A Book That Won't Die, and V For Vendetta

The little paperback that could
"Seattle Post Intelligencer book critic John Marshall presents a rather cool story of a book that's been out in paperback in years still selling very well at one of the city's independents. So why is Robert Wilson's A SMALL DEATH IN LISBON still doing great business at Seattle's legendary Elliot Bay shop?Chalk it up to a t-shirt.Marshall explains that Leah Brock, a veteran bookseller at Elliott Bay, happened to wear a T-shirt from Gilley's (of URBAN COWBOY FAME) to work last summer, which caused customer Paul Goode to strike up a conversation. It turned out that Brock is from Conroe, outside Houston, Goode from Kingsville, 250 miles away. Lone Star matters were soon dispatched and talk turned to books. Brock had been reading through mysteries set in World War II, and that immediately made Goode, an avid reader of mysteries with historical settings, think of A SMALL DEATH IN LISBON.And she loved it too. Then came the shelf-taker. Then came more sales. Then the newsletter Shelf Awareness caught on, and as Craig Burke, Berkley director of publicity, reports, sales increased 44 percent in April over March and have continued an upward trend since. Wilson's pretty pleased about the results, too: "I've been delighted by this story, not only because it relies on coincidences, which are NOT allowed in crime novels, but which happen all the time in everyday life, but also because this is what every writer craves: word of mouth."
That was taken from famed "Galleycat" blog, mainly because I once interviewed John Marshall for the Mercer Island Reporter, and because its heartening to read of a book that has made it on word of mouth, from one of Seattles last indie bookstores, heaven bless them.
I also wanted to post about a movie that my husband, the comic book and graphic novel fan, insisted that we both view, called "V for Vendetta." I don't know that I was expecting a movie based on a graphic novel based on a futuristic Guy Fawkes ("Remember remember the 5th of November, the gunpowder, treason and plot..") to be quite so violent, bloody and obvious in its rant on fascism, but it certainly delivered in the big bang dept. I kept thinking that I'd heard that deep, luscious voice before, when I first heard "V" in the movie, and the end credits enlightened me that it was the marvelous Hugo Weaving, who was the cruel agent in the Matrix movies. At any rate, Natalie Portman was the chicken-hearted female lead, who, through torture and letters from a former prisoner of the state, found the means to be free of fear. Rather like the Shawshank Redemption, but since its Portman, and they cut off all her hair, poor dear, I gather we're supposed to be impressed. In all honesty, I was glad that we rented the movie on DVD, because there is no way I'd have paid movie theater prices to see such cliches brought to life. But the DVD is worth it for Hugo Weavings voice alone.
I read the wonderful "If Chins Could Kill: Confessions of a B Movie Actor" by the hilarious Bruce Campbell last weekend, and was fascinated by all his behind the scenes musings. The one thing I didn't like about the book was the way the humor sometimes went a bit over the line into snarky bitterness. But for the most part, it was a very entertaining read, with some memorable anecdotes and interesting insights on Campbells long career and friendship with famed director Sam Rami. If you ever wondered what real acting is like, what Hollywood is like behind all the supposed glamor, this is your book.
I have to note that my TBR stack is now 21 books high, and teetering, so I need to get back to reading.

Tough Chicks in Tight Bodysuits

After viewing "UltraViolet" and "Underworld: Evolution" I'm beginning to believe that it is impossible for a woman to be a superhero, tough, or even ferocious unless she's been poured into a lycra or leather 'catsuit' and donned thigh-high sh*t-kicking boots to accent her lean profile. And of course, you must either have black hair that is unwashed and stringy, or a neon purple/pink wig to make you seem mysterious. Personally, I think Kate Beckinsale is a better actress than Mila Janovich, and that is why I was saddened to see that she allowed the powers that be in the second Underworld movie to have her nude in a love scene with the horrible actor who plays the Lycan/Vampire hybrid male protagonist. Honestly, the man is supposed to be a resident physician, and he acts like he's got all of three brain cells that work (in addition to his plumbing, of course, which might be the reason Beckinsales character fancies him...a good roll in the hay goes a long way when you're a lonely death dealer, I suppose). Mila looks lovely in UltraViolet, which is a very violent, stylish movie that has gorgeous sets, fast action, gorgeous costumes, props and even sleek weaponry. It's like watching a cleanly-drawn Japanese SF graphic novel come to life. The story is one of fear and bravery, of self-sacrifice and love of innocence and children who are different. Yet there's a violent battle scene every 5-10 minutes in the movie, and while I like watching the choreography of a good martial arts/swords/guns scene as much as the next person, I can't really fathom how the folks that made this movie justified having so little time for plot and character development.
My husband, meanwhile, was disappointed in the lack of "boob shots" to be found in either movie, since he was particularly hoping Beckinsale would bare all. Yet she was covered up by that huge plank of a co-star, who even seemed somewhat slow and unsteady while on top of his favorite Vampire. This makes her grief, when he "dies" later in the movie, seem ludicrous, as you can't imagine the glorious, brilliant and vitally viscious Selene actually caring whether the fumbling, idiotic hybrid lives or dies. My husband and I were both relieved when he bought it, and disgusted when he was "reborn," again. They must have paid the honorable Derek Jacobi millions to appear as the progenetor Alexander Corvinus in this flick. He does his usual excellent job of taking what could have been a cartoonish character and turning it into a dignified, pained and ultimately heroic Vamp/Lycan. I only wish they'd have given him more screen time, and more scenes with Selene. The next SF feature hubby and I want to watch is V for Vendetta, which is coming out on DVD next week.
I also watched "Casanova" the latest version with the delicious Heath Ledger and an unknown co-star who isn't even as pretty as Ledger, sad to say. I became a fan of Ledger when he was the luscious leather-trousered lad in "Roar" which died before it had a chance to find its folkie/celtic-loving audience. Ledger was just drool-inspiring in Roar, and all the other movies I've seen him in haven't taken from that image of the gorgeous fair-haired guy with a mischevious twinkle in his eyes that can weaken your knees, even at my age. And no, I've not seen Brokeback Mountain, though I could easily understand anybody, man or woman, finding Ledger toothsome. (Anne Proloux, the author of Brokeback Mountain, is one of the worst authors ever to put pen to paper, or finger to keyboard, in my opinion. I refuse to read anything she's written). So I watched with interest as the fair-haired lad of the past was portrayed as a greasy, filthy lecherous man who couldn't keep his pants on for more than a few hours. He seemed to be constantly bathed in sweat during this film, and the wigs they made him wear were just frightening. Jeremy Irons was way over the top as an inquisitor set to hang Casanova, but the real purple heart for turning acting lemons into lemonade in this film goes to Oliver Platt, as the pork lard king of Genoa and the marvelous actress who plays his paramour. They stole every scene they were in, which was a blessing and a relief from watching Ledger sweat and flail and run from everyone. I would only recommend this film if you are really in need of a Ledger fix, and can imagine him cleaned up a bit. As to the tough chick flicks, I'd wait until you can rent them two for one, or until they're in the discount bin.

