April was The Winter of Our Discontent by John Steinbeck.
I loved this book. I devoured it. I could not stop reading until I was done and then I felt sad and let down because I wanted more.
Steve will do a wonderful summary, I'm sure. Steve's a better writer than I, and I feel kind of tarded when I read his summaries and then read mine. I think he's second guessing his choice of mate. After my embarrassing emotional vomit brought on by my review of Breathing Lessons, he's never really looked at me the same.
So, I will just say that I truly enjoyed the book. I think it's an absolute classic. The book, although written in the sixties, touches on themes relevant today (the economy, immigration, class, addiction, crime and poverty). I felt drawn in, connected to and emotionally invested in the lives of the Hawleys, especially Ethan, the main character. I found myself rooting for him in my mind and I find myself mentally shouting things out to him, "Don't rob the bank!"
What can I say, I'm a huge dork....
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Northern Lights
I caught up, and finished February and March's book, and then steamrolled over Steve and finished April's book. Steve is jealous and whiny about it, but I can't help that I read faster than he does.
Soo, Northern Lights. Man, I gotta say, I was expecting so much more. Tim O'Brien is on my short list of favorite authors, and The Things They Carried and If I Die in a Combat Zone are def. two of my all time favorite books. I don't even really enjoy "war" books, but they are just so beautifully written that it's hard not to fall in love with these books.
I was expecting Northern Lights to be not as great, yet somewhat great. Glimmers of greatness, at least. I was bored and I felt like I missed something. I felt like there was a chapter that I skipped that would have provided more of a back story to tie it all together. I just didn't "get" it and when Harvey died in the forest, my first thought was, "What the fuck, Cotton?" Or something like that. It just irritated me for some reason. Then when Paul gave him CPR and brought him back, I was even more irritated and was just over it at that point.
There didn't seem to be a plot. Everything was hinted at, yet never developed. I wanted to like it, really I did. Before I read this book, I would have left my husband for Tim O'Brien. Now, not so much...
Soo, Northern Lights. Man, I gotta say, I was expecting so much more. Tim O'Brien is on my short list of favorite authors, and The Things They Carried and If I Die in a Combat Zone are def. two of my all time favorite books. I don't even really enjoy "war" books, but they are just so beautifully written that it's hard not to fall in love with these books.
I was expecting Northern Lights to be not as great, yet somewhat great. Glimmers of greatness, at least. I was bored and I felt like I missed something. I felt like there was a chapter that I skipped that would have provided more of a back story to tie it all together. I just didn't "get" it and when Harvey died in the forest, my first thought was, "What the fuck, Cotton?" Or something like that. It just irritated me for some reason. Then when Paul gave him CPR and brought him back, I was even more irritated and was just over it at that point.
There didn't seem to be a plot. Everything was hinted at, yet never developed. I wanted to like it, really I did. Before I read this book, I would have left my husband for Tim O'Brien. Now, not so much...
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Northern Lights a la Steve
It's about time I get first crack at reviewing one of these books. In the past, Monique has used up all the good words, leaving me few options except "cramhole." Now it's Steve's turn to shine!
Tim O'Brien made his bones as a writer with his works about the Vietnam war, producing the classics If I Die in a Combat Zone: Box Me Up and Ship Me Home, The Things They Carried and Going After Cacciato. Northern Lights is O'Brien's second book, and his first attempt at fiction. I have read all of O'Brien's other books, with mixed feelings. I found that his writing on Vietnam is riveting, but his other material is not my cup of tea. Some of it feels dated, some is overly ruminative and frankly, some of his later books just bore me. None of his peace-time work excites me at all. So I was interested in Northern Lights, because I thought it might be a good mix of war stuff and civilian stuff.
The blurb on the back of our copy states that the:
"core [of the book] is the relationship between two brothers: one who went to Vietnam and one who stayed home. As the two brothers struggle against an unexpected blizzard in Minnesota's remote north woods, what they discover about themselves and each other will change both of them forever."
This led me to believe that the mass of the book would concern said blizzard. Interesting, no? Possibly crazed vet stuck with peacenik brother in a snowstorm. What's going to happen? Well, I enjoyed that part of the book, which lasted from page 165 to page 313. Roughly 150 pages of good, tense, nail-biting reading. Although the snowstorm didn't actually hit until about page 190. Still not bad.
