of emotional chaos ensues. This is somewhat similar to the beginning of Persuasion, one of my favorite Austen novels. However, here's the problem: the heroine of Persuasion, Anne Elliott, eventually goes from a meek, self-sacrificing daughter to a woman who knows she must put her own happiness before others, and acts accordingly. She is rewarded for both her initial obedience and her eventual self-actualization and backbone. Catherine Sloper, the heroine of Washington Square , isn't as perceptive, wise, or generous as Anne. She is an obedient daughter, then a consistent lover, and eventually an admired spinster... but while it's easy to be sympathetic towards her, she isn't someone I really admired or connected to. Catherine is a pawn; her father dismisses her as a dull child only there to be amusing to him; her lover, Morris, is only after her fortune; and her live-in aunt, Mrs. Penniman, uses Catherine's complex love affair as an excuse to entertain herself, regardless of the fact that her involvement only causes Catherine more pain. In the end, Catherine is the only one we can still admire, or even respect-- but she is also alone and it just seems so sad and wrong. I'm glad I read Washington Square, but it certainly didn't leave me smiling.

Blythe's Book 47: Room by Emma Donoghue

Room is a really compelling read. Both the narrative voice and the storyline are so original and I highly recommend this book-- even though it isn't exactly cheerful or light. Room is told from the perspective of five year-old Jack and centers on the highly restricted life he and his mother, only known as Ma, live. Jack was born in an eleven-by-eleven room, which he has never left. His mother was kidnapped by a rapist at the age of nineteen, and since then she has lived in a shed that was converted into, as Jack calls it, "room." Impregnated by her captor, she and her son now live in this tiny room, and make the best of it that they can. While this sounds horrifying, Jack has never known any different, and to him, this is simply his life. Told in his idiosycratic voice, Jack details their daily schedule, his emotions towards Ma and "Old Nick"-- his mother's captor-- and lets you into his world. The aspect of this story that really kept me involved is Ma's love for Jack-- the activities she dreams up, the ways she protects him, the lengths she goes to to make sure his life is as good as it possibly can be-- it is heartwrenchingly amazing. Somehow, even when you're busy feeling sorry for Ma and Jack, you're also completely envious of their imaginative, selfless world. Room is a world where love is enough. It made me realize how very little everything else matters.

Blythe's Book 46: Mathilda Savitch

Mathilda Savitch is entertaining-- both as a main character and as a novel. Mathilda is a young teenager (we can assume) who is trying to deal with the year-old violent death of her older and much admired sister. Mathilda is obviously grieving, and voices this, but her parents seem utterly paralyzed by their grief and, because of that, are unable to provide Mathilda with the love and comfort she needs. Mathilda decides the only way to make them snap out of their zombie-like state is to be truly bad; she wants to shock them into waking up. She hacks into her sister's email account and sends their mother emails from Helene; she stalks Helene's old boyfriends, trying to piece together the life her sister left behind; she pinches her faithful dog, seeing if he's willing to abandon her as well. However, while Mathilda desires to be "bad," what she REALLY wants is to get her family back.

This novel wasn't always an easy one to read; Mathilda is prickly, and at times even a little creepy... her interactions with her best friend and the boy next door both made me uncomfortable sometimes, even though her emotions and actions obviously stemmed from grief and loneliness. She;s aggressive, frustrated, and angry. However, she is also irresistible because she loves so fiercely and will do anything to get her family back.

Blythe's Book 45: Admission by Jean Hanff Korelitz

Admission offered an interesting look at the admissions process to an Ivy League university like Princeton, where the story is set. Portia Nathan is an admissions officer who buries herself in the personalities, frustrations and dreams of the seventeen-year old applicants whose files she peruses for the better part of each year. There is a secret Portia is drowning under, which is alluded to throughout the book, but since it doesn't get unveiled 'til the end of the book, I won't go further into that. However, this secret greatly impacts Portia's long-term relationship, friendships, and creates a kind of personal inertia that she seems incapable of escaping... until she meets one special applicant and his exceptional (read: potential romantic interest) teacher, John Halsey.

I liked this book, although it's not one of my personal favorites, because it was informative and Korelitz is a strong writer. However, by the end, I was a little bored by the factual tidbits re: admissions and the personal rants Korelitz made about how misunderstood the admissions process and the officers are. It's clear this is a topic dear to her heart-- Korelitz is married to a Princeton professor and was, for several years, a part-time reader of admissions packets, so she knows what she's talking about-- but it seems like she was so eager to get in as much information on the admissions process as she could-- and sometimes at the detriment of the story.