Disappointment with Two Writing Divas

Gentlemen and Players, the latest novel by the formerly faultless Joanne Harris, and The Last Mortal Man by the brilliant Syne Mitchell are my two latest reads, and currently in a long line of books that disappoint me with their lack of morality.
Let me just first attest to my adoration of Harris's previous works. Chocolat, a perfect confection of a novel was the first book of hers that I read, and relished. I followed it with the fascinating Blackberry Wine, then the passionate and riveting Holy Fools, the mesmerizing Five Quarters of the Orange and the cool Coastliners. I added Harris to the short list of authors whom I'd read anytime, anywhere, any book. Her prose was always rich and fertile, her characters emotional, fully dimensional and her plots tight and brisk. There was little to complain about and much to praise in her work. Unfortunately, Gentlemen and Players breaks that wining streak by showing us a closed and sexist world populated by awful people who seem selfish, ugly and without decency or morals. The main character is a serial killer who never gets caught and indeed, seems to be sympathized with, lauded and not even sought by the police. Considering the main character kills a child, I found that hard to believe. I knew the secret plot twist before I was halfway through the book, which is saying something about the quality of Harris prose, since most authors telegraph their plot twists so clearly that I usually know it by chapter two. Perhaps this is Harris's bitterness toward her English heritage that allows her to flay the world of private boys schools with such a bitter lash. Most of her other novels are set in France, and the French always come off as quirky, but loveable and interesting, rarely crass, vile and cruel as all the Brits are portrayed in this book. Sick obession and a sociopath are not a thrilling combination for those who like being enlightened, entertained, uplifted and informated by the fiction that they read. As I am one of those people, I felt ill and sad by the end of the book, which could have come much sooner for my taste. And please, Ms Harris, don't do an Umberto Ecco and leave all your Latin untranslated. I hate that.
I have read all of Syne Mitchells Science Fiction novels, too, and loved them all for their blending of hard SF and great characters with action-oriented plots. Syne takes on all the latest tech topics and moves them into the future with true "What If" style, and makes the reader see the problems inherent in embracing technology to the nth degree. I loved Technogenisis, Murphys Gambit, The Changeling Plague and End in Fire. In her latest book, The Last Mortal Man, Syne takes on nanotechnology, and extrapolates it to the end, in which it is used to cure mortality, but only for the wealthy. And, as usual, the rich are always the bad guys. I once asked Syne why she seems to have it out for the wealthy, and she replied, "Because I am not one of them." I find that to be a bit glib for someone whose books hang in billionare Paul Allens Science Fiction Museum in Seattle. She's on the board of the SF Museum so I would assume she has even met Mr Allen. I wonder if she discusses her prejudice with him? I am not wealthy, either, but I certainly don't pre-judge people based on their income. It rather rankles, then, that her main character, Jack is a wealthy scion of the man who has the patent on immortality, and we are supposed to like him, though he is a sexist jerk. He spends most of the book drooling impotently over the other main character, Alexa, who helped to raise him (EWWWWW! Oedipus complex, anyone?) and in the end, all he seems to want to do is dominate her by showing her that now that he's rich, he's "boss" and can run her life. Fortunately, Alexa gets out from under his thumb in short order, yet she seems to have become sexless as well as deathless. And Syne, who has a toddler and should know better, kills off all the children that were supposed to be saved by our heros, Alexa and Jack. Instead they are mowed down by some horrible wealthy psychopath who seems to have it out for Alexa, and wants to see her dead or humiliated, or both. Why the sudden "kill the innocents" darkness runs through this latest book, I don't know, but I find myself worried about Synes state of mind, if she thinks the male protagonist is supposed to be a sympathetic character, plus allowing the children to die for no reason. The morality there is just lame. Syne uses Mennonites as the characters on the opposite side of technology, but because my grandparents lived, worked and bartered with the Mennonites and Amish near Wellman, Kologna and Iowa City, I found these characters to be two-dimensional. These groups were, by turns, less kind and more repressed than she shows us, at least in the 70s and 80s, when I encountered them. There was a rather large problem with incest in the Amish communities, and a problem with un-vaccinated children getting diseases thought to be long vanquished, such as polio. Yet for all the problems this book has, it was an interesting read, and Syne explains her tech stuff better than she has in previous novels. It has a lot of important things to say about death, living a life worth living, and taking care of others as your lifes work. I can only hope that the cover of the next book in the series gives us a glimpse of the perfect woman, Alexa from New Orleans, who parlays her terrorist act into the job of a lifetime.