But the blurb didn't mention the other 210 pages of relationships and love triangles and daddy issues, all of which were alluded to, written of obliquely and left to me to figure out. I generally like that kind of book, but I didn't find O'Brien's characters compelling, except for Harvey, the Vietnam brother, and Addie, Harvey's girlfriend.
Northern Lights focuses on Paul Perry, and much of the book is dedicated to Paul's murky relationship with his doughty wife, Grace. Paul is noncommittal about Grace. He seems satisfied with her, but not especially impressed. He acts as if he wants more, particularly upon Harvey's return from war, but is helpless to enact that change. Paul is often passive-aggressive toward Grace, and O'Brien makes a lot out of Paul's friendship with Addie, the young, exotic librarian/town whore, who falls into Harvey's arms while Paul hems and haws about his own attraction to her.
My recurring complaint about this book begins here. Paul's problems with Grace are never fully examined. They are vaguely alluded to, the results laid out without a reason. O'Brien mentions several times that Paul's father did not fully approve of Grace, but we're never told why. I don't mind reading between the lines; I'm not an idiot. But I looked between the lines, and found the writing to be Latin, or possibly Esperanto.
Paul is similarly apathetic about his government job in the small, dying town of Sawmill Landing. He fell into the job and doesn't enjoy it, but it's his now, and he does it well. He just doesn't really want it. A lot like his wife.
The book begins on the day of Harvey's return from Vietnam, where he lost an eye. We discover quickly that Harvey was the town hero before he went to war, and that he was also his father's hero. Known around the town as "Bull", Harvey was a star athlete and outdoorsman, and basically could no wrong in the small, cloistered community of Sawmill Landing.
Harvey is an intriguing character to me. Because he spent his youth in the limelight, he expects and is given accolades upon his homecoming. The only problem is that Harvey mainly wants to be by himself. He alternately keeps himself hermitted away in his bedroom and demands attention. At any rate, he sinks into alcoholism.
As mentioned above, Harvey sort of stumbles into Addie. Paul's do-nothing approach to the mutual attraction between him and Addie forced her away from him, but being the town whore is what made her take up with Paul's brother. Seriously, who does that? In high school, we had a name for girls who messed around with the brothers and friends of boys who didn't like them as much as they wanted. That word, as you may have guessed, was whore.
But I digress. While Paul balefully observes, Harvey forces his relationship with Addie to be serious. This leads to a lot of familial double-date nights, which nobody but Harvey really wants, but the Bull gets his way. Grace goes along with it gamefully, while Paul and Addie continue to jab and retreat, and Harvey drinks and rolls his dead eye around.
Without detailing every part of the book, let me just say that Addie does some more whoring around, then Harvey shows some chinks in his armor, and next thing you know, Paul and Harvey are lost in a blizzard while cross-country skiing. As I said, this is the good part of the book, tension-wise, and it does cause the brothers to discover things about themselves, as promised.
They do a lot of soul-searching and hashing out their daddy issues. Again, a lot of things are sort of left in the air to make up your own mind about, although not so much as with the Paul and Grace situation. Then Harvey dies. Whaaaaa?!?!?! Don't worry; against all odds, Paul saves the day, gets them out of trouble and Harvey is forced to acknowledge Paul's usefulness. After that, Paul becomes much more decisive about things, Addie takes off to the big city, and everybody is more or less happy. Except Harvey. Oh well.
I like Northern Lights mainly because the theme is easy to pin down. Paul is a wishy-washy nancy boy his entire life. Whenever he is confronted with a decision, he sits on his hands until the decision is made for him. When Paul is unhappy in his marriage and has Addie on his line, he just waits for resolution, hoping either Grace will let him off the hook, or Addie will tear him off the hook. Instead, Addie just drifts away, and rubs it in Paul's face to boot.
Paul's job is more of the same. He putts along at his stale work until he is informed that his office is being closed. Then, instead of being proactive in finding new work, Paul decides to take a little time off to think about it. He's pushed in multiple directions by his wife, brother, even passing acquaintances, so no decision is ever really made.