Blythe's Book 44: The Piano Teacher

I went to Barnes & Noble in search of some new books and ended up with a long list of potential reads, which I promptly took to the public library. I am nothing if not frugal! One of the most intriguing looking books was The Piano Teacher by Janice Y.K. Lee. This novel tells the story of Claire, a young British bride who follows her husband to Hong Kong in the 1950s, shortly after World War I. There she becomes a piano teacher for an affluent Chinese family, and, through her involvement with the family and her affair with a British man, she quickly becomes embroiled in a scandal with roots back in the war. The setting alternates between 1950s Hong Kong and 1930s-40s Hong Kong, and the (pre)wartime events are covered in every other chapter, where we learn about the past of the piano teacher's lover, Will, and his friends. Perhaps my favorite character is Will's lover, Trudy Liang, a spunky Hong Kong native who introduces him to Asian society before the war.

What I loved about this book, in addition to the well-crafted plot, was the historical information the author provided. Lee was raised in Hong Kong but educated at Harvard, and this shows in the way she creates Asian and Western characters. Her understanding of Hong Kong's culture, as well as the events and sentiments leading up to the Japanese invasion of Hong Kong, made this a really worthwhile read. I'd never thought about Hong Kong's occupation, or about how interred Americans and Britains in Hong Kong must have felt-- and, therefore, this novel was a real eye-opener. I also liked the main character, Claire; she starts out so naive and unformed, but becomes a much stronger, more individualized person through her experiences in Hong Kong. A favorite quote: "There had been times when Claire felt that she could become a different person. She sensed it in herself, when someone made a comment at dinner, and she thought of the perfect, acerbic reply, or something even racy, and she felt her mouth opening. . . [but]She swallowed her thought, and the person she could have become sank down again, weighted down by the Claire that was already too evident in the world. But then came Will . . . She was out of context with him. She was a new person. Sometimes she felt that she was more in love with that new person she could be, that this affair was an affair with a new Claire, and that Will was just the enabler" (74).

Blythe's Book 43: Vanishing and Other Stories

I really liked Vanishing and Other Stories, but it's difficult to write about. I really like Deborah Willis' writing style, but her stories are so varied that I don't really know where to start. The characters she has created seem very realistic, flaws and all... most of her stories center around failed relationships, or unraveling ones at the least, but rather than being depressing, her stories are entertaining and relatable. (Is that a word?) I especially liked "Traces," the story of a woman trying to discover her husband's most recent lover, and "Remember, Relive," which illustrates how family complexities can influence one's love life through the story of a lonely young woman. I always enjoy short story collections because of the range of storylines and characters you get; however, the downside is that either the plotline or the character development is not drawn out enough-- the genre really doesn't allow an author to fully develop both. Willis' work is definitely character-driven; I loved her stories, but they often left me hanging... which was pleasurable in some ways, but also a bit frustrating. If you like short stories, I'd recommend this collection. One funny thing: the author is Canadian, and the setting of each story is in Canada. I found that so annoying-- I kept thinking, "God, can't she write about somewhere other than Cananda?!" Then it occurred to me: oh wait... the majority of American writers write about America when they use a generic setting... I wonder how other people feel about that. LOL-- just made me think about setting and how important it can be.

Blythe's Book 42: I See You Everywhere by Julia Glass

I See You Everywhere is the first "grownup" book I've read in a while and I'm really glad I did. This narrative tells the story of two completely disparate sisters-- Louisa, the eldest, is bossy, overly irritable, and determined to have a family and her family's approval; Clem, the youngest, is spirited, magnetic, and often reckless and her passion for wildlife leads her to remote places and unique experiences. Each chapter is told from one of the sisters' perspective, and through this technique, we see their progression from rivals to almost-friends. Supporters, at the least. Their relationship is very complex, further complicated by their overbearing mother's comments and flaws, and the events in the story suggest that we never truly know the people we call family. I saw so many shades of myself in Louisa (and this was not at times an easy pill to swallow), but what came as the biggest of reliefs was that, no matter how irritable she could be, or how unsympathetic or unable to relate Clem could be (not at all like my sister), they still instinctively turned to each other. This is where Glass is her most convincing in her story-- maybe not all women will be able to relate to the strange blend of resentment and friendship that Louisa and Clem have created between themselves, but the message throughout is undeniably universal: when the chips are down, sisters turn to each other. And perhaps even more comforting, when sisters turn to one another, they don't have to think the same way, or react in similar fashion; they just have to be the person they have always been, the person the other expects to see and hear, and that will often be enough.