Four Movies and a Visit From Misty and Larry

Bed and Breakfast, Autumn in New York, Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat and Oscar and Lucinda. Four movies viewed this week, and all fascinating in their own way.
Let me first state that I'm not a huge Roger Moore fan, nor am I a fan of Richard Gere. Both men seem to be slightly effeminate womanizers, the kind of smooth, cultured snobs who age gracefully and look gorgeous well into their 70s, despite dissipating habits. However, I couldn't have liked Moore better in the charming and surprisingly deep Bed and Breakfast. Talia Shire plays a Bed and Breakfast owner in Maine, who lives with her mother, the incomparable Colleen Dewhurst, and her troubled teenage daughter, an actress I've never heard of who looks to be a fine violinist. Moore is a rapscallion on the lamb from his latest bout of trouble, who washes up on the beach in front of Shires B&B. Of course, the three lonely women all fall for him in a different way, and he wisely counsels them to follow their dreams. Mayhem ensues in various forms, from the jealous townsfolk to the arrival of thugs looking for Moore, but it all works out in the end, and there are some very tender, lovely scenes delineating the relationship that builds between Moore and the widow Shire, who is very guarded. Interesting moments develop in the mother-daughter relationships as well, and the viewer gets to see the inner workings of the family.
Autumn in New York is a tragic love story, filled with moments in which the luminous, young Winona Ryder teaches the jaded, aged p-hound Gere about what it means to love someone, to commit to that love, and respect it though you know it will end soon. Gere even has a couple of moments of actual acting, where his grief is so naked and his pain so real, I felt it wash over me as well. Because there are such great moments, you can ignore much of the other bits that don't read so realistically. The fact that Gere is supposed to be a restauranteur who believes that "food is the only beauty that nourishes the body" didn't bother me as much as his attempts to appear like he could really cook, long greasy gray hair falling in the food and all. Still, the movie ends with Gere taking responsibility for a daughter he'd ignored, and that left us with the clear message of life moving forward, despite beloved people leaving us behind.
Oscar and Lucinda is also a somewhat tragic love story, of an Anglican priest (the amazing Ralph Fiennes) whose gambling compulsion leads him to team up with a gambling-obessed glass-factory owner, (the camelion-like Cate Blanchett) to create a glass church for another Anglican priest in the wilds of New South Wales. Blanchett and Fiennes are magical when on the screen together, as riveting and vulnerably beautiful as the glass church they seek to create and move across the country. I have to say that I have never seen Fiennes in a role in which he didn't terrify me, on some level, with his intensity. But there's a lure, an attraction to that fear that is like walking outside in a lightening storm in Florida. You know you might get hit with a bolt of ligtening and fry, but you can't help yourself from watching the flashes play across the sky. He was an innocent, shy, brave and skinny man in this movie, not really all that attractive, yet you couldn't take your eyes off the man when he was on the screen. My heart was pounding when he merely brushed his lips across Blanchetts. The fervent way he prayed, the way in which he killed a man with a look on his face like a little boy about to squish some fearful bug, THAT was acting in the true sense, acting as an art form.
Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat starred my 13-year-old crush, Donny Osmond, who, along with David Cassidy and, to a lesser extent (because he was older) Bobby Sherman, occupied the minds and hearts of 3/4 of the preteens and young teens of the 1970s. I wore purple socks because Donny did. I hated Marie with a passion, because she was always upstaging Donny and making fun of him on their show. I played his records until my brother was forced to hide the album because he was deathly sick of hearing Donnys voice singing treacly pop tunes. Now, Donny is probably 50 years old, and yet he's one buff and handsome Joseph, singing in full voice all the wonderful Andrew Lloyd Weber tunes penned for this light and zippy take on the story of Joseph, son of Jacob, from the Bible. The woman playing the narrator, though very mobile of face and robust of voice, got on my nerves by the end of the musical. She was a distraction from the characters, a kind of deus ex machina, that I felt didn't need to be in every single song and scene. To be frank, I wanted to see more of Donny. I found myself wondering what was up with Marie, and his older brothers who are deaf. What about little pudge-ball Jimmy, who was also very annoying, but whom I could understand, as I had an annoying younger brother, too. Anyway, the story is basically the age-old one of jealous brothers who sell Joseph, the favored son of 12, into slavery and eventually have to ask him for help when Joseph becomes the Pharoh's right hand. Having the Pharoh be an Elvis impersonator was a stroke of genius, by the way. If you can get past the cheezy 70s disco song and the bizarre props and carefully-placed loincloth Donny wears, you'll find a charming and fun musical under it all. The ending was silly, but then, Weber isn't known for his great endings. Why they chose to place the story initially in a British school assembly is still not clear to me, but I chose to just ignore the incongruity and enjoy the funky set design.
Speaking of design, I was fortunate enough to attend the annual visitation by the talented Mercedes Lackey and her handsome, charming husband Larry Dixon. These two are amazing authors, and Dixon's illustrations are top-notch. He passed around a computer tablet with a slide show of his latest work, illustrations of Lackeys books and of Star Trek ships. They were breathtaking, each one so detailed and dimensional that you could almost swear some were photos. Mercedes, or Misty as she prefers, was in full voice, telling about her latest book projects and her predilection for role-playing games and creating stories around characters in those games. The audience all found it as ironic as she does that her way of relaxing from writing all day is to write some more in a gaming setting. Larry Dixon, meanwhile, does not age. The man must have a painting in an attic somewhere aging for him. And I was thoroughly charmed by his mature and generous attitude toward his fans and friends, even after an apparently horrendous difficulty with a stalker and an accident that broke his arm.
Most people wouldn't have the guts to tour the country and talk to fans after an incident like that, but Misty and Larry are made of sterner, and kinder, stuff. They related anecdotes about their time on the set of the Lord of the Rings in New Zealand, their work helping rescue birds of prey, and of the new books they have coming out this year and next. I was particularly pleased to hear that the Elementals series continues on, though I wish I would have gotten the chance to ask Misty why fire mages get such short shrift in her novels. Does she have something agin us fabulous fire signs, perhaps? At any rate, I bought a copy of a moon-themed book in which Misty has the lead story, and I got all my other books signed. I also managed to give Larry and Misty some decent pens for signing, so they didn't have to use the cheap ones the library set out for them. I sincerely hope they return next year, so I can have the opportunity to chat with them for a longer period, and hear of their latest adventures.

A Country Affair

A Country Affair by Rebecca Shaw is one of those books that makes me wonder how people who can't write get published. Honestly, this was one of the most cliche-ridden, cardboard-characterized, thinly-plotted novels I've ever read, and it appears to be part of a series (insert gasp of horror here).
There's the fair young maiden, perky and British, the loutish boyfriend who turns out to be a rapist, stalker and psychopath with a nutso mother ala Norman Bates. But of course, because this is such a flimsy piece of work, the lout only needs a good job and a stern talking to, and a help from another sociopathic nutball over lunch, and suddenly, he's okay! What a miracle! No need for drugs or therapy, just pull yourself up by your bootstraps and move away from mum, eh?! Of course, there's a somewhat loutish Australian who becomes boyfriend number two, only to abandon our heroine because he's a callous lout, as evinced by his inability to deal with his one-night-stands pregnancy and convenient miscarriage. Reading this book was like watching a soap opera from the 60s or 70s...lots of stereotypical characters doing what they always do, and coming out of the drama as they are supposed to, either clean and free of trouble or completely out of the picture in another state, or prison, or in a graveyard. Ridiculous dialogue abounds, and our heroine finally decides to do what is "best" and go back to school to be a veterinarian. Considering that her coworkers are all about as dim as a two-watt bulb, its no surprise that she needs a tutor to get through the tough subjects.
I can only hope that this author gets discouraged by writing this simplistic tripe and gets a writing tutor for herself.

