An Arsonist's Guide To Writers' Homes in New England

An Arsonist's Guide to Writers' Homes in New England

by Brock Clarke

2007

303 pages

ISBN: 978-1-56512-551-3

So this book was recommended to me by Dan during my epic birthday recommend-a-thon. I admit that I had given it the once over a couple of times when it appeared in various bookstore displays, the title is clearly an eye-catcher, but I resisted the urge to purchase until I was gong wild with birthday money.

I want to say good things here about the Barnes and Noble manager that was working at the store I went to on my birthday. After getting recommendations from tons of friends, looking up a little more about the books that they had suggested, deciding which I was really dying to read, and making a list... I left said list on my desk. I went up to customer service and told him the title (or something close to the title) for 3 or 4 books that I was looking for and then, after we had walked around the store, hunting for and finding one of them on sale, 2 others that I managed to remember while we were looking. Not only did he find them all for me, but he told me NOT to buy his trade paperback copy of this book, because he was sure that I would be able to get the remaindered hardcover on the website for $5. Now I'm sure that it was obvious to him as we walked around and added to my enormous pile of books that I am the type of customer that Barnes and Noble wants to keep happy, but still, he didn't have to do that. And he certainly didn't have to come find me when I was browsing to give me a little slip of paper with the ISBN for the cheaper edition so that I would be able to find it right away when I went to the site. He was great. So thanks to him.

Anyway, I found some parts of this book extremely amusing, and others rather annoying. Overall, Clarke has succeeded in creating a cast of characters so wildly unlikable that they're interesting, headed by a protagonist who amazes you not in that he manages to mess up his own life so spectacularly, but more that he manages to do it so efficiently when he seems like such a "bumbler." Then Clarke takes these hapless, incapable, flawed people and places them a series of situations so insanely implausible, so absurd, that sometimes you can't help but shake your head in disbelief.

Yet most of it works. There are some things that don't, certainly; the dinner scene with Sams soon-to-be-ex-in-laws got past my last nerve for example, but most of it is really quite good. Perhaps a bit overplotted, and the turn towards tragedy at the end felt a little bit forced, but certainly worth it for the shiningly funny moments.

Apparently this is Clarke's 4th novel, at least according to the review that Dan sent with his recommendation. That reviewer thought that it seemed like a debut, and I have to agree... although for different reasons. For me this book was rough around the edges, but showed some real promise... the kind of thing that you expect from someone with raw talent who's just starting out. I'm not sure if Clarke, who apparently teaches just up the street, should take that as a compliment or an insult.

Coppola: A Periatric Surgeon In Iraq

Coppola: A Pediatric Surgeon in Iraq
by Dr. Chris Coppola
2009
259 pages
ISBN: 978-0-9840531-1-7
ARC from LibraryThing Early Reviewers

For better or for worse, LibraryThing has pegged me as a reader of medical memoirs, and when one comes up in the Early Reviewers list, if I request it, you can bet that I'll get sent a copy. Since I joined a year an a half ago, I've gotten ARCs of Weekends at Bellevue, Brain Surgeon, and The Addict. I'm not complaining about this per say, especially since I would have wanted to read these books anyway, but I wish that they had also pegged me as the compulsive reader of fiction that I am, and sent me The Angel's Game and Last Night in Twisted River when those were on the list. I certainly will read and review every medical memoir they send my way for free, but there are other books that I want to read more and I hate to think that I don't get them because I've been pigeon-holed. Such is life.

That being said, Coppola: A Pediatric Surgeon in Iraq is one of the better medical memoirs I've read. In the book, Dr. Chris Coppola recounts his experiences during his two tours of duty in Iraq as a surgeon with the US Air Force. Coppola manages to achieve the perfect balance in his writing between the action of clinical cases and using his experiences to inform a discussion of the ethical and cultural issues he encountered and the challenges of military life.

Dr. Coppola's unique position as a specialist in pediatric surgery means he has a skill set sorely lacking in the current Iraqi medical system. Throughout both tours, he struggles to find balance between his compassion and sense of obligation to the young patients he encounters and the realities of his position, the position of the US military, and the medical treatment available in Iraqi hospitals outside of the American medical base. There are times when he fights hard for his patients when others disagree with his call, and times when he is forced to turn patients away. He makes a compelling argument for the role of pediatric specialists in war hospitals, especially given the rate of civilian casualties in the IED era. Dr. Coppola is not shy about calling the problems of military medicine to the forefront of our attention, while at the same time making it clear that he has found satisfaction in his service.

Overall, this is a strong memoir that calls to mind some important issues that come with our current presence in Iraq, many of which likely extend to our increasing presence in Afghanistan. It is a timely and important read, and one that I would certainly suggest to other people in the medical field and outside it.

Juliet, Naked

Juliet, Naked
by Nick Hornby
2009
406 pages
ISBN: 978-1-59448-887-0
Cincinnati Public Library

I requested this from the library as soon as I got home from the bookstore where I saw it on the shelf. Thinking about it, that was a kind of blind optimism based on the fact that I liked Hornby's earliest books, the movies-made-them-famous High Fidelity and About a Boy. Since then, I have found my affection somewhat waning. How To Be Good was really only good. My thoughts on A Long Way Down are there for your perusal if you so choose, but can sum it up with the fact that I didn't like it enough to keep track of it. I either donated or lent it away to the big library in the sky, because that once owned copy is not on the shelf here now. As for his 2007 YAish novel Slam, it's so forgettable that I actually forgot that I read it. As in, when I saw it on the list of Hornby's books, I thought "Oh, I'll have to find a copy of that one," only to realize upon closer inspection that I had read it already. I know that I read a lot, but that is not a compliment.

