Two books tossed at me are on the April Indie Next List.
The Book of Jonas by Stephen Dau
Blue Rider Press
No surprise here. I firmly expect this culture clash (West/Middle East) salvation story to be in every freshman college lit program in a few years. Again, I will call it a modern classic. The timelessness of the issues Dau explores (cultural differences, fluidity of memory, faith and guilt) makes this novel a must have in hardback.
See my full review here: http://www.tossedinmylap.blogspot.com/2012/03/book-of-jonas.html.
The Book of Madness and Cures: A Novel by Regina O'Melveney
Little, Brown & Company
What could possible be more interesting than a novel about the exploration of madness in Renaissance Europe? The tapestry of this novel is woven with the lush setting across two continents, a brilliant woman's navigation through patriarchal society and a journey in search of a missing father lost in a mental abyss. Each of these elements gives The Book of Madness and Cures wide appeal.
My complete thoughts: http://www.tossedinmylap.blogspot.com/2012/02/book-of-madness-and-cures.html.
"You should read this...and this..." Here are the books that have been tossed in my lap...if you toss it at me, I'll have something to say.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Monday, March 26, 2012
The Book of Jonas
The Book of Jonas by Stephen Dau
Penguin Books 2102
Three voices speak in The Book of Jonas. The primary voice is that of Jonas, once Younis, the Muslim teen orphaned by an American military unit blitzing an unknown Middle Eastern village. As told through his personal notes, the second voice belongs to Christopher, an American soldier Missing in Action from the same unit. Christopher's mother, Rose, offers the final voice of the grieving mother searching for the truth about her son's disappearance.
This novel is not an indictment of the American military presence in the Middle East, nor is it a comparison of Christianity and Islam. Dau deftly avoids these politics in two ways. Jonas' homeland is anonymous, so the reader is unaware of whether the region is extreme in its religious politics or on the brink of Western modernity. Furthermore, religious experiences and impressions are enumerated, not emotionally interpreted. Jonas' host family, for example, is quoted as attempting to save Jonas through Jesus, but the offensiveness of such attempt is not expressed. Dau keeps the novel factual, as factual as memory will allow, and circumvents a book centered on the emotions of the Middle Eastern conflicts.
Instead, this novel focuses on the three voices' search for truth and salvation. What each finds is that the very traditional construct of salvation, religious faith, fails them all. Dau rocks the notion that proclaiming faith in God, whatever the religion, will lead a traumatized soul to peace. Salvation occurs through choice and action, not through proclamation.
I can physically feel the restraint Dau required to write this novel. The temptation to write an emotionally charged bestseller (and perhaps one hit wonder) must have been unreal. How easy it would be to play on the current politics -- and how timely it's release would have been with Staff Sgt. Bales' coincident breakdown. Perhaps the first modern classic, The Book of Jonas takes a modern setting and keeps it in the background in order to present a good bit of timeless philosophy.
Penguin Books 2102
Three voices speak in The Book of Jonas. The primary voice is that of Jonas, once Younis, the Muslim teen orphaned by an American military unit blitzing an unknown Middle Eastern village. As told through his personal notes, the second voice belongs to Christopher, an American soldier Missing in Action from the same unit. Christopher's mother, Rose, offers the final voice of the grieving mother searching for the truth about her son's disappearance.
This novel is not an indictment of the American military presence in the Middle East, nor is it a comparison of Christianity and Islam. Dau deftly avoids these politics in two ways. Jonas' homeland is anonymous, so the reader is unaware of whether the region is extreme in its religious politics or on the brink of Western modernity. Furthermore, religious experiences and impressions are enumerated, not emotionally interpreted. Jonas' host family, for example, is quoted as attempting to save Jonas through Jesus, but the offensiveness of such attempt is not expressed. Dau keeps the novel factual, as factual as memory will allow, and circumvents a book centered on the emotions of the Middle Eastern conflicts.
Instead, this novel focuses on the three voices' search for truth and salvation. What each finds is that the very traditional construct of salvation, religious faith, fails them all. Dau rocks the notion that proclaiming faith in God, whatever the religion, will lead a traumatized soul to peace. Salvation occurs through choice and action, not through proclamation.
I can physically feel the restraint Dau required to write this novel. The temptation to write an emotionally charged bestseller (and perhaps one hit wonder) must have been unreal. How easy it would be to play on the current politics -- and how timely it's release would have been with Staff Sgt. Bales' coincident breakdown. Perhaps the first modern classic, The Book of Jonas takes a modern setting and keeps it in the background in order to present a good bit of timeless philosophy.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Luminarium
Luminarium by Alex Shakar
Soho Press, 2011
What do Hacky Sack, Zulu shamans, Gandalf, Jedi knights, Ginko baloba, Pac Man, La-Z-Boy and the Czech Republic have in common? They are all referenced in this novel -- along with every other political and popular culture element since the early 70's. When merged with the plot-relevant references to 9-11, the dot com bust and Hindu mythology, the read was heavy. This unbelievably engaging plot was bogged down with clutter -- I was sprinting to the finish wearing a fully loaded flak jacket. For the last hundred pages, I wasn't sure if I would make it.
