Currently physically on my bedtable:The
God of Small Things
I'm still reading this on the bus, damn it, but I have to read
it somewhere else because there's something about the print--I've nearly beat
my reading-induced motion sickness but this brings it back.
Joan
Ohanneson, Scarlet Music: Hildegard of Bingen, a Novel
Huh. I just noticed the "of" instead of "von" in
the title. That's not a good sign. I know nothing of her life; I only know that
I like her music; I don't know that much is known about her life, so
a novel is just the thing. All the blurbs are from complete unknowns in the
book-reviewing world (well, Library Journal's pro'ly okay) or from presumable
knowns in the medieval music/literature/history world. A minus and a plus to
begin with. The first few pages relate Hildegard's birth and her fate as the
tenth child to be tithed to the church, her early willful childhood and her
becoming the oblate of an anchoress. This reminds me of the beginning of The
Tombs of Atuan.
Doreen Gonzales,
Madeliene L'Engle
This book didn't tell me anything I didn't already know from The Crosswicks Journals and A Two-Part Invention. Intended for a young audience, it might be forgiven for that, except that author seems to have done no original research.
Maud
Hart Lovelace, Betsy's Wedding
The only important thing to do is marry Tib off. This happens successfully.
Holling
C. Holling, Paddle-to-the-Sea
A charming picture book of a toy boat's journey to the sea from the meltwater above Lake Superior.
Dodie
Smith, I Capture the Castle
The most delightful book I've read in ages. Reminiscent of Cold Comfort Farm, but better; a precocious teenager with a writing journal in a decrepit castle in 1930s England.
Maud
Hart Lovelace, Betsy and the Great World
Lois
Lowry, Anastasia Again; Anastasia at Your Service; Anastasia, Ask
Your Analyst; Anastasia and her Chosen Career; Anastasia Has the Answers;
and All about Sam
I went too far with my self-imposed rule about finishing a series. I'm glad
I read Anastasia Krupnik if that made me more sympathetic of a Newbery
author, but the rest I found unnecessary. They're fun but don't provide reason
enough to read about how this 13-year-old solves her problems.
000319
Helen
Cresswell, Ordinary Jack
I don't think I'll read The Winter of the Birds--as I began it I realized
I have tried before--but Ordinary Jack was great, an out-of-control family
named Bagthorpe. And there are seven of them--books, that is. This makes me
happier than learning how many Anastasia books there are.
000315
Philippa
Pearce, Tom's Midnight Garden
This is just wonderful. The framing story seems contrived to me, forty years later in a different culture, but the time-slippage is great, the garden is great, the tree-climbing is great, and the mechanism for the time-slippage is original. I don't know how I didn't read this the first time round.
Katherine
Paterson, The Master Puppeteer and The Sign of the Chrysanthemum
Two of hers that I missed as a child. The Master Puppeteer is quite good.
Sharon
Creech, Pleasing the Ghost
Delightful silliness, hopefully useful for a child who's coping with death.
Not at the level of Newbery-winning Walk Two Moons or as giddy as Bloomability,
but not everything has to be. I do like Creech.
000310
William
Sleator, Rewind
As I said of Among the Dolls, most of his books
are not as good as The House of Stairs. This is weak in a later way,
whereas Among the Dolls was weak in an early way. And thus less forgiveable.
000310
William
Sleator, Oddballs
A goofy family. "Ah," I thought, "this is how he writes what
he writes."
000310
Katherine
Paterson, Jip, His Story
Katherine
Paterson, Parzival
So she based Park's Quest on the legend of Parzival, eh? Um, I didn't,
um, notice, and, um, I should. Oh, I guess I just didn't remember, because it's
there in my paragraph. Anyway, I thought Park's
Quest was kind of weak, and now I know why: she already had a plot her characters
had to follow, so the characters couldn't develop on their own and be themselves,
but had to follow a prescribed course.
Parzival is a simplified version of Wolfram von Eschenbach's Parzival.
I hadn't read it (in translation) or Chrétien de Troyes' Perceval
since my beloved course in Arthurian legend, so it was kind of like Cliffs Notes.