Juliet, Naked bucks the trend. It is a true return to the Nick Hornby that I loved so long ago. This book is sweet and sarcastic with characters that are delightfully real and lovable for all their dramatic and obvious flaws. The characters are what this book is all about, and while you wonder what is going to happen, what you are really wondering is what is going to happen to them. The events here gain most of their significance from their effect on the people involved. The relationships between the characters are the real charm of this novel, especially the relationship between Tucker and his adorable son Jackson, which is a real highlight.

In Juliet, Naked Hornby does to the obsessive website creating song analyzing fan what he did to the obsessive record collector in High Fidelity, shows them all their warts and insanity, and leaves them human none the less. He does this well I suppose, although I found myself feeling bad for them (and perhaps a little scornful) in a distant sort of way as I read the book. Long after I finished I realized that I actually wrote my big term paper in high school on Adam Duritz of the Counting Crows as an American poet. Perhaps I should have related to them more (although I would certainly not spend my vacation on a tour of significant places in Duriz's life).

This is a charming and delightful read, and would be a pretty good introduction to Hornby for the uninitiated. It reminds us all that sometimes the people around us can see us far more clearly than we see ourselves, and maybe, sometimes we should listen to what they tell us.

The Brief and Frightening Reign of Phil

The Brief and Frightening Reign of Phil
by George Saunders
2005
130 pages
ISBN: 978-1-59448-152-9

This book was suggested to me during my birthday recommendation blitz by Jack O'Brien. He gets credit for recommending several favorites, including The Perks of Being a Wallflower and The Gunslinger. (Which is the first book in Stephen King's Dark Tower series, I read the whole 7 books in like two and a half weeks. It might take you longer. I still recommend it)

Anyway, I knew the basic story of Phil, because Jack adapted it for the stage during his senior year in college, and I managed to make it down for a performance. That show was a lot of fun to watch, but I have to admit that some of the funniest parts of this book are the little details that don't translate well to the stage. For example, in the book, Phil's brain falls off its rack from time to time, while on the stage, Phil's brain seemed to remain contained within his cranium. Some actors just aren't willing to truly sacrifice for their craft.

I would say that this qualifies more as a novella than a novel. Easily read in a single day. That is probably the right format for Saunders hilariously irreverent and critical take on human nature. If this piece was much longer, the jokes might have gotten old or started to seem a little bit too absurd, but at 130 pages everything maintains the glow of clever and fun. I highly recommend a trip to Outer and Inner Horner for any fans of political satire, it'll be a short vacation for most readers, but one well worth the effort. You might just find yourself laughing out loud.

Nocturnes

Nocturnes
by John Connolly
2006
471 pages
ISBN: 978-1-4165-3460-0

My previous experience with John Connolly's work has been nothing short of delightful. The Book of Lost Things is a wonderfully dark and chilling interpretation of the stories from our childhood. His recent offering, The Gates is a fresh and funny story about a young boy literally trying to stop all hell from breaking loose. While both of these books have been classified as "young adult," I imagine that is largely (solely) due to their pre-teen protagonists. (You would think that the idea that only children can enjoy books about children would have been blown out of the water by a certain wizard.) I think that neither of these is best suited to the younger set, and will continue to recommend both left and right to adult readers. In a recent review on LibraryThing, I compared the footnotes and humor in The Gates to the work of the late great Douglas Adams... and anyone who's read my notes on And Another Thing... knows that I consider that high praise indeed.

With that in mind, imagine my delight to find Nocturnes, Connolly's book of short stories, sitting all alone on the "Last Chance" super bargain table at Barnes and Noble when I walked in, on my birthday, gift cards blazing and on a mission to make up for months of serious book-buying restraint.

Nocturnes turned out not to be at all what I expected. It is as different from The Gates and The Book of Lost Things as the two are from each other, but also nearly as wonderful. The stories here are darker by far than I expected to encounter, but most are also quite gripping.

Many of the pieces here in this collection were originally written for BBC radio, and most are quite short. While some of these shorter pieces are particular gems, including "Mr. Pettinger's Daemon," "The New Daughter" and "Miss Froom, Vampire," others are less successful. Connolly shines most when he gives himself some room to work. The opening novella, "The Cancer Cowboy Rides" is one of the most deeply creepy pieces of writing I've read in some time. As in, I can't put it down even though it's 1:30am, better go check the locks, cuddle a little closer to the sleeping fiancee creepy. It's good stuff. "The Underbury Witches" was so much fun that I sat in the waiting room at the spa long long after my toenails were dry in order to finish it. "The Reflecting Eye" a novella featuring Charlie Parker (who apparently stars in many of Connolly's adult fiction), is entertaining enough that I found myself considering the idea of adding some of those to the ever growing TBR pile.

Overall, this collection is strong, if a little uneven. And it is not just the Maine setting of several of these stories that calls to mind the shorter works of Stephen King. I would say of Connolly's work here something very similar to what I've said about King's short fiction in the past (and I admit that I am an enthusiastic fan)... When he hits the nail on the head, it's glorious, creepy, you'll-be-thinking-about-it-for-days, eerie wonderfulness. And when he misses, he just misses, so it's still a good time. Overall, this is more fun than I've had off the bargain table in a while.

And Another Thing...

November 13, 2009 - November 17, 2009
And Another Thing...
by Eoin Colfer
2009
275 pages
ISBN: 978-1-4013-2358-2

First, some background. Douglas Adams was an epically, uniquely talented and hilariously funny writer. Tragically, he died of a heart attack in 2001. I remember reading about his passing at the time and feeling a real sense of loss. I was a senior in high school at that point, and I loved his books (I still do.) For me it was the first time that I was aware of an author I truly adored passing away. I felt very sad and a little cheated. I think a lot of people did. Adams was only 49, and I am willing to bet that he had a lot more to say. We are all missing out on something there.