A Stinker and a Sweetie

I've just finished a sweet novel called "Multiple Choice" by Claire Cook. Cook is the author of the fun novel (and delightful movie) "Must Love Dogs." I really needed something this upbeat and fun to wash the awful taste of "Mr Muo's Traveling Couch" out of my mind. The author, Dai Siji (I am certain I'm not spelling that right) had written the funny, offbeat "Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress" and caught me off guard with the pervading odor of whimsey in that novel, which is about communist re- education camps in China during the 1970s. I figured that the author would continue in this whimsical vein in "Mr Muo..." but I was horribly disappointed. The main character is a spineless, stupid, sexist lunatic who has nothing to recommend him except his bizarre fixation on Freudian psychology. We are introduced to a local magistrate who is a former executioner and a psychopath, and an embalmer who is deflowered by Muo, only to be abandoned by him because she's served her purpose, that of a sex partner. A vain man who admits he's ugly, Muo nevertheless believes that the answer to all the worlds problems is sex. As a virgin, he seeks sex with a woman to prove his virility, and has the nerve to seek another virgin to give to the slimy magistrate, so that he can obtain the release of his beloved "Volcano of the Moon" from prison. He never does, however, obtain that release, and we are subjected to grotesque descrptions of filth, ugly people doing ugly things, and Chairman Maos doctors description of why he refused to bathe his genitals (He claimed to have "washed them in the bodies of many women." EWWW.
So it was with great pleasure that I read of the mother-daughter relationship of March and Olivia, and March's relationship with her husband and son. There's a radio show involved that is very realistic to what weekend radio shows are really like, and much of Marches life is similar to mine, so I could relate to that, too.
So avoid the summer stinker and go for the sweet book by Cook.

An Ocean In Iowa by Peter Hedges and other books

Hello fellow bibliophiles! I haven't written a review for awhile because my husband's Dell went belly up last month when he installed a beta version of Microsofts new operating system, Vista. My ancient strawberry iMac refuses to open 99 percent of the web sites out there, so I've had to await hubby getting his old HP up and running again.
Meanwhile, though, I've been reading a number of fascinating books.
The first is a book by a former neighbor of mine, Peter Hedges. I lived in West Des Moines, Iowa, from 1966 through 1969, on Elm Street and on 23rd street, one door down from the Hedges family. My father was working as a negotiator for the Iowa State Education Association and my mother worked part time as a nurse at Iowa Lutheran Hospital in Des Moines, so we weren't what you'd call wealthy, yet we moved into a neighborhood surrounded by families that had tons of money, and tons of problems. Peter Hedges father Bob was an Episcopal priest, a huge and intimidating figure that I recall even the adults fearing. Peter's mother Carol was a visual artist and a raging alcoholic who had to be rescued from her studio when she was too drunk to drive or was choking on her own vomit. Peter had an older sister, Mary, and two younger brothers, Joel and Philip. I had an older brother, Phil, and a younger brother, Kevin. Peter played with my older brother on occaision, as did Joel, but I think Philip was too young to join them. Across the street were the Boltons, and Liz Bolton's husband was, I recall, in the military (my mother remembers him as a lawyer) and he'd come home and beat the tar out of his son Tommy, with a belt, and his daughter Crissy, who was about 5 years old. The father had an affair with his secretary, and came home one day to tell Liz he wanted a divorce. Liz freaked out and got into astrology and started dressing like a gypsy, and seemed to be unable to care for her children, who had to eat whatever they could find in the frig, which was usually raw hot dogs. They had several collies, and when the collies had puppies, Liz ran over them with the car and killed them, then stuck them in the freezer to "preserve their beauty." Her huge mansion-like house was ankle-deep in dog hair and feces, and her daughter became a regular fixture at our house to "taste test" our food (because she never got a decent meal at home) and to be bathed and put in clean clothing by my mother, who felt sorry for the Bolton kids. Next door to them were Jim and Tom Curry, who also had an older sister. Few people wanted to play with the Curry boys because Jim Curry (I think it was Jim, it might have been Tom) was born without ribs on one side of his body, so when he went without a shirt in the summer, he looked freaky. But my older brother got along well with the Curry brothers and played with them all the time. The Hickey family lived down the street, and had a boy my younger brothers age that he played with, and the Cutler girls lived up the street, both tall, thin blondes who wanted to be models and had eating disorders. Next door to us on the other side was the Bogus (pronouced Baw-gus) family, who hated my dad because Mr Bogus lost the negotiating job at ISEA to him. They had a horrible yippy little dog that I used to fear would get through the fence and bite. The Silversteins also lived up the street, and my mother was called upon to try and save Mrs Silverstein from suicide, as Mrs Silverstein was a bit of a nutcase as well. There was some kid, and I don't recall who, who had a train set in his basement, a weight bench and shag carpeting in this room that had been set up just for him. I cannot remember his name, but I do recall seeing the room and feeling very uncomfortable there. I also attended Clover Hills Elementary School while living in West Des Moines.
Hedges, whose Ocean in Iowa is the story of a kid named "Scotty Ocean" has used a lot of the characters from 23rd street in his book, which is supposed to be fiction, but which reads like something of a twisted autobiography. Scotty is the baby of the family, which Peter wasn't, and Scotty's father is a huge man called "The judge" after his occupation, rather than a priest, but his mother is an alcoholic who abandons her family, and her son, forever causing a wound in her youngest, Scotty. Scotty is a rather freakish child, in that he seems to be preoccupied by nudity, sexuality and crushes on his mother and the neighbors mother, whom he tries to "kiss" on her genitals when at a sleep over. I find it a bit hard to believe that a 7 year old boy thinks that much about sex, and about women his mothers age. Unless Hedges was sexually abused by his mother, I can't imagine he did think that way, especially in the late 60s, when TV was still pretty free of blatant sexual imagery. Scotty is chased down by bullies from Clover Hills Elementary (I attended that school and I do not recall there being gangs of nasty older boys on bikes trying to hurt me, but I wasn't a PK, or "preachers kid", either, and preachers kids were always the ones that got into trouble for being bad, usually for drinking, swearing or hurting other kids, so I imagine Peter was just too mouthy with the in-crowd and got himself in trouble.) and is brought into the world of an older boy whose descrption fits my older brother Phil. This older boy then seeks to molest Scottys sisters, but is only able to abuse the younger one, while filling 7 year old Scotty in on the "bases" of sex. I sincerely hope that this character was not based on my older brother, who is dead of the disease he was diagnosed with in 1969 while we lived on 23rd street: diabetes. Though my brother Phil did a number of horrible things in his life, I'd like to think he didn't start down that dark path until he was 15 and we were living in Saylorville and going to school in Ankeny. At any rate, The character of Scotty just didn't ring very true to me, because, as I've said, I was there, living on 23rd street in 1969, and though I was 8 years old, I didn't see things happening the way this character did, nor was I obsessed with sexuality and my parents or my friends parents. Even after we had a prostitute and her son come to take care of us when my parents went on a trip to Dallas, Texas (they didn't know she was a prostitute, she had come highly recomended as a housekeeper and nanny by a friend of my dads), I had to ask my mother what her son meant when he told me that she "entertained men" in their home at night. Her name was Virginia and I recall that she starved us for a week, refused to let us stay inside the house while it was daylight, and that my older brother drank tons of water and lost 10 pounds that week, due to diabetes, but we didn't know that at the time. Hedges has captured something of the mood of the neighborhood, but again, his main character seems like more of an adult in a childs body than a real child. I am going to send a copy to my mother and see what she thinks of it; I imagine she will have more memories resurface than I did. Hedges is best known for his screenplays for "What's Eating Gilbert Grape" and "About A Boy." He lives in NYC with a wife and two children, but apparently still hasn't gotten over his childhood and his mother's alcoholism.
I grabbed a copy of "Bookmarked to Die" off the paperback picks rack of the library last week, and was delighted to discover a new series about a sleuthing librarian who lives in Bellevue, Washington. Jo Dereske has created Helma Zukas, a somewhat stiff, dignified woman who is in love with the towns police chief and has a wild and wacky friend named Ruth. Helmas adventures are fun, fascinating and quick to read, so I'm going on the record as recommending them all, though I am not normally a mystery fan.
I also discovered that my friend from North Bend, Syne Mitchell, as come out with a blistering hot new SF novel called "The Last Mortal Man" about nanotechnology and cloning, and the ramifications of immortality being available only to the wealthy. Syne hasn't written a sour note yet, so I am betting this will be another triumph to add to her list of great books.
I also read "Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress" which is a fictional account based on the life of the author in communist China during the late 60s and early 70s. I was so impressed with the authors love of French literature and how well he wove his tale of suffering and redemption, that I got a copy of his next work, "Mr Muo's Traveling Couch", which I've just started reading. I'm also reading Leah Hager Cohen's "Heart, You Bully, You Punk" but so far, it's too early to tell if it will be as glorious as her non-fiction "Glass, Paper, Beans."
I hope everyone is delving into their summer reading lists with as much gusto as I am!