Perceval is one character Marion Zimmer Bradley does not manage to tuck into
The Mists of Avalon--only his name, given as someone lost in the quest
for the Grail, not his story. (She worked Balin and Balan into the plot perfectly,
appropriately; Parzival is too long a tale and Tristan and Isolde's mention
is short for the same reason.)
Looking through for Park's Quest (which I remembered recently buying),
I found Bridge to Terabithia on the shelf. Wooohoo! It must have been
in the take last November--I was so amused to collect my V.C. Andrews that I
didn't remember the book actually worth reading. But I haven't reread Flowers
in the Attic, at least.
I have to go reread Bridge to Terabithia now.
000309
Katherine
Paterson, Flip-Flop Girl
I think I read this before. Or took it out of the library before. Because of
Bridge to Terabithia and especially Jacob Have I Loved, I will
read anything Katherine Paterson publishes (even when it's forgettable).
000309
William
Sleator, Among the Dolls
I have loved William Sleater since Into the Dream and The House of
Stairs. Some later books like Singularity have been good; others,
like Fingers, not so good. Among the Dolls is early (I assume
from the writing style and clothing style in the illustrations), a fun premise,
but now I analyze too much: if there were a dollhouse of the girl's house in
the attic of her dollhouse, then there must have been a dolls' dollhouse in
the girl's room of the girl's house. I'm all for counting the lisas in facing
mirrors (early math aptitude or abominable conceit as a young child? Hmmm...anyway,
it meant my mother knew where to look for me in department stores), but this
repeating, receding pattern was illogical.
000308
Jean
Merrill, The Pushcart War
I went to the Koelbel library Tuesday night because I hadn't been there in
ages, and what with being such a dedicated workout bee I haven't gone to the
main Denver branch at lunch either. Again, I was looking for The Alfred Summer
and The Goats and The Pushcart War and I came away with more.
The Pushcart War is set in 1996, with perspectives from 2008, and it
was written in 1964. All the pushcart peddlars reminded me of those in the All-of-a-Kind
Family books. New York City from street level makes me think of The Cricket
in Times Square. These are good things. If Merrill was trying to make a
point in a world shaken by the aftereffects of the Bay of Pigs, I didn't think
it was profound. A good story, but I'm too removed from that particular belligerence
and dread to feel it. Besides, I know that by 1996 the pushcarts had lost.
000308
David
Eggers, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius
Neither genius nor heartbreaking but really good, tragic and comedic and not
as self-referential as he apologizes for in his copious introductory notes.
I, as the online journaler recreating my life as I see fit through selective
representation, thought he was going to debate the nature of memoir more. Of
course I wonder if I would have enjoyed his style so much if I weren't an escribitionist.
I'm sure Beth's bookclub forum will
have a lot to say about this.
What I liked: rewriting Grendel, this time from the point of view of
nearby conifers. His mentioning how he and Toph struggled with reading Catch-22
and giving up since it was too much work to set the novel in its historical
context for a 12-year-old--then several pages later describing someone as "apple-cheeked."
I should like to run the book through a concordance and see how many other references
I missed.
000306
Alison Weir, Eleanor of Aquitaine: A Life
It's going to take me years to finish this because at least twice every page
I have to flip to the back for the genealogical tables or the front for the
maps, and at least thrice a page I rant and storm over Weil and myself, her
for not citing some fact or other and me for reading her anyway.
000303
Paula Danziger,
Amber Brown Forever
I like Amber as much as I liked the girl in The Cat Ate My Gymsuit,
and that's quite a lot.
000226
Diana
Wynne Jones, Stopping for a Spell
My first introduction to Jones, of whom so many have said, "If J.K. Rowling,
why not her?" I choose this because it was one of only two on the shelf
that wasn't part of a series. Instead, it's three short stories, and they're
goofy and funny and their weak points (which do exist, like that the furniture
comes alive in two otherwise unconnected tales, which strikes me as a lack of
ideas) don't matter because they're all handled so very very well. I love the
idea of an insulted piano chasing someone down the street and returning hours
later to haul itself through a window and settle exhaustedly back into place.
And when an ugly, abused chair somehow becomes nearly human, of course it would
be selfish and lugubrious and as totally insensitive as a person as it was uncomfortable
and unyielding as a chair.