Adams is most famous for the five books of the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy Trilogy. (No, that is not a typo). These are among my favorite books of all time. I have a beautiful leather bound all in one volume that has occupied a position of pride on my bookshelf for many years. It's one of the few books in my library with an actual bookplate, as in I would be epically pissed if you stole it. I have hundreds of books, I can only think of 5 that I would be hesitant to lend, and this is one of them. The Hitchhiker's Guide holds a very special place in my heart. (The movie however, does not.)

Which is why I was simultaneously very excited and very nervous when I read that someone had taken it upon themselves to write part a six of the trilogy. I am not familiar with Colfer or his other work aside from the basic level of name recognition, so I was not at all confident that he was qualified to pick up where one of the greats left off. (I should note that I also wasn't at all confident that Adams "left off" at all, the fifth book ends pretty endily.) Still, the publication had the full support of his estate, so I let hope win, and requested it from the library. (Still not buying hardcovers.)

There are good things to be said about Colfer's work in this book, but Douglas Adams he is not. Especially at the beginning I was frustrated by some pretty serious flaws. In fact, not too far in I found myself thinking that the book was inadvertently describing itself with the Adams quote that it uses on the cover... "The storm had now definitely abated, and what thunder there was now grumbled over more distant hills, like a man saying 'And another thing' twenty minutes after admitting he's lost the argument."

Colfer does not do justice to the Hitchiker's Guide's most beloved characters. Zaphoid is duller, Arthur just doesn't sound like himself, Ford seems to have lost a good bit of his charm. He also doesn't seen to grasp the beauty of the randomness of Adams. In the other Hitchhiker's books, the Guide excerpts are delightfully disconnected asides that never seem to interfere with the flow of the tale at hand. They are the random and hilarious musings of a wonderful mind. Colfer's Guide excepts are set off from the text, seem more like interruptions, and are far too frequent and far less charming. Colfer also seems to grasp far too tightly to a few words and references from the other books ("froody" comes to mind) and beat them into the ground.

But it's not all bad. I suppose it's not surprising that the places where this book shines are the portions that Colfer has made his own, adding something of his own to the wacky Hitchhiker's Universe. The residents of the planet Nano are wonderfully absurd. Thor is a real winner both as a character, and it turns out, as a God. The second half of the book is far more readable than the first. There are times when you really do feel like you are back in Adams' zany world.

All in all, I think that fans of the series will find something to like here, but only if they can go into it with the right expectations. This is not a true sixth Hitchhiker's volume, but it is a loving and sincere tribute to Adams from a well intentioned admirer. It is also a foray back into a universe that I, for one, have really missed.

Of course, if you haven't read The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy or the other four books in the original series, you really should stop spending their time reading my pathetic little blog and go pick it up. I promise you will find it far more entertaining than anything that I'll come up with in the next couple of days.

In that spirit, and with a nod to the fact that I am writing this instead of studying for a large and looming Brain and Behavior exam, I will close with one of my all time favorite Adams quotes:

" I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by."

Oliver Twist

November 5, 2009- November 13, 2009
Oliver Twist
by Charles Dickens
1838
Read on the Sony Digital Book
989 pages
ISBN: 978-1-4340-0061-3

I picked this up after reading Daniel Pearl's The Last Dickens. I wanted to read some actual Dickens because Pearl's book relies on his shocking popularity in his own day. Really, Charles Dickens was something like a rock star, sold out American tour and all that. So I figured I'd take an opportunity to actually read one of his books, to try to understand what inspired that kind of enthusiasm. Especially since my only prior experience was enforced skimming of Great Expectations in English class at Miss Porter's, which didn't really deliver the fun.

Anyway, Oliver Twist was a pretty good read, not life altering, but I certainly enjoyed it. I found that it picked up a lot in the last 1/3, and I read the last 250 pages or so all on one day. I admit that I feel like I might have gotten more out of it with a couple of clarifying footnotes, which is the disadvantage of reading the freeish digital book version over one that's pricier and annotated, but I'll live.

I'll give old Charles credit for keeping me involved for almost 1000 digital pages when I had a pile of recently requested library books actually turning up, and a bigger pile of birthday related book binge purchases, all calling my name. I never once thought of putting it down.

And for our next project... Andrew and I are going to read one of Dickens novels in the serial as if it's coming out for the first time. We've decided to go with one of the monthlies since that way there should be some actual waiting involved, but we haven't picked which one yet. This is a project for the new year, so there is time to voice your opinions if you so choose. Wikipedia tells me that the following options were published as monthly serials: The Pickwick Papers, The Life and Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby, The Life and Adventures of Martin Chuzzlewit, Dombey and Son, David Copperfield, Bleak House, Little Dorrit and Our Mutual Friend. Andrew's already read Pickwick, which almost completely eliminates it from contention (he wants to read it again, but I think that it defeats the point of the exercise).

I would rather read one that I have heard of before, although I've realized as I've looked into this that I really know NOTHING at all about most of these books. Really. A Christmas Carol: I know pretty well (and yes, from reading it, not just movies). Great Expectations: I know well enough to think that the South Park episode spoofing it is HILARIOUS. Beyond that: Oliver Twist = orphan, Tale of Two Cities = "best of times, worst of times" Edmond Drood = unfinished. And we're done. I don't have the slightest idea what made David Copperfield or Nicholas Nickleby worthy of title character status.

The thing is, I am not sure that I want to know anything about the stories before I read them in serial, because I don't think that dust jacket summaries and reviews were part of the genuine monthly serial experience. This, obviously, makes selection of the title for this project a bit of a challenge. Cryptic suggestions might be helpful. Right.

100 Books While I'm 27

New Goal, New Tracking. Here we go.