Blythe's Book 41: Th1rteen R3asons Why by Jay Ahser

I checked this book out from the high school library LAST year, lost it, had to pay like $20 to replace it, and just found it a few weeks ago. And since I'd already spent $20 on a book I was only mildly interested in the first place, I decided I should read it. What a mistake...

Hannah Baker is the new kid in town, and she's full of hope for how wonderful her high school experience will be. However, she quickly realizes how far from perfect high school can be. She makes friends who then turn on her and kisses a boy only to have him spread the information around school, earning her a "reputation." Hannah eventually becomes so mired down in the dramas of high school that she commits suicide. But not until she records 13 tapes (1 per each person who negatively impacted her life) letting everyone know why she killed herself and how they were to blame. These tapes are then delivered to the responsible parties, as well as to the narrator, Clay Jensen, who had a quiet crush on Hannah but never acted on it.

Hannah's message is simple: actions do have effects, and everyone is responsible for their actions. Some of the people she suggests contributed to her suicide don't act, but should have-- and she considers that as much a problem as anything else. I get her point, and I think it's important for teenagers (the intended audience) to a) understand that how you treat others has repercussions, and b) learn to speak up and reach out when those around you are in trouble or in pain... but I also think it's a bit farfetched to suggest that killing yourself over a few pretty mild rumors and some disappointments in the friendship department is anyone's fault but the person who makes the choice to end his/her own life.

People could have helped Hannah, which is what Clay comes to realize-- that he wasn't at fault (Hannah excuses him from blame) but still could have done more-- but ultimately, she made the decision to quit rather than fight, and the whole postmortem accusation seemed overly dramatic and just way too selfish for words. Not my favorite book-- I wish I could get my $20 back.

Blythe's Book 40: The Compound by S.A. Bodeen

Our high school's new literacy coach recently bestowed three copies of each of the winners of this year's Florida Teen Reads Award to each English classroom. Several were quite popular with my students, so I decided to pick them up and give them a whirl. My first pick was easy to make-- The Compound is a blend of postapocalyptic/ dystopian novel, and these are genres I really love. This story is about a family who is forced into an underground bunker when the U.S. is under nuclear attack. Eli is the eldest son, and also the narrator, and his father is a multimillionaire who has prepared for such a day by creating a lavish underground world called the compound, down to having his children trained in specialized fields (hydroponics, farming, butchering) so they can help sustain the family should they ever need to enter the compound. However, when such a day comes, the fallout is unpredictable; there are so many unanticipated glitches in the father's plan that affect the family in myriad ways. At times this book was almost too creepy-- there are definitely some lines the characters have to cross (or at least consider crossing) in order to survive, and much of the plot centers around the kids wrestling with touch choices. It is highly uncomfortable to think about how such a situation might truly play out... but I can totally understand why my students have been grabbing this off the shelf-- it's intriguing, chilling, and a highly imaginative scenario.

Blythe's Books 37-39: Uglies, Pretties, and Specials

Scott Westerfeld's Pretties sat on my bookshelf for a good year or two before I finally got around to reading it. I'd had several students recommend the book, but just hadn't gotten around to reading it. The cutesy terminology in the novel annoyed me early on, but the plotline was interesting enough to keep me going in spite of it. All three books are about the residents of a futuristic city who are turned "Pretty" at age 16. Being turned "pretty" means having massive cosmetic surgery and moving across the river from Uglyville (see what I mean?) to New Pretty City (ugh!) where you get to party, party, party for a few years before you turn Middle Pretty and enter the workforce. Obviously, none of the Uglies (adolescents) are bucking the system because, hello, they're about to get turned into beautiful, desirable party animals. This is all in response to a time long ago where everyone was unequal in looks and abilities, which caused a lot of hurt feelings and ultimately, wars (and there are lots of little "Harris Bergeron"esque observations like this). However, there are a few people who have rebelled, forming a secret, hidden colony called The Smoke. Occasionally, a few Uglies run away before their surgery, hoping to find this mythical place where they can live by their own standards. The main character of the novels, Tally, is a relatively independent-minded teenager who gets pulled back and forth (through all three novels) between her desire to be Pretty and her desire for autonomy. As she interacts with residents of The Smoke, and with dissatsified Pretties, she has to figure out what it is she really wants out of life, and how we are truly meant to live.