Fred Brounian can't sink much lower into his depression. His twin brother is dying, and he makes a string of terrible life-altering decisions in his grief. Like the depressed, philosophising college freshman in college, Fred wanders aimlessly through what is left of his New York city life and enrolls in a clinical trial. He is haunted by strange electronic messages and cyber-visitations. Are they real or are they part of his mental state?
While this novel is definitely not a light pool-side read, it is not lacking in interest. Boring it is not. Every day I pined to discover: what does the brain stimulation experiment do, does the Reiki work, and what is the significance of the gripping hand tattoo. There were a thousand more questions, all which were answered in a modern, artful crescendo. Despite the burdens of clutter, Luminarium goes in my stack of novels to re-read.
Soho Press, 2011
What do Hacky Sack, Zulu shamans, Gandalf, Jedi knights, Ginko baloba, Pac Man, La-Z-Boy and the Czech Republic have in common? They are all referenced in this novel -- along with every other political and popular culture element since the early 70's. When merged with the plot-relevant references to 9-11, the dot com bust and Hindu mythology, the read was heavy. This unbelievably engaging plot was bogged down with clutter -- I was sprinting to the finish wearing a fully loaded flak jacket. For the last hundred pages, I wasn't sure if I would make it.
Fred Brounian can't sink much lower into his depression. His twin brother is dying, and he makes a string of terrible life-altering decisions in his grief. Like the depressed, philosophising college freshman in college, Fred wanders aimlessly through what is left of his New York city life and enrolls in a clinical trial. He is haunted by strange electronic messages and cyber-visitations. Are they real or are they part of his mental state?
While this novel is definitely not a light pool-side read, it is not lacking in interest. Boring it is not. Every day I pined to discover: what does the brain stimulation experiment do, does the Reiki work, and what is the significance of the gripping hand tattoo. There were a thousand more questions, all which were answered in a modern, artful crescendo. Despite the burdens of clutter, Luminarium goes in my stack of novels to re-read.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
The Death of Reading
O.K. This is not a commentary on a book titled The Death of Reading. I'm busy reading Alex Shakar's Luminarium -- a dense read. Not dense as in somnulent, dense as in cheesecake. I just can't eat the whole cake at once.
The National Center for Education Statistics survey is reporting that 20% of eigth graders read for fun, whereas 53% of fourth graders do. The homeschooler in me says that the relentless demands to identify theme, interpret setting, etc. without learning about the historical context of the writer and the characters. While there is a lot of truth to this, my ten-year old would distill it to this sentiment: kids are not reading to become depressed.
The success of Rick Riordon's and J.K. Rawlings' books is not just the fabulous excitement their fundamental premise (your real parents are cool, you have super powers), it's the fact that the negativity (specifically loss of parent(s)) does not overwhelm the reader. There's interest, and the death references are peppered in, not lathered on like alfredo sauce. There's also a detachment from the pain: no middle schooler is worried about Voldemort killing their parents or their mythological father abandoning the family.
Books tossed at me that got the big thumbs down from my almost 11 and 12 year old boys for their melancholia:
Olive's Ocean by Kevin Henkes
Jumping the Nail by Eve Bunting
The Giver by Lois Lowry
All of these are listed as books for 6th to 8th graders or 10 and up.
I can remember taking a literature class in high school with this list of novels: Tess of the d'Urbervilles, Death of a Salesman, Metamorphosis and some uplifting tome by Charles Dickens. One depression book a term is plenty; book after book after book is too much. The heaviness weighs down on the reading enjoyment. There's no recovery from the sadness. Why look forward to adulthood? It's all one disappointment and gut wrenching pain after another.
While I understand that the goal of all of these books is to get kids to think, to ask questions, to make connections (and make no mistake, the three boos from my boys are great books), is it necessary to overwhelm them emotionally? Can't we allow kids to escape into another time, another place, another dimension? Don't we want them to read?
The National Center for Education Statistics survey is reporting that 20% of eigth graders read for fun, whereas 53% of fourth graders do. The homeschooler in me says that the relentless demands to identify theme, interpret setting, etc. without learning about the historical context of the writer and the characters. While there is a lot of truth to this, my ten-year old would distill it to this sentiment: kids are not reading to become depressed.