Sherri Teppers Singer From the Sea

You know, I worry about Sherri S. Tepper. I began reading her books in the 80s, and I loved them--loved their original and fiesty themes, loved the way that the women weren't weaklings, loved the tough but graceful prose that was rather like that of macho dirtbag Hemingway on a good day (Hey, I can like some of his prose while detesting him as a person, okay?). Then I noticed, in the 90s, that Teppers themes were getting a bit, well, nasty. There was less charm to her characters, less realism, and more bloodshed, more hatred, more absolutes. Then I read "The Family Tree" and nearly wept. It was AWFUL. The kind of book that has no redeeming value at all, just miles of vitriol and lots of characters, in this case animals that are anthropomorphized to a ridiculous extent, that don't even seem close to reality, and are therefore not very interesting or fun or enlightening to read about. The whole theme of the book was that mankind has been so evil to all those poor critters out there for so long that we deserve to make a giant leap backward in the food chain and become beasts of burden and food for critters. Yeah, I know...stupid theme. It's like the whole "Soilent Green is PEOPLE" wail from Charlton Heston. I mean George Orwells Animal Farm was meant as social commentary on the hierarchy of humankind, but not as a real treatise on the treatment of animals. Animals have small, often tiny brains. They don't live long lives, they don't invent or create anything but food products, and their main purpose is to create sustinence for humans. There is a reason that we are high on the food chain...we have opposible thumbs and minds that are capable of much more than animals. I think people who ascribe all sorts of sophisticated feelings, moods, thoughts to a dumb animal, like a chicken or a cow or a pig are just NUTS. They're generally the kind of people who have never set foot on a farm, too. I grew up spending serious time on both a beef and a dairy farm, and I know that although they appear sweet, the farm animals really are just stupid creatures with little to offer humanity but their bodies as food. I swore after I read Family Tree that I would NEVER pick up another Tepper novel. Then I happened upon a copy of Singer From the Sea. And I foolishly thought that Tepper deserved a second chance. Unfortunately, this time, she's taken the idea of a good book like "Gate to Womens Country" and turned it into a screaming treatise on the horrors women would face in a culture set up to be similar to that of the Iraqi or Saudi people, but on another world. Especially if a plant was discovered that, when fed with lactating women's blood (all of it) becomes a cure for old age. But of course, this wonder drug is only given to men in power. Old, evil men...because we all know that men are the root of all evil. There are so few men that are anything but base, vile, cruel people who would kill thousands of women, their own daughters, their mothers, whomever, to live for 300 years. Sigh. This makes me want to roll my eyes, because its "so 30 years ago" as the teenagers say. Tarring all of mankind with the same brush is just ridiculous, and too harsh, but it would seem that Tepper can't see beyond her rage at patriarchal society and men in general. There is one good man in the book, but he gets pretty beat up, and he is portrayed as weak in terms of values and compassion. Genevieve, the main character, is, of course, brilliant, beautiful and, by the end of the book, able to swim and communicate with the all fish and critters in the sea. So of course, she ends up able to destroy the longevity plant and save the world, all while being a good mom, too. Its so pat it's almost insulting. Women are god-like, men are lucifer incarnate. Why does Tepper persist in this slavery to a black and white ethos? I wish I knew. But I find myself feeling insulted at the end of her books, so now I am really going to swear off them, forever.