This series is definitely young adult fiction-- and while I love a lot of books written for this age group, these were not my favorite. I enjoyed reading about Tally's relationships with her friends and boyfriends, which I thought seemed pretty realistic, but the social commentary was a little too obvious, the lingo was cheesy, and I found myself skimming through the action scenes to get back to the main story line. I rushed through the first one, realized there was a second and thought, "Damn. I want this to be over but want to find out what happens..." My feelings were the same when I finished the second and discovered there's a third. After the third, the story takes a new and only loosely related twist, and so I excused myself from reading Extras, the fourth and final novel. Phew. Reading this series was a good way to pass a weekend, and I definitely wanted to find out what happened to Tally and her friends, but if you haven't started the series already, just don't.

Blythe's Book 36: Mockingjay

The third book in Suzanne Collins' Hunger Game series, Mockingjay, didn't let me down. I was so excited about the last installment in the series, and that excitement carried me through 'til the end. I don't want to write very much (at all) about this book, because referring to the events in it would involve giving away parts of the first and second books, but I will sat it was satisfying in the extreme. Collins is a master at creating characters who are believable; it felt like I'd known Katniss, Gale, Haymitch and Peeta forever by the time I'd finished the series. I knew what each of them was motivated by and how they would react in given situations-- and I think that's, in large part, what made this series such a popular one with readers.

Blythe's Book 35: Catching Fire

After reading The Hunger Games, I was expecting to be blown away by Catching Fire, the second book in the series. Unfortunately, I wasn't. However, the more I've thought about the book, the more I've come to the conclusion that this is a bit inevitable. The first book, or even movie, in a series is always good (if it's going to get published, that is). There are new characters, a lot of plot, things to discover... and The Hunger Games delivers on all fronts. However, Collins' second book, Catching Fire, is a bit slower and at times feels unnecessary-- much like most middle movies or books in a series. Katniss and Peeta seemed to be almost reliving the plot of the first book at some points. At first this annoyed me, but then I realized that their interactions are different this time around because of the experiences they've shared, and that Collins is trying to build relationships, and to allow Katniss to grow in this novel, so that she is a suitable heroine for the third installment. Maybe there isn't as much going on, or it doesn't seem quite as original, but the subtle evolution of the characters is necessary. While Catching Fire didn't meet my expectations, it certainly didn't turn me off to the series, and the ending was very satisfying because it suggested that the third book, Mockingjay, will be very exciting plot-wise.

Blythe's Book 34: The Hunger Games

I wanted to post this last night, as a celebration of the third and final book in the series being released, but was just too lazy to write about it. And besides, I'd alread rushed out to get the third book, so I was busy reading it. In case you can't tell, I LOVE this series. If you haven't heard of it, that's probably because Suzanne Collins is an author of young adult fiction-- and, by the way, if you aren't reading any YA fiction, you're missing out on some of the best books on the market. The Hunger Games is about a young woman who lives in a kind of post-apocalyptic America called Panem. Panem is comprised of twelve impoverished districts and The Capitol-- a place of decadence and frivolity. At one point, the twelve districts rose against the Capitol, only to be beaten soundly. Ever since, the rulers of the Capitol have laid down the law so to speak... and as a reminder of who has the power, they devise a gladiator-like game that is held each year: The Hunger Game. Each district must send two tributes, one male and one female, who are between the ages (I think?) of 8 and 16. These tributes are then put into a high-tech arena where they must fight for their lives against man-made disasters, mutant animals, and one another. The last tribute standing wins. And the whole thing is televised, interviews are given beforehand, parades are held, etc. It's quite fun for the residents of the Capitol, and absolutely terrifying for the residents of the districts, who never know who will be chosen next. Wow. Way too much backstory, but it was necessary. Sorry. Anyway, this novel tells the story of Katniss, a young woman who is chosen as Distirct 12's tribute and who turns the Hunger Games on their head. Katniss is this great combination of gutsy, practical, and emotionally clueless. Katniss has been hunting and gathering to support her family since she was a child, and has more street sense than any other female heroine I know of. She's balanced out by her fellow tribute, Peeta who is caring and brave, but not nearly as equipped for survival. This series is immensely popular with teenagers, and at first I was surprised how many teenage boys are into it; typically they don't read novels where the main character is a [shudder] girl. However, Holly pointed out to me that Katniss' gender really isn't even obvious until well into the book (unless you read the jacket cover), and I think that may have a lot to do with its popularity with males. Now on to book 2...