But after Paul gets a little self-worth, he suddenly works everything out for himself nice and neat. The best part is that Harvey, given circumstances that would knock most men down a few pegs, barely feels a draft. He doesn't really work anything out, but at least he has a grudging respect for his big brother, and he's not dating the town whore anymore, so that had to be some weight off his shoulders.
I'm not thrilled with an ending that presents Paul as completely transformed over a matter of a week or two, but I'm glad that nobody else is that squared off. Harvey is still an unrepentant alcoholic without direction, Grace is still a fearful little titmouse, and Addie's tramping around in St. Paul. That rings true to me, because, as we learned in Breathing Lessons, nobody ever really changes all that much. And I would have been perfectly happy with Paul changing a little, taking more control of himself, and showing the possibility of more change; I just didn't care for his total makeover because of a snowstorm.
I was probably more impressed with Harvey as a character than I would have been if another author had written it, because I feel like there must have been some of O'Brien himself in Harvey. It's a little window into the heart of a damaged veteran that I appreciate. But I think O'Brien comes up short in some of his characterization, particularly with Grace and Addie. Perhaps he just didn't have room to explain them as well as he might, or perhaps, like me, exploring the female mind is like making out with a cow's stomach full of lime Jell-O. Get it? No? Exactly!
All in all, I enjoyed Northern Lights; I may even read it again someday. But I've been spoiled by Tim O'Brien's Vietnam oeuvre, and was hoping for a little more from this, at least partially because I secretly hoped that his recent fiction is bad because he has aged. I think O'Brien is best when he writes close to home, and when he slips into fictionalization, he can get sometimes sort of go off the grid. I think Northern Lights is pretty close to home for him, but because it was mainly a work of fiction, O'Brien had to do a lot of guess work about characters and plot that hurt the book in the end. At the end of the day, I'll probably just re-read The Things They Carried.
Tim O'Brien made his bones as a writer with his works about the Vietnam war, producing the classics If I Die in a Combat Zone: Box Me Up and Ship Me Home, The Things They Carried and Going After Cacciato. Northern Lights is O'Brien's second book, and his first attempt at fiction. I have read all of O'Brien's other books, with mixed feelings. I found that his writing on Vietnam is riveting, but his other material is not my cup of tea. Some of it feels dated, some is overly ruminative and frankly, some of his later books just bore me. None of his peace-time work excites me at all. So I was interested in Northern Lights, because I thought it might be a good mix of war stuff and civilian stuff.
The blurb on the back of our copy states that the:
"core [of the book] is the relationship between two brothers: one who went to Vietnam and one who stayed home. As the two brothers struggle against an unexpected blizzard in Minnesota's remote north woods, what they discover about themselves and each other will change both of them forever."
This led me to believe that the mass of the book would concern said blizzard. Interesting, no? Possibly crazed vet stuck with peacenik brother in a snowstorm. What's going to happen? Well, I enjoyed that part of the book, which lasted from page 165 to page 313. Roughly 150 pages of good, tense, nail-biting reading. Although the snowstorm didn't actually hit until about page 190. Still not bad.
But the blurb didn't mention the other 210 pages of relationships and love triangles and daddy issues, all of which were alluded to, written of obliquely and left to me to figure out. I generally like that kind of book, but I didn't find O'Brien's characters compelling, except for Harvey, the Vietnam brother, and Addie, Harvey's girlfriend.
Northern Lights focuses on Paul Perry, and much of the book is dedicated to Paul's murky relationship with his doughty wife, Grace. Paul is noncommittal about Grace. He seems satisfied with her, but not especially impressed. He acts as if he wants more, particularly upon Harvey's return from war, but is helpless to enact that change. Paul is often passive-aggressive toward Grace, and O'Brien makes a lot out of Paul's friendship with Addie, the young, exotic librarian/town whore, who falls into Harvey's arms while Paul hems and haws about his own attraction to her.
My recurring complaint about this book begins here. Paul's problems with Grace are never fully examined. They are vaguely alluded to, the results laid out without a reason. O'Brien mentions several times that Paul's father did not fully approve of Grace, but we're never told why. I don't mind reading between the lines; I'm not an idiot. But I looked between the lines, and found the writing to be Latin, or possibly Esperanto.