Psst! The Secret History of the Pink Carnation is a Funny bit of Fluff

The Secret History of the Pink Carnation by Lauren Willig is a surprisingly goofy, funny historical romance that takes todays conventions and injects them into characters from 200 years ago. Willig, according to the dust jacket, is a Yale grad who is getting her PhD in History from Harvard, as well as a law degree. So she's obviously not a dolt. Why she'd choose to write romance fiction that has been tarted up with history is beyond me. I can only think she is trying to cash in on the chic lit craze and popularize the history of spies and espionage for women. Perhaps that is the only kind of fiction that she could sell for enough to help pay off her student loans. Who knows? Her cover art is wonderfully arch and her female characters way too liberated and modern-sounding, but altogether, it makes credible chick lit. That said, I liked the book, which has verve and some very funny moments, despite the gullible and ridiculously naive heroine, Amy, who would have been dead several times over in real life. The male characters shine, of course (romance novels always have heroic manly men) and the evil-doers are dastardly and fanatical, with limp hair, evil leers and plenty of vitriol ready to spew at our hero Lord Richard Selwick, the Purple Gentian, when he's inevitably caught. I was rather surprised that the author gave the heroine such a whimpy, boring name when she had a whole raft of lovely French and English names to choose from. The French in particular have lovely female names, and I can't imagine the author putting any real thought into choosing such a dull little piss-pot of a name for a fiery character...Amy. Yawn. Not a lot of heroic Amys out there, when you think about it. But I suppose that Eloise, the modern-day character, makes up for it with her dairy-cow name (Eloise was the Borden Dairy mascot cow in Iowa for years). Eloise, too, acts stupid around men, and is somehow determined to develop a romance with the aristocracy, which hardly seems plausible, especially for an American grad student in London. Her part of the story seemed much more realistic than the 1803 part, however, so I was glad to see that the author didn't have the two plots mimic one another right up to the end. I feared that Eloise would fall into bed with Colin Selwick and all would be forgiven in a deliriously cliche-ridden love scene. Thankfully, it didn't happen. The book ended with the feeling that the second Pink Carnation book isn't far behind. I might pick up a copy, if I can get it from a bargain bin for under $5, but I won't pay full price for it. All in all, the prose was in need of a bit of a trim here and there, especially when detailing the heroines thoughts, and the plot slowed down a couple of times, but other than that it moved at a nice pace, and the modern characters did nothing too jarring. The 19th century characters were way too modern in their dealings with what women were and were not allowed to do, and the treatment of women in society. The men were also a bit too lienient for the times, in my opinion. This was still a good read and a fun distraction for a day, and well worth a look at the second in the series when it comes out.

Two Odd Opposites

La Cucina, by Lily Prior and The Stone Diaries by Carol Shields were almost completely opposite one another in style, tone and characters. La Cucina is a robust, saucy, juicy novel full of extravagant passions and drama. The Stone Diaries is, like its name, cool, hard, stiff with a prose style that is somewhere between Henry James and Mark Twain, with a bit of Thackery and Bronte thrown in for good measure. It is not an easy read, and there is just the faintest whiff of contempt from the author for some of her characters. La Cucina's main character, Rosa Fiore, reminded me of the main character in "Like Water for Chocolate" by Laura Esquivel, whose passions overtake her life. It was obvious that the author, Ms Prior, has a love of all things Italian and Sicilian in her lush descriptions of the food that Rosa makes and consumes, and in her descriptions of Rosa herself, who is of voluptuous proportions. I was fascinated by the Italian library that Rosa works in, and by the Englishman she becomes entangled with. His adoration of good food and lusty evenings with Rosa marked him as a rare hedonist with a heart. The ending was just right, just satisfying enough to send the reader off to dreamland knowing they've enjoyed a slice of life in sunny Italy. I wish that I could say the same for the Stone Diaries, which managed a Pulitzer on sheer prose density. The fact that Shields created a work of fiction that reads like a biography, and even has photos of various characters (!) shows that she has the grit to do the hard work of creating a world of people out of her own imagination, which is a feat. However, like real life, the main characters have disappointing lives and lingering deaths, divorces, despair and plenty of self delusions. Daisy Stone Goodwill Flett, whose life has a horrible start when her mother dies giving birth to her (she wasn't aware she was pregnant, apparently because she was fat. Shields seems to think that fat women are also incredibly stupid) spends half her childhood with an "uncle" whom she eventually marries. She has three children who seem spectacularly ungrateful and mean, and a host of grandchildren who seem slightly better. She is fired from a newspaper for no reason, something I could identify with, and goes through a depression that is described in odd ways via every other character. The switching back and forth between perspectives was unnerving and then irritating. The one thing I enjoyed about Shields prose was her descriptions of the natural world; the plants, the stars, the fields and gardens. She lavishes proud words on them that she stints on her characters. And in the end, instead of allowing Daisy's death to bring the book to a natural close, Shields adds all this superfluous dialog from Daisy's kids as they go through her things, her scrapbooks, lists, letters, etc, after her death. How ridiculous, morbid and awful. Why a competant author can't seem to end a novel properly is beyond me. It was certainly not a Pulitzer-worthy ending.