The success of Rick Riordon's and J.K. Rawlings' books is not just the fabulous excitement their fundamental premise (your real parents are cool, you have super powers), it's the fact that the negativity (specifically loss of parent(s)) does not overwhelm the reader. There's interest, and the death references are peppered in, not lathered on like alfredo sauce. There's also a detachment from the pain: no middle schooler is worried about Voldemort killing their parents or their mythological father abandoning the family.
Books tossed at me that got the big thumbs down from my almost 11 and 12 year old boys for their melancholia:
Olive's Ocean by Kevin Henkes
Jumping the Nail by Eve Bunting
The Giver by Lois Lowry
All of these are listed as books for 6th to 8th graders or 10 and up.
I can remember taking a literature class in high school with this list of novels: Tess of the d'Urbervilles, Death of a Salesman, Metamorphosis and some uplifting tome by Charles Dickens. One depression book a term is plenty; book after book after book is too much. The heaviness weighs down on the reading enjoyment. There's no recovery from the sadness. Why look forward to adulthood? It's all one disappointment and gut wrenching pain after another.
While I understand that the goal of all of these books is to get kids to think, to ask questions, to make connections (and make no mistake, the three boos from my boys are great books), is it necessary to overwhelm them emotionally? Can't we allow kids to escape into another time, another place, another dimension? Don't we want them to read?
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
The Confessions of Catherine de Medici
The Confessions of Catherine de Medici by C.W. Gortner
Ballentine Books
This commentary is second in line for books tossed at me, because they were thought to take place in Italy. Yes, Catherine de Medici spent her childhood in Italy, but let there be no mistake: she is oh so French.
The interesting part of reading this book is that I had no preconceived notion of Catherine de Medici's character. This history minimalist had no idea that history has vilified the former queen of France; Gortner tells a very different story. As a young bride to Henri II, Catherine was acutely aware of the politics of female survival in a royal court: produce an heir to the throne and protect the bloodline at whatever personal cost. While members of the court sought to eradicate opposition along religious lines (Catholic or Huguenot), Catherine spent most of her life attempting to enforce an unheard-of level of ecumenism for the 16th century: we are all French. As her life progresses from one deliberate chapter to the next, her cryptic visions lead her to Nostradamus, the seer of all time.
What could have really defeated this novel would have been a complex detailing of the geneology of European monarchs. Instead, the political connections and implications thereof are embedded in this thriller of a plot. I wanted to follow this warrior queen from beginning to end. Booklist wrote, "Alison Weir and Philippa Gregory fans will devour this." If so, these are two authors I will be investigating in the near future.
Ballentine Books
This commentary is second in line for books tossed at me, because they were thought to take place in Italy. Yes, Catherine de Medici spent her childhood in Italy, but let there be no mistake: she is oh so French.
The interesting part of reading this book is that I had no preconceived notion of Catherine de Medici's character. This history minimalist had no idea that history has vilified the former queen of France; Gortner tells a very different story. As a young bride to Henri II, Catherine was acutely aware of the politics of female survival in a royal court: produce an heir to the throne and protect the bloodline at whatever personal cost. While members of the court sought to eradicate opposition along religious lines (Catholic or Huguenot), Catherine spent most of her life attempting to enforce an unheard-of level of ecumenism for the 16th century: we are all French. As her life progresses from one deliberate chapter to the next, her cryptic visions lead her to Nostradamus, the seer of all time.
What could have really defeated this novel would have been a complex detailing of the geneology of European monarchs. Instead, the political connections and implications thereof are embedded in this thriller of a plot. I wanted to follow this warrior queen from beginning to end. Booklist wrote, "Alison Weir and Philippa Gregory fans will devour this." If so, these are two authors I will be investigating in the near future.
The Book of Madness and Cures
The Book of Madness and Cures by Reginia O'Melveny
Little, Brown and Company (coming April 2012)
The Book of Madness and Cures is a surprisingly light read interspersed with morsels of setting and culture across Renaissance Europe. There was a bit of suspension of disbelief while reading this novel. Although it was typical of Italian Renaissance women from families of means to receive university educations comparable to their male counterparts, Gabriella Mondini possesses an almost unbelievable situation. Her life-long mentorship under her father, Dr. E.B. Mondini, allows her to practice medicine. She is not a midwife with underground cures; she is a physician in good standing. Her situation appears more believable when her father leaves for extended travel, then disappears, and the local guild of physicians tightens a noose on her medical practice.
Although our culture is programmed to sympathize with the abandoned wife, Gabriella's mother is a difficult woman to pity. Introduced as a vain woman filled with contempt for her husband, she is constantly complaining about Dr. Mondini's studies, his relationship with Gabriella, his unusual habits. She appears to deserve her husband's estrangement.