Blythe's Book 33: The Flying Troutmans

The Flying Troutmans was August's pick for book club, and I got around to reading it two days after our meeting, which is a bummer, because I would have liked to discuss it with the other gals. I wasn't in love with the novel, per se, but I really liked the characters; they seemed so real. Hattie is 28 years old when she flies back to Canada from Paris to take care of her mentally ill older sister's two children, Logan (15) and Thebe (12). While her sister, Min, is in the mental hospital indefinitely, Hattie decides to take the kids to meet their long-absent father in hopes that he will be able to care for them. I really like that the road trip they embark on-- one that takes them through South Dakota all the way to Mexico-- is odd, but not unbelievable. What ensues is a trip that, in many ways, seems to happen exactly as it might in real life. There are a couple odd people they meet, a few sad experiences, but ultimately, this is a family who is going through the typical turmoil that any family in transition might face. Although the one-liners are just too damn good to be anything but fiction, of course. Anyway, the ending leaves a few questions, but they seem reasonable ones: what will happen to Min? Who will ultimately care for the kids? Will Hattie be able to keep everyone together and find happiness for herself as well? I can only hope so.

Blythe's Book 32: The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest

The third, and quite possibly last, of Stieg Larsen's series left nothing to be desired. Well, there was a little to be desired, in that I would have been happy to read more about Mikael and Lisbeth. However, I think this book was my favorite out of the three, primarily because the whole focus was on Mikael and Lisbeth and the cast of characters surrounding them, rather than on a really detailed plot of corporate deceit and intrigue. I really delayed reading the last 50 pages or so, because I was SO worried that this book would be a cliff-hanger like the last one... and how frustrating would that be, since there isn't a fourth! Stupid Stieg, going and dying on his readers. So inconsiderate. However, the ending was perfect (and that's all I'll say about that). If you haven't yet picked up this series, I urge you to do so. Like I said before, I'm typically not one for mysteries or like, business-based plots, but the characters really won me over... and I'll miss them :(

Blythe's Book 31: The Help

I think I'll refrain from posting a picture, since there's already one of the cover in a previous post. I'll also refrain from giving a recap of the novel, since that too has been done. However, I do want to comment on how much I liked The Help. As someone who was raised in the technical South, the Deep South is still something of a mystery to me; especially the Deep South of the 1940s and '50s. This novel brought to light the many contradictions of the peculiar relationships between white women and their black hired help. How do you allow someone to raise your children from birth to adulthood, but still maintain that they are too ignorant, coarse and different to be considered your equal? How do you trust someone with your family and your secrets, but not with your silver? How do you live side by side with someone for twelve hours a day, but refuse to share a bathroom? Even stranger is the relationship between black hired women and the white children they've raised: children who go from one day adoring this woman as a second mother, to the next treating them with condescension and blatant discrimination. It was a weird, weird world, but one that was definitely interesting to read about and consider.

Blythe's Book 32: Committed

I read Eat, Pray, Love, Elizabeth Gilbert's first memoir, a year or two ago and had mixed feelings about it. I think I agreed with most of my fellow book clubbers who thought she was self-indulgent, weepy, and slightly immature. However, I also remember liking her conversational writing style and self-deprecating wit, and relating to some of her desires-- for travel, for romance, and especially for good food. I read about her second memoir, kind of a follow-up to the first, Committed: A Skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage in O magazine's summer reading list and am SO glad I decided to read it. It's funny that Erin recently read a self-help book that escaped the stigmas of being self-help, because that's kind of what Committed is as well. Gilbert and Felipe, her boyfriend (the same one she meets at the end of Eat, Pray, Love), have been happily living in the U.S., surrounded by family and friends, when they discover that they must either marry or Felipe will face deportation. Elizabeth and Felipe are completely committed to one another, but after failed marriages on both sides, are terrified of the idea of legally marrying. So, as they spend the next year abroad, drifting from location to location awaiting the U.S.' approval of their impending marriage (a process which involves a lot of background checks, immigration lawyers, and red tape), Gilbert does what comes naturally: she researches marriage and interviews (okay, interrogates) everyone she can find with different cultural perspectives of marriage, hoping to somehow reconcile herself to what she views as unavoidable, but also completely undesirable. Even though the memoir is technically about Gilbert, it's really about marriage-- its history, its implications, its future, and how it is perceived and experienced in different cultures. I was fascinated by the findings from studies Gilbert shares, the people she encounters and the lessons she learns. I've been married six years, yet could still relate to so many of her fears, and I also learned some valuable lessons that will probably impact the way I view my union. Much of what she wrote was common sense, but it was the type of information where you go, "Oh yeah. I guess I knew that, but I'd kinda forgotten to apply it. Oops." This might be one of those books that I push on all of my unmarried-but-possibly-soon-to-be friends (like, half of my fellow bloggers); there are so many kernels of wisdom and provoking thoughts that impacted the way I think of marriage, and I think this book could benefit anyone entering into marriage.