1.) November 7, 2009 - November 13, 2009
Oliver Twist
by Charles Dickens
1838
989 pages
ISBN: 978-1-4340-0061-3
Read on the Sony Digital Book

2.) November 13, 2009 - November 17, 2009
And Another Thing...
by Eoin Colfer
2009
275 pages
ISBN: 978-1-4013-2358-2
Cincinnati Public Library

3.) November 17, 2009 - November 22, 2009
Nocturnes
by John Connolly
2006
471 pages
ISBN: 978-1-4165-3460-0

4.) November 22, 2009 - November 23, 2009
The Brief and Frightening Reign of Phil
by George Saunders
2005
130 pages
ISBN: 978-1-59448-152-9

5.) November 23, 2009 - November 25, 2009
Juliet, Naked
by Nick Hornby
2009
406 pages
ISBN: 978-1-59448-887-0
Cincinnati Public Library

6.) November 25, 2009 - November 27, 2009
Coppola: A Pediatric Surgeon in Iraq
by Dr. Chris Coppola
2009
259 pages
ISBN: 978-0-9840531-1-7
ARC from LibraryThing Early Reviewers

7.) November 27, 2009 - November 30, 2009
An Arsonist's Guide to Writer's Homes in New England
by Brock Clarke
2007
303 pages
ISBN: 978-1-56512-551-3

8.) November 30, 2009 - December 3, 2009
The Hollow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse
by Robert Rankin
2002
342 pages
ISBN: 978-0-575-07401-9

9.) December 3, 2009 - December 6, 2009
The Man Who Loved Books Too Much
by Allison Hoover Bartlett
2009
274 pages
ISBN: 978-1-59448-891-7
Cincinnati Public Library

10.) December 6, 2009 - December 9, 2009
The Magicians
by Lev Grossman
2009
402 pages
ISBN: 978-0-670-02055-3
Cincinnati Public Library

11.) December 10, 2009- present
A Better Angel
by Chris Adrian
2008
227 pages
ISBN: 978-0-312-42853-7

Brave New World

OK, so I read Brave New World. I can confidently say that it was VERY different than I remembered, and that I got it/enjoyed it/got more out of it as an adult than I did as a preteen. But I suppose that makes sense. More later, I just promised myself that I would at least record the reading as I finish it so that I wouldn't lose track again.

What I'm Reading Now 2.0

A new start at the What I'm Reading Now List, with the following:

Fiction:
Brave New World
by Aldous Huxley
1932
268 pages

Non-Fiction:
Zeitoun
by Dave Eggers
2009
335 pages

What I'm Reading Now

This summer has not been nearly as productive for reading as I hoped that it might be. As it draws to a close, I am determined to do at least a little bit better at keeping track of what I'm reading for the rest of this year when I imagine that the reading time will be a little bit scarcer than it has been. With that I give you the list of what I'm reading right at this moment, with promises to write at least brief comments on each once I'm done with them and on to the next. Because really, I want to do this for me.

Currently Reading:
Fiction:
The Children's Hospital
by Chris Adrian
2006
615 pages
Wednesday, July 29 -

Non-Fiction:
The Super-Organism:
The Beauty Elegance and Strangeness of Insect Societies
by Bert Holldobler and E.O. Wilson
2009
502 pages
Tuesday, July 28 -

Sarum

So I've read several of Rutherfurd's books in the past, and they all seem to follow the basic format of picking a location (past examples, London (in, well, London) and Dublin (in The Princes of Ireland and The Rebels of Ireland)) and following several families through the history of the location from the earliest people to something like the present day. In Sarum this location is the area surrounding modern-day Salisbury, England. The book is enormous, over 1000 pages, but it's still an enjoyable read. Some of the sections are far more entertaining than others, there were certainly points when I wondered what the point of a particular scene was, but overall, the novel was fun to read. I was disappointed with the ending, but I suppose nobody's perfect.

One of the things that I really enjoy about these books are the history lessons that I get out of reading them. I've said it before I know, but I really do think that I know more history from reading historical fiction than I do from actually reading history... but perhaps it is just that I remember it better when it's plot points and not testable knowledge. Who knows. It's still good stuff.

Want more information on this book, or to see what else I've been reading?
Check out The 2009 booklist.

Lauren Groff ...and Writing

So last night, I went to a reading and book-signing for Lauren Groff, author of The Monsters of Templeton. I went because I adored Monsters and because it was at the bookstore that is closest to my house, and because it popped up on Librarything, and I had earned a break. I went because I had never gone to one of those things and I was very very curious. Who is this person, who I know is fairly young, and who with her very first published novel created something that I find so spectacular?

The answer to that question is, of course, far more complicated than anything that I could have gotten from an hour long reading. But the parts of the answer I could see: she's much like a lot of my friends. She is young, and she comes off younger than she is, due in part to a face that seemed almost adolescent. She's enthusiastic and she talks with her hands. She loves what she's doing, and it seemed to me at times that she can't quite believe that she is actually getting to do it. I'm not sure if I was able to recognize that delighted disbelief in her because I so often feel it myself or if I projected that emotion onto her enthusiasm and slight self-effacement because it's how I would feel in her place, how I do feel in my own life sometimes.

She is not great, perhaps not even good, at reading her own work aloud. She rushes, and her tone is flat. I find this very surprising, not because I assume that all author's are actors, but because her prose reads for me with wonderful inflection, in particular the passage from The Monsters of Templeton that she read aloud. I imagine therefore, that the writing has a similar quality in her mind, and should from her mind to action, keep that quality when she presents it. I don't know if the reality of the situation is that she lacks talent for translating the words in her head to the "performance" of a reading (which seems a likely possibility) or if I, as someone who reads aloud often and dramatically during the editing process am again projecting my thinking patterns into the minds of others. Either way, charming as she is, I don't think that she did her own work justice reading it aloud.