Two by Mercedes Lackey

Mercedes Lackey, who goes by "Misty" to her friends and fans, is an amazingly prolific author. She's got dozens of books out in many different genre, and doesn't appear to be slowing down at all when it comes to publishing fantasy series and SF books. I read more than a few of her Valdemar series, and several of her other books, and I enjoyed most of them tremendously. Lackey's prose is usually zippy and fun, without any real jargon or too much exposition. She generally has nice, brisk plots, too, and hearty, realistic characters who fascinate the reader. Roughly 5 years ago I ran across her "Elemental Mages" series, and became riveted by the idea of having male and female mages of earth, air, fire and water getting involved in various historical milleau. I loved the fact that she had mages from various social strata and ethnic backgrounds saving the day and finding their soulmates. The latest in this series, "Wizard of London" was sublime, full of the usual riveting characters and interesting situations. My only qualm was the rather anti-climactic ending, in which one expects the warriors to vanquish the evil foe, only to find that she is swept away by that which she's sold her soul to, and her henchman, though he's a dolt, gets off scot-free for his part in the drama. Sad and limp, as endings go. But, even a limp ending can't ruin a book that good. I also read the second book in the Diana Tregarde series of paranormal mysteries, "Burning Water" which was written in the 1980s, and is just a bit dated because of that. Still, it was a fun read, and though I liked the first book, "Children of the Night" better, it was just as engrossing and enjoyable. Tregarde and psychic policeman Mark Valdez are on the trail of Aztec mass-murderers in this tale, and though there are some horrendous and gross descriptions of dead people, including dead children, the intrepid duo finally do track down the killers, only to let them go, and find out later that the main bad guy was killed, but again, evil female hench-women get off scott free for their crimes, which was upsetting. I can only think that Lackey has plans for them in some other volume of the Tregarde series. "Jinx High" is being ordered by my library, so I won't be able to read the third book until it comes in, but I look forward to hearing about Tregardes next adventure. I just hope she doesn't let the bad guys/gals get away this time!

Gathering a Chilly Basket of May

"On May Day on May Day I rose up at daybreak and went out to gather a basket of May" from an old folk tune. We used to sing the above when making May baskets for our neighbors during my youth in Iowa. We'd make a construction-paper basket, add some spring flowers like pansies or tulips and a sweet of some type, such as a pastille candy or a homemade cookie, and put in a tiny card that said Happy May Day or Happy Spring and set these little jewels on the neighbors doorstep, ring the bell and run away before they answered the door, so the gift would seem anonymous. I recall one year we had candied violets, which seemed so exotic that we were loathe to give them away. They tasted like perfume. Today, its been rather chilly and overcast, and the sun is just now making an appearance. I sincerely hope it will warm up this afternoon and become a picture-postcard Maple Valley spring day. Meanwhile, I finished Chaz Brenchley's "Bridge of Dreams," in uncorrected proof form for review. I appreciate Ace Books sending me this copy to review, because I know that genre books are often a hard sell and review copies aren't easily gotten. However, though I tried my best, I just didn't like this book. It was written by a UK author, and, as I've mentioned before in this blog, the British have a way with morbid and melancholy plots and characters. Bridge of Dreams went beyond morbid right to horrific and pessimistic in the extreme, with many ruthless, cruel and evil characters taking center stage in a world that is run by a fascist sultan. There are two worlds, actually, Maras and Sund, the former representing the "haves" and the latter representing the "have-nots" who have been ground under the bootheal of Maras oppression. The poor Sundains still have magic, however, while those of Maras only have a bridge that twists magic by using children as a power source. The reader follows the life of Jendre, a daughter of a Maras general who is sold to the Sultan as one of many wives, and the life of the street child Issel of Sund, who has water magic that can only be used to destroy. Though we are supposed to identify with Issel, I found it difficult to like the abused and neglected street thief because he casually murdered a waterseller to take over his business. We're also supposed to feel for Jendre, though she is terribly niave and spoiled, and not too bright, because she tries to save her husband and is foiled in the attempt by her evil mother in law...and most people saw that moment coming chapters before it happened. She also has an affair with a guard and tries to escape, but is caught and barely manages to avoid the death penalty. She is unable to save her sister or herself in the end. Issel is equally ineffective, as he botches a mission to try and overthrow the military occupation of Sund. What we are left with is everyone being unhappy, unfulfilled and unpunished for crimes commited. The prose was dense, there was plenty of exposition that could have been edited, and the plot was glacial. This is one coal that should have stayed in Newcastle, where the author lives.

Long For This World/Paper Wings

Long for This World by Michael Byers was a book I was required to read for the Maple Valley Library Book Club, called "Cover to Cover." It's not a book I would have chosen on my own, as it deals with Progeria, a disease that turns children into seniors in a matter of a decade or less. Its a cruel disease, heart-rending for the families of the children who have it, as it's a genetic mutation and fairly rare. This book takes place in Seattle, and provides an in-depth look at how the disease effects the doctors trying to cure it, and the patients they come to care for, as well as their families. The story revolves around a research scientist, Dr Moss, who focuses his research on progeria, and who adores his patient William, a brilliant boy, and makes a tough decision to try and help him with an experimental therapy. Dr Moss and his family are surrounded by tragedy and pain, though, and we uncover the inner workings of the family and the husband and wife in a way that seems more natural and less voyeuristic. Though the book ends oddly and there is a great deal of tragedy and pain, I found myself liking the tender mercies Byers bestowed on his characters, in showing not just their foibles and stupidity, but also showing nobility, decency and compassion. Fair warning, though, this is not a book to read if you are depressed! It will keep you running to the tissue box. I found myself understanding the feelings of Ilse, Dr Moss' wife, when she had to deal with her evil Austrian mother, because I have an evil German grandmother who is just as much of a pill, and equally prejudiced and awful at times as Ilses mother. I also identified with Paper Wings by Marly Swick, a book that takes place in the early 1960s, when I was still a baby. The author deals with her parents pain on learning of JFKs death, and I have to say that one of my earliest memories as a 3 year old is of my mother and father sobbing, and when I asked why they were crying, they said the president was dead. I felt great antipathy toward this president person for making my parents so sad and upset. I wasn't much older when MLK was shot, and my father broke down and cried again, like a baby, which wasn't normal for him at all, and made me so uneasy. He and my mother took the assassinations of the Kennedys and the MLK assassination with the same amount of personal outrage and pain that they would have if someone had murdered a beloved relative. Swick's characters are all true to form and interesting, though I found the book as a whole to feel like something that had been "workshopped" at a writers conference or a writers program of some sort. It didn't quite feel professional, rather like it was a good effort by someone new to writing fiction or memoir or a combination of the two. That doesn't mean that I didn't like it, however, as I did enjoy it and did empathize with the characters. I just hope that the author hones her craft a bit in the coming years, as she shows promise. I also happened to view the movie "Elizabethtown" with that cute elf Orlando Bloom this week, and I must say that it was not at all what it had been advertised to be...There was much more to it than the romance between Kirsten Dunst and Bloom. It was a touching and charming film about family and home towns and trying to break free of the guilt and pain of failing in career, in marriage, and in everything else. I could have done with less of Susan Sarandon tap dancing, though her stand up routine wasn't bad. Normally I'd watch her read the phone book, but she's really not a great dancer, sorry to say. Still, the movie is certainly worth a look now that its in DVD.