Some of my favorites (sorry they're long-- Gilbert isn't easy to paraphrase and isn't a one-liner kinda writer):

- After Gilbert asks an old woman in a group of Hmong women when she fell in love with her husbands, and how she "knew it was right," they all burst out laughing at her. Later, Gilbert realizes: "Neither the grandmother nor any other woman in that room was placing her marriage at the center of her emotional biography. In the modern industrialized Western world, where I come from, the person whom you choose to marry is perhaps the single most vivid representation of your own personality . . ." (39). Later, she follows with "My friend the Hmong grandmother had never been taught to expect that her husband's job was to make her abundantly happy. She had never been taught to expect that her task on earth was to become abundantly happy in the first place" (43). Maybe this is a kind of sad notion, but I think it bears considering; if we focus on our expectations for our marriage(those grand plans we've all formulated thanks to media, and the outer appearance of every happy marriage we've seen in real life) rather than what's in front of us, we often end up dissatisfied and bitter. I don't think Gilbert is urging readers to lower our standards, but rather to evaluate the role we expect our spouse to play in our life, and to remove some of the responsibility from his/her shoulders.

- Shirley Glass, a psychologist, has a theory that affairs start when people let a friend of the opposite sex in on a personal marital matter-- thereby creating a "window" where there should be a "wall"; you don't want your spouse to be jealous of this friendship, so you underplay or even hide it, now creating a "wall" where there should be a "window." Soon, "the entire architecture of your marital intimacy has been rearranged. Every old wall is now a giant picture window; every old window is now boarded up like a crack house. You have just established the perfect blueprint for infidelity without even noticing" (109-110). WOW... that makes sense.

- "Whenever I see Felipe fly off the handle in public, it messes around with my cherished personal narrative about what a gentle and tender-hearted guy I have chosen to love, and that, frankly, pisses me off more than anything else. If there is one indignity that I shall never endure gracefully, it is watching people mess around with my most cherished personal narratives about them" (206). LOL. Love that.

- "... my parents weave their own version of the porcupine dance, advancing and retreating on each others' territory, still negotiating, still recalibrating, still working after all these years to find the correct distance between autonomy and cooperation-- seeking a subtle and elusive balance that will somehow keep this strange plot of intimacy growing" (224).

As the title implies, Gilbert does eventually "make peace" with the institution of marriage. And hopefully, with all that she's learned and as far as she's traveled (in multiple ways), this go-around will be filled with as much love, harmony and happiness as one can hope for.

Blythe's Book 31: "The Kids are All Right"

You've probably heard about the upcoming movie, "The Kids are All Right." This book has absolutely NOTHING to do with that movie. I'm still trying to figure out how they came out in the same year without someone suing someone else over the title. With that in mind, there will probably be some disappointed readers and viewers who either go tothe movie or read the book expecting the same plotline. I had no such expectations, and therefore, was free to enjoy this memoir as it was. Amanda, Liz, Dan, and Diana Welch each tell, from their own perspectives (through alternating the author each chapter), the story of their family's experiences from the late '70s til present-day, with the emphasis on the early '80s.
The three eldest Welch children grew up living a privileged life, complete with ponies and country clubs. Their mother was a soap star, their father an "entrepreneur." However, when their father suddenly dies, he leaves behind a pile of debt that forces their mother to reassess the family lifestyle and the children to abandon their carefree existences. It only gets tougher when their mom is diagnosed with cancer. Amanda gets bossier and angrier; Dan turns to drugs; Liz tries to keep everyone together and maintain a "normal" high school experience; and baby Diana is lost in the shuffle. While the story is depressing and full of difficulties (definitely NOT a fun summer read!), I enjoyed learning about the kids as they persevered and learned to value one another above all else.