An interesting moment for me during the reading: someone asked a question, I forget what it was, but it led Groff to ask if she was a writer, and then who in the audience was a writer. Now I was sitting in front, so I couldn't do a comprehensive survey, but it seemed like just about everybody raised their hand. I did not.

What does that mean? Are these book readings attended more by people who write as opposed to just enthusiastic readers? Certainly plausible. Maybe something about this particular author or signing brought those other people away from their writing desks and out to Joseph-Beth last night? I couldn't tell you.

And I wonder how much of a writer any one of those people are. I'm not trying to be a snob here, and I know it sounds that way, but I wonder if a single one of them makes a living with writing, or even wants to. What makes a person decide to call themselves "a writer"? Would these same people answer the question "What do you do?" with "I'm a writer." Or would they say first, "I'm a banker/teacher/student/real estate agent." Are they simply raising their hand to confirm some small part of their identity, as I would if someone asked, "Who here is a slob/lover of peanut butter/Red Sox fan?" Or do they think first, "I am a writer" the way I think first, "I am a student. I will be a doctor."?

I think I wonder this for entirely self-conscious reasons. Because I didn't raise my hand. Because I want to be a writer. I have always wanted to be a writer, I can't remember a moment in my life, even during those brief periods when I wavered on medicine, that I was not sure that publishing a book would remain a life goal. If I don't get that in before I die, I will have failed somehow.

And I recognize that there is something silly about wanting "to write a book" it's sort of like wanting "to be an inventor." You can't do it without an idea. I have had several ideas in the past, and I'm sure that I will have several ideas in the future. Non-fiction seems likely, I continue to hope that my work will present me with a shiny topic I simply can't resist, but who knows where it will come from in the end. Still, sitting here at 26, I am not ashamed to admit that I hope, one day, to be accurately described as "a physician, scientist and author."

I've been thinking about writing a lot lately, even before this moment last night when I did not raise my hand. Perhaps this is because I have also been reading a lot. Perhaps too much. (Possible? I'm still not sure.) When I got home last night, I started reading Stephen King's On Writing, which unlike the other library books I have out at the moment, I didn't just grab off the shelf. I requested it, from another library, because I was thinking about writing.

And I'm going to be writing more, not just here, maybe not even here. I have a couple of short stories that I want to get out of my head and down on paper (or onto hard drive as the case may be). So maybe I do have some fiction in me. I'm not sure what's going to come of it, but I am going to allow myself the little luxury of spending some time each day, because for me along with the reading sometimes comes the writing itch, and from childhood to today, these are two of the great joys in my life.

Maybe that does make me a writer. But if asked again this evening, I'm still pretty sure I wouldn't raise my hand. At least not yet. I feel I am a writer like I am a physician, like I am Andrew the Wonderful's wife. It's something I have decided to become, something I am on course to become, but something that I am not yet. This is funny to me, because lately the combination of loving medical school and being so very excited about my future with AtW has left me with the feeling that I have grown into my real life, that I am getting what I've always wanted. But really, I'm not there yet. The change in the last year is not that I have a become the adult that I hope to be, but rather that I am not waiting for others to make the decisions that give me the opportunity to become that adult. I'm not waiting for an admissions committee to decide that I am worth training, for Andrew to decide that he wants to keep me. It's happening now, I've been picked.

The writing though, it's something that I decide when it happens. Nobody has to accept me or ask me, at least not at this stage of the game. I suppose there will have to be some accepting once I get rolling, but first I must get rolling all on my own. And I guess, in the face of feeling like the other parts of my life are working out, I have to admit that I sort of adore the striving. My life, at the moment, is clearly charmed, so there's no time like the present.

Songs Without Words

I remember reading Ann Packer's first novel, The Dive From Clausen’s Pier on my mother’s recommendation several years ago, and liking it very very much. In my mind I am reading it in Weathersfield, but it came out in 2002, so either it was a summer read or my mind in playing tricks on me. Couldn’t tell you which for the life of me. Anyway, I had glanced over and passed over Songs Without Words several times since it came out, and when I saw it at the library (free!), I decided to finally pick it up.

Before reading the book itself, I read the summary on the inside of the dust jacket, which starts with the following sentence: “Ann Packer’s debut novel, The Dive From Clausen’s Pier, was a nationwide best seller that established her as one of our most gifted chronicles of the interior lives of women.”

That kind of introduction not only made me slightly skeptical about this book, it made me wonder if I had really liked The Dive From Clausen’s Pier as much as I remembered. “Oh dear.” I thought. “I hope that doesn’t mean what I think it means… the dreaded CHICK LIT.”

But that was indeed what it meant, at least for this book. Song Without Words is a portrayal of the friendship between two women, Sarabeth and Liz, and how that friendship is tested by a challenging time for Liz’s family. The book just didn’t take off. Neither of these main characters were overly compelling or sympathetic, I found Liz’s husband annoying, and I was very unsure what Packer was trying to accomplish with the character of Liz’s son, which I suppose means she didn’t accomplish it. The only character I found even remotely interesting was Liz’s cripplingly depressed daughter, Lauren, but even she seemed one dimensional at times.

Overall, I was disappointed with the book. While I was emotionally invested in Lauren’s recovery, I didn’t care overmuch about the friendship between these women, and I suppose it only mattered that they were reunited in the end because it was obvious that they would have to be. For a book that seems intended to be more about that relationship than any particular plotline, that’s a pretty major failure. Not impressive.

Read something else. Maybe The Dive From Clausen’s Pier, if for no other reason than to tell me if it really is excellent, or if I was just in a chick lit mood when I read it. On that point, I am curious, but not near curious enough to even think about reading it again.

LT: 2 stars, modified excerpt from this.

Want more information on this book, or to see what else I've been reading?
Check out The 2009 booklist.