Paul is similarly apathetic about his government job in the small, dying town of Sawmill Landing. He fell into the job and doesn't enjoy it, but it's his now, and he does it well. He just doesn't really want it. A lot like his wife.
The book begins on the day of Harvey's return from Vietnam, where he lost an eye. We discover quickly that Harvey was the town hero before he went to war, and that he was also his father's hero. Known around the town as "Bull", Harvey was a star athlete and outdoorsman, and basically could no wrong in the small, cloistered community of Sawmill Landing.
Harvey is an intriguing character to me. Because he spent his youth in the limelight, he expects and is given accolades upon his homecoming. The only problem is that Harvey mainly wants to be by himself. He alternately keeps himself hermitted away in his bedroom and demands attention. At any rate, he sinks into alcoholism.
As mentioned above, Harvey sort of stumbles into Addie. Paul's do-nothing approach to the mutual attraction between him and Addie forced her away from him, but being the town whore is what made her take up with Paul's brother. Seriously, who does that? In high school, we had a name for girls who messed around with the brothers and friends of boys who didn't like them as much as they wanted. That word, as you may have guessed, was whore.
But I digress. While Paul balefully observes, Harvey forces his relationship with Addie to be serious. This leads to a lot of familial double-date nights, which nobody but Harvey really wants, but the Bull gets his way. Grace goes along with it gamefully, while Paul and Addie continue to jab and retreat, and Harvey drinks and rolls his dead eye around.
Without detailing every part of the book, let me just say that Addie does some more whoring around, then Harvey shows some chinks in his armor, and next thing you know, Paul and Harvey are lost in a blizzard while cross-country skiing. As I said, this is the good part of the book, tension-wise, and it does cause the brothers to discover things about themselves, as promised.
They do a lot of soul-searching and hashing out their daddy issues. Again, a lot of things are sort of left in the air to make up your own mind about, although not so much as with the Paul and Grace situation. Then Harvey dies. Whaaaaa?!?!?! Don't worry; against all odds, Paul saves the day, gets them out of trouble and Harvey is forced to acknowledge Paul's usefulness. After that, Paul becomes much more decisive about things, Addie takes off to the big city, and everybody is more or less happy. Except Harvey. Oh well.
I like Northern Lights mainly because the theme is easy to pin down. Paul is a wishy-washy nancy boy his entire life. Whenever he is confronted with a decision, he sits on his hands until the decision is made for him. When Paul is unhappy in his marriage and has Addie on his line, he just waits for resolution, hoping either Grace will let him off the hook, or Addie will tear him off the hook. Instead, Addie just drifts away, and rubs it in Paul's face to boot.
Paul's job is more of the same. He putts along at his stale work until he is informed that his office is being closed. Then, instead of being proactive in finding new work, Paul decides to take a little time off to think about it. He's pushed in multiple directions by his wife, brother, even passing acquaintances, so no decision is ever really made.
But after Paul gets a little self-worth, he suddenly works everything out for himself nice and neat. The best part is that Harvey, given circumstances that would knock most men down a few pegs, barely feels a draft. He doesn't really work anything out, but at least he has a grudging respect for his big brother, and he's not dating the town whore anymore, so that had to be some weight off his shoulders.
I'm not thrilled with an ending that presents Paul as completely transformed over a matter of a week or two, but I'm glad that nobody else is that squared off. Harvey is still an unrepentant alcoholic without direction, Grace is still a fearful little titmouse, and Addie's tramping around in St. Paul. That rings true to me, because, as we learned in Breathing Lessons, nobody ever really changes all that much. And I would have been perfectly happy with Paul changing a little, taking more control of himself, and showing the possibility of more change; I just didn't care for his total makeover because of a snowstorm.
I was probably more impressed with Harvey as a character than I would have been if another author had written it, because I feel like there must have been some of O'Brien himself in Harvey. It's a little window into the heart of a damaged veteran that I appreciate. But I think O'Brien comes up short in some of his characterization, particularly with Grace and Addie. Perhaps he just didn't have room to explain them as well as he might, or perhaps, like me, exploring the female mind is like making out with a cow's stomach full of lime Jell-O. Get it? No? Exactly!