Despite her intellectual brilliance, Gabriella is emotionally stunted by her father's departure. She is bound to him as a little girl, desperate for closure. Her need for answers is visceral; no tragedy will deter her search for answers. We are housed by the past. As she begins her search for her father, his leaving appears more complex. From Padua to Leiden, then Edenberg and finally, Algezer, Gabriella encounters townspeople and her father's former collegues, each with progressively disturbing accounts of her father's behavior. What is strange about the entire journey across the European continent and on to Africa is that Gabriella persists, unscathed by witch hunts, bandits and obstructive prejudice (although her traveling companions suffer differently).
Interspersed with the accounts of her journey are her father's letters and anecdotes of the diagnosis and treatment of madness. The range of mental infirmity in Gabriella's day appears no different than today: her melancholia for our depression, her lapsus for our dissociative disorder. Interestingly, while this search for madness and cures thereof persists today, progress since Gabriella's time appears lacking. The reader may even prefer Gabriella's humane and tender approach to mental fugue.
Little, Brown and Company (coming April 2012)
The Book of Madness and Cures is a surprisingly light read interspersed with morsels of setting and culture across Renaissance Europe. There was a bit of suspension of disbelief while reading this novel. Although it was typical of Italian Renaissance women from families of means to receive university educations comparable to their male counterparts, Gabriella Mondini possesses an almost unbelievable situation. Her life-long mentorship under her father, Dr. E.B. Mondini, allows her to practice medicine. She is not a midwife with underground cures; she is a physician in good standing. Her situation appears more believable when her father leaves for extended travel, then disappears, and the local guild of physicians tightens a noose on her medical practice.
Although our culture is programmed to sympathize with the abandoned wife, Gabriella's mother is a difficult woman to pity. Introduced as a vain woman filled with contempt for her husband, she is constantly complaining about Dr. Mondini's studies, his relationship with Gabriella, his unusual habits. She appears to deserve her husband's estrangement.
Despite her intellectual brilliance, Gabriella is emotionally stunted by her father's departure. She is bound to him as a little girl, desperate for closure. Her need for answers is visceral; no tragedy will deter her search for answers. We are housed by the past. As she begins her search for her father, his leaving appears more complex. From Padua to Leiden, then Edenberg and finally, Algezer, Gabriella encounters townspeople and her father's former collegues, each with progressively disturbing accounts of her father's behavior. What is strange about the entire journey across the European continent and on to Africa is that Gabriella persists, unscathed by witch hunts, bandits and obstructive prejudice (although her traveling companions suffer differently).
Interspersed with the accounts of her journey are her father's letters and anecdotes of the diagnosis and treatment of madness. The range of mental infirmity in Gabriella's day appears no different than today: her melancholia for our depression, her lapsus for our dissociative disorder. Interestingly, while this search for madness and cures thereof persists today, progress since Gabriella's time appears lacking. The reader may even prefer Gabriella's humane and tender approach to mental fugue.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Picking Cotton
Picking Cotton
Jennifer Thompson-Cannino and Ronald Cotton with Erin Torneo
*Jury Duty Reading List*
When this book was tossed in my lap, I just let it sit on my bedside table. I stared at it. I did not want to read a book about rape, much less about a white woman mistakenly identifying a black man for the crime. The book sat and stared back until after a few weeks, I picked it up.
There are so many things that could have gone wrong with this book: it could have focused on racial prejudices and alienated the reader; it could have emphasized religion to the point of becoming a born-again tome; it could have evolved into a feminist anti-rape campaign. This memoir was a pleasant surprise (if one could possibly be pleasantly surprised by rape and incarceration).
Instead, the authors provide an honest report of the timeline of events and the concurrent thoughts and emotions. I did thirst for a more in-depth explanation of the impact of investigator bias on the witness and the re-encoding of memory. The point was nonetheless made: memory is a fluid process, not a snapshot of fact. REQUIRED READING for any prospective juror.
Jennifer Thompson-Cannino and Ronald Cotton with Erin Torneo
*Jury Duty Reading List*
When this book was tossed in my lap, I just let it sit on my bedside table. I stared at it. I did not want to read a book about rape, much less about a white woman mistakenly identifying a black man for the crime. The book sat and stared back until after a few weeks, I picked it up.
There are so many things that could have gone wrong with this book: it could have focused on racial prejudices and alienated the reader; it could have emphasized religion to the point of becoming a born-again tome; it could have evolved into a feminist anti-rape campaign. This memoir was a pleasant surprise (if one could possibly be pleasantly surprised by rape and incarceration).
Instead, the authors provide an honest report of the timeline of events and the concurrent thoughts and emotions. I did thirst for a more in-depth explanation of the impact of investigator bias on the witness and the re-encoding of memory. The point was nonetheless made: memory is a fluid process, not a snapshot of fact. REQUIRED READING for any prospective juror.
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