Island of Lost Girls

I saw this book for the first time on one of those tables in Borders that will eventually be the end of me. On that day, I decided that half off or not, I was only allowed to buy one mystery story about a person trying to solve a modern abduction mystery that might in some way be related to the disappearance of one of their own childhood friends... and on that day, I picked Tana French's In The Woods (Which, by the way is very good. I sat down on a couch over Christmas break during a blizzard, and read the whole thing. It was a wonderful time. It's a good book.)

But then I saw this on the shelf in the library, and decided that if it was free, I didn't have to feel bad about reading it. And last night, when I finished One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest but still couldn't sleep. I picked it up out of the library pile.

It sure as hell didn't help me fall asleep. I started it sometime around 11pm, read about half of it before falling asleep (with it still open in my hand), and I finished the rest of it doing laundry and having my Sunday morning bagel. It's a bit of a page turner.

It's a great mystery. It's two mysteries really, and they're both intriguing. Some of it is predictable, but I still couldn't put the damn thing down.

Sure, when a compulsive reader like Maggie compulsively reads something, it's not news. And I'm not saying that this is the best book of 2008, but if you are looking for a quick read, and you like complex mysteries, it would make a fabulous companion for your next plane ride or beach trip.

Want more information on this book, or to see what else I've been reading?
Check out The 2009 booklist.

The Shadow of the Wind

LT Review:
This is an excellent and thrilling tale with complex and likable characters and a Barcelona setting that becomes a character itself. I was engrossed from the beginning by the complexities of the connections between the characters and their beautifully developed relationships. The history behind the story is gradually fleshed out through a series of flashbacks, but rather than feeling fragmented, it is easy for the reader to remain connected to the emotions the characters must be feeling as they learn the same information. Full of twists, magic and coincidence, heroes and villains (both truly evil and just misunderstood), this is a book that will keep you engaged throughout. A delightful read. (4.5 Stars)

Maggie's thoughts:
So I initially picked this up as a book on tape to listen to driving back and fourth to visit Andrew the Wonderful. When I was buying it, I had apparently forgotten that I live MUCH closer to Andrew than I used to. This is a good thing for pretty much every aspect of my life, except that it means that the drive isn't long enough to finish most audiobooks.
I do have to say, while I only listened to the first half of this book, the recording is WONDERFUL, and if you are an audiobook person, I VERY highly recommend it. It had me sitting in my car outside the hotel and listening while Andrew the Wonderful was at work.
Anyway, I didn't really have time to listen to the rest of the book, but I found myself thinking about the story *all the damn time* so during finals, when I knew that I was going home for break, I went to the bookstore and picked up a copy. I decided that since it had been a couple of weeks and it's a pretty complex story, I would start again at the beginning. I spent part of my evenings at the Mountain View Grand in New Hampshire sitting either in front of the fire or in a wonderfully warm tub getting totally sucked into the story (again). (I should also note, the more important activity of my time in New Hampshire was getting engaged. This is the now the blog of the future Mrs. Andrew the Wonderful!)
I didn't finish the book in NH, and when we got back to my place in CT, where, after reading until I was about 30 pages from the end, I left the book on the bedside table in the basement bedroom.
It would seem that God didn't want me to know the end of the story.
But who cares, because I wanted to know the end of the story, so I got ANOTHER copy at the Cincinnati Public Library, and finally finished the damn thing.

The real point though, is that the book was worth all the effort. It's wonderful. Go read it. Now.

2009 Booklist

I'm not even going to bother trying to keep track of exact dates this time, but here's the list of books for this year, with as much information as I have on hand or LibraryThing has attached to the description. I will do my bestest to actually put in all the books that I read this year. Here's hoping.

Note: If the title of a book is linked, that will take you to the entry in this blog that talks about it.

A * next to a book's title indicates that I wrote a review for LibraryThing as pursuitofsanity
A ** next to a book's title indicates that I wrote a review for LibraryThing as troubleactingnormal


January

The Shadow of the Wind*
by Carlos Ruiz Zafron
2005
487 pages

American Gods
by Neil Gaiman
2003
624 pages

Just After Sunset*
by Stephen King
2008
384 pages

New England White**
by Stephen L. Carter
2008
640 pages

The Mystic Arts of Erasing All Signs of Death*
by Charlie Houston
2008
336 pages

The Addict:
One Patient, One Doctor, One Year*
by Michael Stein
2009 (Advance copy, not yet released)
288 pages

Drinking Coffee Elsewhere *
by ZZ Packer
2003
256 pages

January totals: 7 books, 3015 pages

February

The Path of Daggers
by Robert Jordan
1998
685 pages

Winter's Heart
by Robert Jordon
2000
780 pages

The Memory Keeper's Daughter **
by Kim Edwards
2006
432 pages

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest **
by Ken Kesey
1962
277 pages

Island of Lost Girls **
by Jennifer McMahon
2008
255 pages

Songs Without Words
by Ann Packer
2007
322 pages

Totals for February: 6 books, 2751 pages

Late February, March:
The books that I read between then and now:

Rise and Shine
by Anna Quindlen
2008
352 pages

Anne of Green Gables
by L.M. Montgomery
1908
425 pages

Anne of Avonlea
by L.M. Montgomery
1909
276 pages

Anne of the Island
by L.M. Montgomery
1915
243 pages

Anne of Windy Poplars
by L.M. Montgomery
1936
288 pages

Intern: A Doctor's Initiation
by Sandeep Jauhar
2008
299 pages

An Irish Country Doctor
by Patrick Taylor
2004
337 pages

Books from the time that I was doing a crappy time keeping track: 7 books, 2220 pages


April

Brain Surgeon:
A Doctor's Inspiring Encounters with Mortality and Miracles *
by Keith Black
2009
225 pages

The Book of Lost Things*
by John Connolly
2006
339 pages

Sarum: The Novel of England *
by Edward Rutherfurd
1987
1032 pages

Tell Me Where It Hurts
by Nick Trout
2008
304 pages

Outcasts United
by Warren St. John
2009
320 pages

Totals for April: 5 books, 2220 pages

May

Neuromancer
by William Gibson
1984
271 pages

Delicate Edible Birds
by Lauren Groff
2009
306 pages

Bright Shiny Morning
by James Frey
2008
501 pages

What is the What
by Dave Eggers
2006
538 pages

Fantastic Voyage
by Isaac Asimov
1966
186 pages

Between Late May and Late July (with Promises to Try Really Hard to Do Better!)