All in all, I enjoyed Northern Lights; I may even read it again someday. But I've been spoiled by Tim O'Brien's Vietnam oeuvre, and was hoping for a little more from this, at least partially because I secretly hoped that his recent fiction is bad because he has aged. I think O'Brien is best when he writes close to home, and when he slips into fictionalization, he can get sometimes sort of go off the grid. I think Northern Lights is pretty close to home for him, but because it was mainly a work of fiction, O'Brien had to do a lot of guess work about characters and plot that hurt the book in the end. At the end of the day, I'll probably just re-read The Things They Carried.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Cram Your Snide Comments Up Your Cramhole
Contrary to my wife's petty prognostication, here is my review of February's book. Ahem...
What was it called? Breathing Lessons? Hmm. Intriguing. As I recall, the title was cleverly based on the 27 words devoted to one of the protagonists taking her former daughter-in-law to her Lamaze classes. Way to make that extra effort, Anne Tyler.
Anyway, the book focused on a married couple, Ira and Maggie, and a trip to a funeral. Some stuff happened, but mainly I was struck with an enduring image of two 50-somethings trying to do the nasty in a widow's bedroom. Icky.
Tyler divided the book into possibly three or four sections, most of which were written from Maggie's POV. She certainly was whiny. As Monique pointed out, Maggie desperately wants everyone she meets, every single person, to be happy. But the lengths she goes to to achieve happiness for others is both beyond the realms of believability and shockingly annoying. Maggie has her nose in everyone's business to the point of pushing them away. Lucky for her, she has Ira to show her the errors of her ways, and shoulder the horrifying responsibility of being married to her.
For his part, Ira is detached from everything around him. He plays a lot of Solitaire, and wants nothing more than to go to the funeral of his wife's friend's husband, then turn around and go back to Baltimore, where he can run his frame shop and feel beholden to his father and idiot sisters. Ira, I get. His children disappoint him, his father crushed his dreams of med school and his wife is an overwrought simpleton. So he doesn't sweat the small stuff, and he takes care of the things he's supposed to take care of, and he lives completely within himself. Three cheers for self-reliance!
Speaking of Ira, the one spectacular facet of the book was Tyler's depiction of Ira. I generally think that female authors do a crappy job of writing male characters. In most chick-lit, men are hurriedly scribbled down, painted with as many broad stereotypes as possible, so the good-looking guy is always good, and the bad guy is transparently so. Cads! It's possible that male authors are just as guilty of the same activity when writing women; I wouldn't know.
But Anne Tyler did surprising justice to the male gender when she concocted Ira. Everything about him rang true to me, except for his subconscious whistling of songs apropos to every moment, without his knowledge. That's a bit asinine. But overall, Ira was written like a real male, good and bad.
I'm not in love with the book. I would have preferred some Jay McInerney or Bret Easton Ellis for the '80s. I did not cry at any point, except when I tried to sleep the night after I read the geriatric make-out scene. Ewwww. Nasty. It was fairly predictable, and offered little character growth. The secondary characters were all two dimensional, and neither one was the intriguing fourth dimension, or even the silky-smooth Fifth Dimension. Personally, I either didn't see or can't remember any revelation at the end of the book. Everyone is still basically in the exact same place they were at the beginning of the book, despite 300+ pages of Maggie's finagling. Maybe that's the point: nothing really changes except our skin condition. Huzzah for my revelation!!
What was it called? Breathing Lessons? Hmm. Intriguing. As I recall, the title was cleverly based on the 27 words devoted to one of the protagonists taking her former daughter-in-law to her Lamaze classes. Way to make that extra effort, Anne Tyler.
Anyway, the book focused on a married couple, Ira and Maggie, and a trip to a funeral. Some stuff happened, but mainly I was struck with an enduring image of two 50-somethings trying to do the nasty in a widow's bedroom. Icky.
Tyler divided the book into possibly three or four sections, most of which were written from Maggie's POV. She certainly was whiny. As Monique pointed out, Maggie desperately wants everyone she meets, every single person, to be happy. But the lengths she goes to to achieve happiness for others is both beyond the realms of believability and shockingly annoying. Maggie has her nose in everyone's business to the point of pushing them away. Lucky for her, she has Ira to show her the errors of her ways, and shoulder the horrifying responsibility of being married to her.