000220
Creech might be my favorite new children's author. Walk Two Moons was
the best Newbery winner in ages; it and Out of the Dust (luminous) and
The View from Saturday (vintage Konigsburg and that's a good thing) are
among the best ever. Creech's characters develop into breathing, three-dimensional
beings no matter how unusual they are, and in this and Walk Two Moons
both the family relationships hum and cling. Plus, setting this book mostly
in an international American school in Switzerland permits the author to coin
lots of new words, like "bloomability," which I really like.
000220
Jane
Louise Curry, A Stolen Life
Having just reread The Bassumtyte Treasure because of just reading and
rereading about Mary Queen of Scots, I was newly curious whether Curry'd written
anything else. I am curious to know why The Bassumtyte Treasure is not
listed in the Also by list at the front of the book. This book also concerns
Scottish history, though not so closely as Treasure, and this time I
might not be able to resist piecing together all the Bonnie Prince Charlie stuff,
if for no other reason than I really liked singing "Speed Bonnie Boat like
a Bird on the Wing over the Sea to Skye" when I was in elementary school.
Loving The Bassumtyte Treasure was enough to get me to read A Stolen
Life, but the latter wasn't enough for me to continue seeking out her books.
000220
Okay. I get the furor over Lois Lowry now. I thoroughly enjoyed Anastasia and
her parents and plan to read the rest of the books about Anastasia but I
still don't get The Giver as a Newbery winner.
000219
I had a list of Newbery medalists and books named by the National Education
Association and the School Library Journal as worth reading and after
finding few in the children's section looked in the YA section. I remembered
a Robert Westall I began in the Seattle public library and on my way to the
Ws, I looked, purely out of loyalty, at the Vs. And there was a new Voigt! Hooray!
My joy was boundless. A Kingdom book, I saw, with perhaps somewhat dulled enthusiasm.
I want to be Jackaroo and I liked On Fortune's Wheel okay but The
WIngs of a Falcon just went on and on and on to no noticeable point and
while we all love Voigt's heros, her characterization can get weak. As it repetitious.
That's why I liked Bad Girls and David and Jonathan so very much,
because they were new approaches for her. But anyway, Elske not only
immediately had merit solely because of its author but also because its cover
featured what I guess is one of my favorite Vermeers. And why? Because it's
one that I now certainly know is his. My art history is pretty weak. But when
Micheline redid her site and used this
portrait, I pointed it out to Shelley as a particularly site design, and Shelley
said that was one of her favorite Vermeers. Oh. Okay. Well, mine too. So anyway,
then I read the book and stopped judging it solely by its cover. Both its main
characters were strong and heroic--but in a new way! That's good! And while
the climatic geography of the Kingdom strikes me as unlikely, it might be quite
probable on a smaller planet. I'd like to know more about the Kingdom's religion,
since there are priests but it's entirely unChristian and none of the characters
ever mention any religion at all.
Then of course I had to reread The Wings of a Falcon to remember
how the characters connected, to know which character or relationship bridged
the two books. I was dismayed to learn who it was, since it undoes one of the
good deeds of Wings, but the relationship between the two main characters
redeems that undoing, which might have been Voigt's point although the two are
ignorant of their shared pasts.
It is Voigt, and it is therefore good; furthermore it is the best Kingdom book
since the first, Jackaroo.
000218
Margaret
George, Mary Queen of Scotland and the Isles
Gossipy and good. The Tudors are such a font of gossip. Speaking of which, I saw yet another yomp on the Alison Weir bandwagon at the Tattered Cover: The Sisters of Henry VIII.
Feenie
Ziner, Within This Wilderness
Feenie has wonderful phrases. She feels vulnerable in the wilderness because she lacks the protective coloring. A night is as dark as an open secret. Would I have enjoyed this as much if I didn't love her so? I don't know and I don't care. This is a fictionalization, or perhaps only a novelization, of her visiting her second child, here called Ben. He lives on Proctor's Island, a wilderness in the middle of the strait of Vancouver. The last time I wrote to her was to tell her how much I enjoyed the San Juan Islands and wanted to run away and live in a treehouse on one. Considering how much her son's flight hurt and befuddled her, this flight of my fancy probably ranks among my more tactless.