Cutting For Stone
by Abraham Verghese
2009
541 pages

The Count of Monte Cristo
by Alexandre Dumas
1844-1845
1243 pages

The Given Day
by Dennis Lehane
2008
720 pages

A Wolf At the Table:
A Memoir of My Father
by Augusten Burroughs
2008
256 pages

Full Circle:
One Man's Journey by Air, Train Boat and Occasionally Very Sore Feet Around 20,000 Miles of the Pacific Rim
by Michael Palin
1997
320 pages

Embracing the Wide Sky:
A Tour Across the Horizons of the Mind
by Daniel Tammet
2009
304 pages

A Study in Scarlet
by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
1887
90 pages

Special Topics in Calamity Physics
by Marisha Pessl
2006
514 pages

The Angel's Game
by Carlos Ruiz Zafon
2009
531 pages

An Instance of the Fingerpost
by Iain Pears
1998
685 pages

My Stroke of Insight:
A Brain Scientist's Personal Journey
by Jill Bolte Taylor
2009
224 pages

Different Seasons
by Stephen King
1982
508 pages

What Patient's Taught Me:
A Medical Student's Journey
by Audrey Young
2004
228 pages

The Overacheivers:
The Secret Lives of Driven Kids
by Alexandra Robbins
2006
439 pages

The Children's Hospital
by Chris Adrian
2006
615 pages

Weekends at Bellvue
by Julie Holland, MD
2009
308 pages
ARC

The Elephant Keeper
by Christopher Nicholson
2009
298 pages
ARC

Strength in What Remains
by Tracy Kidder
2009
272 pages

Brave New World
by Aldous Huxley
1932
268 pages

Studying as my Reading Breaks

In my last post, I said that I have been reading as my study breaks, but that is not exactly true. The truth is something more along the lines of studying during my reading breaks... and while I probably need to tone it down a little bit, I am having a grand old time.

The problem with reading being my vice is that unlike so many other vices, the recently cut out TV for example, it doesn't FEEL like a vice when I'm doing it. It's an intellectual activity, one with some level of educational and cultural value (depending on what you read I suppose). A love of books and reading is a trait that I would cultivate rather than squash in my children if ever I have any. (Imagine for a moment the financial disaster that could result form setting me loose in a bookstore with a little mini bibliophile with the same lust for full sets that I have... there are currently something well over 60 American Girl historical fiction books alone!)

The point being, I have trouble making myself feel guilty about reading, even when I am reading The Mystic Arts of Erasing All Signs of Death when I should, instead, be reading my microanatomy syllabus. Blame my parents for all that relentless positive reinforcement, reading aloud to me and buying of books when I was a child. (You created a monster!) It still, as an adult, seems wrong to set a timer that beeps when I have to stop reading when the only beeping timers that I heard of as a child told my brother that he could. Not wanting to stop was not a problem for him, but I can assure you, it is a big problem for me.

Still, after overindulging a little, and knowing my personal tendency to binge read, I have pulled out the little purple timer bookmark that Andrew the Wonderful bought for me sometime ago, and started limiting myself to 1/2 hour or 45 minute stints...or at least trying to. I am trying to convince myself that while Saul Bellow's collected short stories will still be there for me to read when exams are over (although I may have to renew them from the library), I will not be able to reclaim the study time after the tests have passed.

And with that, I am off to study. After reading for half an hour, of course.

Seriously, How Did It Get to be 2009?!

OK, Not only is it 2009, but it's damn near February 2009. And I haven't written in here since July. What happened?!

The answer, of course, is MEDICAL SCHOOL. But what are you going to do?

So it's January, time for my annual entry thinking about how I am going to read this year. And my annual promise to write more in the book blog. We all know how well those have turned out. Perhaps this one will be better. Either way, here's what I am thinking:

I gave up TV. The official reason being that this block of classes is important and I want to do well so that I can get good grades and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. The actual reasons are a little more complicated. Certainly, I do want better grades, and spending more time studying is a good way to work towards that goal, but there's more to it than that. And if you asked me whether I would rather spend my Thursday evenings with Gross Anatomy or Gray's Anatomy the answer is easy and not the one that Dr. Giffin would like to hear, but there will be no more Dr. McDreamy in my life. Seriously.

Part of this comes from the fact that I am engaged now, and Andrew The Wonderful will be moving here in the spring/early summer. This means that I have to do some thinking about the way I spend my time, especially my "alone time," since there will be less of it. Now, I am not complaining about that. In fact, I couldn't be more excited to be trading my alone time for more Andrew time, but it does mean that I'm thinking about the way that I spend my evenings. Mostly what I've come up with is that I know that I will want to be spending time with him, and that he will not want to be spending that time watching One Tree Hill. The way that I live my day to day at the moment (odd hours, etc) is not overly conducive to sharing living space with another person, and probably also not overly conducive to my own health. It needs to be, at least, thought good and hard about, and nixing the TV seemed a good way to add some thinking time (and maybe some sleeping time as well). And of course, the good grades I want, not just for their own sake, or for the sake of the good feelings and pride that comes with them, but also because with being engaged comes the reality that all future life choices will be made as a pair, and I sure as hell am not going to be the one that limits our choices of future locations by having grades that prevent me from matching wherever I damn well choose. So there.