For his part, Ira is detached from everything around him. He plays a lot of Solitaire, and wants nothing more than to go to the funeral of his wife's friend's husband, then turn around and go back to Baltimore, where he can run his frame shop and feel beholden to his father and idiot sisters. Ira, I get. His children disappoint him, his father crushed his dreams of med school and his wife is an overwrought simpleton. So he doesn't sweat the small stuff, and he takes care of the things he's supposed to take care of, and he lives completely within himself. Three cheers for self-reliance!
Speaking of Ira, the one spectacular facet of the book was Tyler's depiction of Ira. I generally think that female authors do a crappy job of writing male characters. In most chick-lit, men are hurriedly scribbled down, painted with as many broad stereotypes as possible, so the good-looking guy is always good, and the bad guy is transparently so. Cads! It's possible that male authors are just as guilty of the same activity when writing women; I wouldn't know.
But Anne Tyler did surprising justice to the male gender when she concocted Ira. Everything about him rang true to me, except for his subconscious whistling of songs apropos to every moment, without his knowledge. That's a bit asinine. But overall, Ira was written like a real male, good and bad.
I'm not in love with the book. I would have preferred some Jay McInerney or Bret Easton Ellis for the '80s. I did not cry at any point, except when I tried to sleep the night after I read the geriatric make-out scene. Ewwww. Nasty. It was fairly predictable, and offered little character growth. The secondary characters were all two dimensional, and neither one was the intriguing fourth dimension, or even the silky-smooth Fifth Dimension. Personally, I either didn't see or can't remember any revelation at the end of the book. Everyone is still basically in the exact same place they were at the beginning of the book, despite 300+ pages of Maggie's finagling. Maybe that's the point: nothing really changes except our skin condition. Huzzah for my revelation!!
Monday, April 7, 2008
Breathing Lessons...Monique's Review
I finished February this weekend--finally. Also, I bought April's book, and I'm about 50 pages into March. Yay for me!
So, Breathing Lessons by Anne Tyler. It took me about 100 pages or more to really get into the book. Overall, I enjoyed it. I actually cried at the end of the book, as it was a revelation of sorts.
I went into the book thinking it was about marriage, but it was about marriage, family, children. I found that much of the book resonated my own personal experiences. I found myself thinking of my first marriage and how it just was destined to fail. I found myself wondering if monogamy is really natural. At one point in the book, the main character says that she fell in love with her husband again, which was "convenient." I guess that's really what it's all about: falling in love again, and hoping it's with the person you married.
The book made me cry because it hit home with some themes I've been wrestling with in my own life lately. The main character, Maggie, wants so badly for everyone to be happy. She engineers these moments and tries to engineer relationships and it never works. It always just causes more trouble. It's not malicious--she truly just wants everyone to be happy. She wants to have this great happy family with these happy family moments.
It hit home and hard. When I was little, my family was not a happy family. We still aren't. I don't really think that my brothers like me, or each other, and I'm not sure my parents really like us all that much either. As a girl, I would watch movies with big, happy families and I just wanted that so much. I wanted big family gatherings where the families played games, and talked and had family traditions and stayed up late talking and having family talent shows. I wanted a family with a cabin in Vermont and that met there every Christmas and sat around the fire laughing and drinking cocoa. I wanted a big Italian family that got together every Sunday and had huge weddings. In my head, I imagine my family get togethers will be the same. A couple years ago, I had this elaborately planned Christmas. I took time off work so that I could do the necessary cooking and cleaning and baking. Well, my brother and his wife went to California and my other brother could not have cared less and barely showed up. My parents don't live in town and it's just not a priority for them. I was crushed. Really.
And I do it every freaking holiday. I write menus. I plan games. And it never happens. When my family does get together, some of us don't even talk to each other and it's awkward and pointless. And every single time, I'm crushed. Steve has gotten to the point where he just dreads it because he knows I will sink into some weird holiday related depression and either be a raving bitch or a crying mess.
So, Maggie's elaborate stories and plans just made me sad all over again.
The book was also about miscommunication and how we think we are telling our spouse something, and they interpret it as another and it's just a horrible cycle. This is obviously why so many marriages fail, and a problem that causes marriage counselors to stay in business.