Thomas
Pakenham, Meetings with Remarkable Trees
E. Nesbit, The Enchanted Castle
If I like Edward Eager I should like E. Nesbit, but honestly though this seemed familiar, I don't think I've read anything except The Treasure-Seekers. A huge oversight.
E.L.
Konigsburg, About the B'Nai Bagels
I think this is the last of hers I hadn't yet read. Solid, early style Konigsburg. Not a favorite, but they're all good, even Up from Jericho Tell.
E.L. Konigsburg, The Second Mrs. Giaconda
How the Mona Lisa came to be painted. Highly recommended. Leonardo da Vinci as a real man, details from his journals as the basis for a biographical, art historiographic possibility. Now I'm trying to remember the name of the adult novel I read about the model.
Gail Carson Levine, The Princess Test
A solid, coherent retelling that doesn't betray the original story (The Princess and the Pea) but embellishes it in all the right ways.
George Selden, The Genie of Sutton Place
When I saw this on the shelf I wondered if Selden should have been permitted to write something other than books about Chester the Cricket and his friends. I read it prepared to forgive him, except Selden plays matchmaker among the adults in the story so much that a dog is affected. And you know that's just wrong.
Zilpha
Keatley Snyder, The Runaways
I don't know why Snyder set this in the '50s unless it was based on someone she knew. She didn't make any anachronistic mistakes with the books the kids read but the dialog didn't ring true. Maybe she set it then solely to mention some classic titles? I dunno. The Egypt Game and The Witches of Worm and particularly The Changeling rank among the best things ever to happen to children's books, but her later ones, though okay and not thunderously dull and obvious signs of rapid decline like Madeliene L'Engle's lamentable Troubling a Star, haven't the same immediacy and rightness of her earlier ones.
I like Edward Eager and the tribute he pays E. Nesbit, but there are books that work (like Half-Magic) and there are books that don't. It wasn't hideous, but if you didn't know Magic by the Lake or already love Eager for Seven-Day Magic, this books wouldn't change your mind.
John
Fowles, The French Lieutenant's Woman
Authorial intrusion and naming Roland Barthes. The same deliberate narrative style as A Maggot, only more so. A pleasure so far.
I have one chapter (I assume) left of French Lieutenant's Woman and I have no idea where Fowles is going. At least he admits that authors don't usually introduce major characters (oh, like Dante Gabriel Rossetti) in the last pages of a book. It's his admittance that I like. Authorial intrusion, bring it on and be open about it! For a while--what, during the '60s and '70s? I'm an English major; how whould I know?--authorial intrusion was supposed to be a very bad thing, but I always thought that condemnation was unfair: the author wrote the book, and no book fiction or not can be objective, and even books written by automatons must show the personality of the person who programmed the script. You can deconstruct a book by shredding its unreliable narrator [Emily Bronte] and you can call "Reader, I married him" an interruption of the omniscient narrator [Charlotte Bronte]; but to have a novel without any intrusion I don't believe is possible. (So say I.) So Fowles sprawling all over the text, telling the reader about his own struggles with the narrative, progression, and characters and confessing to breaking various literary laws (like not introducing major characters and not intruding on your own story) I quite like. Fowles appears as a character sharing a train compartment with a main character, Charles, and Charles is bothered by how intently this person stares at him. What the person, Fowles as a character, is staring at him for is wondering: "What the devil am I going to do with you?....[The] conventions of Victorian fiction allow, allowed no place for the open, the inconclusive ending; and I preached earlier of the freedom characters must be given."
Of course, I wouldn't be me if I didn't nitpick: In April, in Lyme (on the south coast of England), in 1867 (before Daylight Savings Time), someone opens a window to full darkness. It's 4:00 a.m. In The Mill on the Floss, light shows at the horizon at 3:00, but I'll let the four o'clock go. Then: "He opened the window again. Two hours had passed since he had first done so. Now a faint light spread from the east." No. It'd be light. Fowles does intrude on his book enough to appear as a character, turn his own watch back and so turn back the time in the novel, but not here.
Good quotes:
"We can sometimes recognize the looks of a century ago on a modern face; but never those of a century to come."
"...a bust of Marcus Aurelius (or was it Lord Palmerston in his bath?)..."
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