But there's more to it than those things too. I was sort of thinking about the kind of person that I want to be, in the grand scheme of things. Perhaps the way that an author would describe me were he to be introducing my character in a novel. This is not new patten, but I turned the lens toward the TV watching. Now, which would you rather: Maggie is a voracious and thoughtful reader OR Maggie is the type of person who can tell you, exactly, what happened on Desperate Housewives last night?

One of those things is better than the other, or at least, closer to the way that I see myself, closer to the way that I want to be.

So I'm reading as my study breaks, which makes them more flexible and more enjoyable and better for my brain and my ability to hold interesting conversations. And is certainly better for this blog. We'll see how it goes. I suppose that I could promise to write in here once a week, or something like that, but I am trying to make more reasonable resolutions this year. Ones that take into account all the little things in life that you can't predict. So no number based promises, just some thinking, and a promise that, at the very least, there will be more thinking.

Reading on the T

Once or twice a year when I was in college in Boston, I would decide that I wanted to disappear for the day. Always on a Sunday, always in the winter, usually after a bit of dreary weather. I would decide the night before, and wake up earlier than usual for a Sunday, say 9 or 9:30. I always wore the same thing, a pair of worn out jeans with lots of holes and a dark grey form-fitting turtle neck sweater from J.Crew, fuzzy socks in comfy shoes, hair down or in a braid, no makeup, cute hat if I was feeling trendy, no gloves, coat only if the wind chill dictated that it would be foolish to go without one. I didn't have glasses at the time, but if I did I would have worn those, too. In this outfit I thought that I looked cute and comfortable, smart and Bostonian. I would pack my wallet, my journal, a pen and a novel of medium length that I had been meaning to read but hadn't really started, then grab breakfast, head for the BC stop at the end of the Green Line, and get on the train.



On these days there was no set plan, no errands, no real mission except to get away from everyone, enjoy Boston, and read whatever book I had brought along in its entirety. I would ride the T for hours, getting off and switching lines and directions whenever the mood struck me or I knew that I was going to have to pay more if I went any further, getting coffee at the in-station Dunkin' Donuts in the Government Center Station and reading my book. I would get off sometime in the early afternoon when I got hungry and grab food. I remember eating at a bagel place near Park Street, pizza in Harvard Square, at the little cafe in Trident on Newbury. Then I would spend some time in a nearby location that was unbothered by someone who wanted to just sit and read: a coffee shop, the Harvard bookstore, the Barnes & Noble in Brighton, the BPL. When I needed a break from the book I would people-watch or window-shop, just walk around or write in the journal. When I deemed myself near enough to the book's end, I would get back on the train and head to BC, always taking the B line, and always finishing the book at some point on the way back.



All the times that I did this, I think it was 6, I never once ran into anyone I knew. During the whole day, I would hardly talk to anyone, mostly just the people I ordered coffee from, bums asking for money, tourists asking what stop they should get off at for Harvard Square or Boston Common. Nothing that would qualify as a real conversation, say a couple hundred words all day long at the very most. Once I had a cell phone, I suppose that I brought it with me, but it was off or on silent. I spent those days, surrounded by people sure, but really, alone with my book.



This is simply not possible in Cincinnati. For one, obviously, there is no T, no train of any sort, and also, not really much of the same friendly downtown walk around areas, but that is not really the problem. The problem is that the fine people of the mid west are friendly. These people, whether they know you or not, see being in the same place at the same time as the ONLY prerequisite for conversation. They all want to chat.



In the past two weeks, I have not once managed to wait for a bus without a conversation, without learning at least some part of the life story of someone else waiting. I have met a graduate student from Sri Lanka who told me about the parts of America he wanted to visit and asked me to explain how Connecticut was different than Ohio, a pink-hatted woman from India who told me that global warming is making New Delhi both warmer in the summer and colder in the winter, and that homeless people there are freezing to death, a fourth year medical student infuriated with the irregularity of the shuttle, a man who complained that since Cincinnati was a smaller city there were no clubs open long enough to be worth going to when he got off work at midnight, and a woman taking her four year old son (in superhero pajamas just like the ones my brother used to wear) to the doctor to get his strep throat taken care of.



These people are interesting, and I am not saying that I don't enjoy the conversations, but it is nearly impossible to, without being rude, pull off the surrounded by people but still alone thing. People just start conversations. It's fascinating.



Today, my cell phone missing, a productive studying day yesterday, I decided to sort of try the reading in public thing. I did have a couple of errands to run too, and once I got my car from the garage at school, I drove, but I was thinking of those Boston days when I set out. I sat for a while in the bagel shop near my apartment. One of the guys that works there came by cleaning tables and sucked me into a 5 minute conversation about what the Sox should do about Tek. Then, waiting for the bus to go to campus, another woman waiting asked when the next bus was coming, and then chatted until it arrived. The woman waiting next to me for our food at Panera wanted to know what I had ordered, if I liked it, would she like it even if she didn't like spicy food? The checkout lady at Target was pregnant and due in two weeks, the customer in front of me in line started the conversation, and soon she was asking both of us what we thought of her baby names. The clerk in the bookstore noticed what I was reading, asked if I liked it, then if I had read something else slightly related, and talked about books for 10 minutes. These things just don't happen in Boston.



Now, this is something that I like about Cincinnati for the most part, I have enjoyed these little chats and the whole series of people that I have had long talks with but know none of their names. It's charming, most of the time. It sure makes waiting for the bus go faster.



But today... today I really really missed those days alone with my book and all those people providing an interesting, but not terribly interactive background. Today I missed those jeans and that sweater, thrown away because I wore them out a little too much. Today I really, really, really wished that I could have been reading on the T.