Overall, I enjoyed it. It wasn't the best book I've ever read, but it was a quick read.
Steve will probably never post his review.
So, Breathing Lessons by Anne Tyler. It took me about 100 pages or more to really get into the book. Overall, I enjoyed it. I actually cried at the end of the book, as it was a revelation of sorts.
I went into the book thinking it was about marriage, but it was about marriage, family, children. I found that much of the book resonated my own personal experiences. I found myself thinking of my first marriage and how it just was destined to fail. I found myself wondering if monogamy is really natural. At one point in the book, the main character says that she fell in love with her husband again, which was "convenient." I guess that's really what it's all about: falling in love again, and hoping it's with the person you married.
The book made me cry because it hit home with some themes I've been wrestling with in my own life lately. The main character, Maggie, wants so badly for everyone to be happy. She engineers these moments and tries to engineer relationships and it never works. It always just causes more trouble. It's not malicious--she truly just wants everyone to be happy. She wants to have this great happy family with these happy family moments.
It hit home and hard. When I was little, my family was not a happy family. We still aren't. I don't really think that my brothers like me, or each other, and I'm not sure my parents really like us all that much either. As a girl, I would watch movies with big, happy families and I just wanted that so much. I wanted big family gatherings where the families played games, and talked and had family traditions and stayed up late talking and having family talent shows. I wanted a family with a cabin in Vermont and that met there every Christmas and sat around the fire laughing and drinking cocoa. I wanted a big Italian family that got together every Sunday and had huge weddings. In my head, I imagine my family get togethers will be the same. A couple years ago, I had this elaborately planned Christmas. I took time off work so that I could do the necessary cooking and cleaning and baking. Well, my brother and his wife went to California and my other brother could not have cared less and barely showed up. My parents don't live in town and it's just not a priority for them. I was crushed. Really.
And I do it every freaking holiday. I write menus. I plan games. And it never happens. When my family does get together, some of us don't even talk to each other and it's awkward and pointless. And every single time, I'm crushed. Steve has gotten to the point where he just dreads it because he knows I will sink into some weird holiday related depression and either be a raving bitch or a crying mess.
So, Maggie's elaborate stories and plans just made me sad all over again.
The book was also about miscommunication and how we think we are telling our spouse something, and they interpret it as another and it's just a horrible cycle. This is obviously why so many marriages fail, and a problem that causes marriage counselors to stay in business.
Overall, I enjoyed it. It wasn't the best book I've ever read, but it was a quick read.
Steve will probably never post his review.
Friday, April 4, 2008
March
Okay. I admit it. I'm totally lame. I didn't read March either. I can't help it. My job doesn't afford me much free time, and when I do have free time, I usually either sleep or read something totally brainless, like US Magazine.
Steve read it. He's good like that.
I did start reading February's book and March's book....
Will I finish them and finish April's? Who knows. I do have a couple big trials coming up, so I'm guessing that means I won't finish them.
It's sort of sad. I used to read all the time and just loved it. I loved opening a book, bending the spine back, and starting the book. I loved the sort of sad feeling of finishing a great book. Then I went to law school, and had to read non-stop. I still read non-stop. My day is made up of doing two things: reading and talking. Really, that's being a lawyer in a nutshell. When I get home, I'm so tired of reading, that I can't do it. I can read Perez Hilton, but that takes no energy. I like that.
The reading challenge is becoming less about reading books to talk about with my husband and more about just reading at all.
Steve read it. He's good like that.
I did start reading February's book and March's book....
Will I finish them and finish April's? Who knows. I do have a couple big trials coming up, so I'm guessing that means I won't finish them.
It's sort of sad. I used to read all the time and just loved it. I loved opening a book, bending the spine back, and starting the book. I loved the sort of sad feeling of finishing a great book. Then I went to law school, and had to read non-stop. I still read non-stop. My day is made up of doing two things: reading and talking. Really, that's being a lawyer in a nutshell. When I get home, I'm so tired of reading, that I can't do it. I can read Perez Hilton, but that takes no energy. I like that.
The reading challenge is becoming less about reading books to talk about with my husband and more about just reading at all.
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