The Sisters Mortland

I think this book, The Sisters Mortland, should be retitled, "The Sisters Morbid," as that's the gist of the entire novel--a morbid fascination with death displayed by most of the characters. The author, Sally Beauman, is English, and there are certain things that I've noticed the British do better than Americans. Satire, dark comedy, Shakespeare (and acting in general) juicy bon mot and drollery, and exposition in movies are but a few of the things at which the Brits seem to excell. Then there's certain kinds of morbid horror that lend themselves to the British sensibility rather nicely. However, the British novels I've read, including British SF/Fantasy seem to have way too much 'tell' with no 'show.' The plots are glacial, the discussions of minutae endless, and the descriptions tiresome. I had high hopes that this wasn't going to happen to the Sisters, however, and I was saddened when it became apparent that the author was going to focus on death and betrayal as her theme, with lies and liars being the sub-theme. Characters are cruel to one another for no reason, and riveted to the past, with all its eccentrics and bizarre happenstance, as if that were the only way to live life, instead of just getting on with things and being honest or decent. I found myself disliking all the characters in the end, as they all seemed either cruel or vicious or stupid. Yet several characters seemed unforgetable and tragic. Maisie, the little girl who viewed the world differently than other children (she sounds like a high-functioning autistic to me) had such promise, though she'd been sexually molested by a man who gets off in front of her and gets completely away with it, and Finn, whom we don't hear much from, but who seems to have lost her ability to tell right from wrong (but, as she dies of cancer for her sins, I think we are supposed to forgive her) and the gypsy Daniel, whose headlong crash of a life ends horribly. I felt for him because I really felt that he could have pulled himself out of the mire of these wicked women and their lives, if only he had tried. The evil Martha-Stewart-clone Julia is only memorable in that she is allowed the last words in the book, for some odd reason, when she is the most souless, vicious beast of them all. Beaumans prose is poetic and plump, but there's a bitter aftertaste to it, be warned. I've also just finished another book of Dorothea Benton Franks, called "Pawleys Island" that was nearly as wonderful as Shem Creek. Again, characters that are delightful and surprisingly real, and a plot that moves along at a no-nonsense pace. Frank obviously has this contemporary fiction thing down to a science, and she makes it all seem effortless, which is the mark of a true professional.

A Hilarious Book and a Touching One

I've just read two books that I would highly recommend to friends and relations, particularly if you are in need of a good laugh and a good cry. "The Amazing Mackerel Pudding Plan: Classic Diet Recipe Cards from the 1970s" by Wendy McClure is witty, funny and a wonderful way to brighten your week. McClure apparently found some old Weight Watchers recipe cards from the 1970s in her parents basement, and after sorting through them, picked out the most heinous foods to comment on for this book and her blog. The results are marvelous and will trigger some fun memories in those of us who actually lived through the 70s and were on diets. Tuna Fish Cavalier is "Cavalier on the outside, crying on the inside" and Spinach and Egg Mold is explained as, "Did you know that some molded salads can blend into their surroundings to escape predators, just like chameleons? Observe the Spinach and Egg Mold as it begins to take on the appearance of the Formica countertop. Then again, it really didn't have to worry about being eaten anyway." You've gotta love a woman who can create juicy bon mots about truly horrible-looking foods, even comparing a badly sauced chicken to the movie "Carrie." There wasn't a flub or a dorky comment in the whole book, and it reads quickly at 120 pages. This book is destined to become a comedy classic, and I plan on loaning it to my neighbors and buying a copy or two for friends. I think anyone who enjoys British wit or just good old snarkiness will love The Amazing Mackerel Pudding Plan. If you're more in the mood for a realistic love story and a good cry, try Dorothea Benton Franks "Shem Creek." Billed as a "low country tale" Shem Creek is the story of Linda and her two teenage daughters as they move out of New Jersey and try to make a new life for themselves in Linda's home state, South Carolina. Mt Pleasant turns out to be a town full of characters and people that seem so real, you feel like you could call them on the phone for a chat. Frank has the ability to write realistic dialog and keep the pace of the novel moving at a healthy clip, so the reader doesn't get bored. The characters are all created with enough dimension that the reader wants to know how things fare for them, and is saddened or elated when things happen to them. There are some delicious food descriptions herein as well, and if you happen to like Southern cooking, you'll be thrilled with the recipes in the back of the book for fluffy biscuits and pound cake. I found myself pulling for Linda and her daughters throughout the book, and I cried at the touching parts as well as laughing at the antics of the more troublesome characters. It's not Shakespeare or Dickens, or even Steinbeck, but it is good, solid modern fiction, served up with a heaping cup of love for the Carolinas and for people willing to take a risk to turn their lives around. I plan on reading another of Franks books, just as soon as I can unearth one from the local library. Oh, and huzzah to my best friend, Rosemarie Larson, who just got a great job at her local library. Congratulations, fellow bibliophile!

Your Big Break

Hey, no April Fools, folks! Happy Spring to one and all.
This week I was trying to read a book by Sharon Owen called "The Ballroom on Magnolia Street" and gave up on page 29, while reading about the two dunderhead sisters whose habits and conversation seemed completely vapid. I wanted to like the book, as I love Ireland and generally find its authors interesting, but this particular book fell prey to the old "I'm just going to tell you everything you need to know about the characters instead of showing you through action" problem. Paragraph after paragraph of yammering on about what the character thinks, what happened in the past, etc. YAWN. As this is her second book of three, one would think Owens would know better by now.
Johanna Edwards "Your Big Break" was much more satisfying, in terms of character and pace than Owens work, but it was rather light in the exposition department, so it suffered from the exact opposite problem than Owens novel. I could read the entire novel in 6 hours because it was all dialog, and very little description or deepening of characters. It reminded me of Jennifer Weiner mixed with Helen Fielding minus the dry British wit. I'm talking LIGHT reading here, the fluffy kind of chick lit that you turn to when you're down and exhausted and just want to escape for awhile with a pint of your favorite soy ice cream. The plot revolves around Dani (*cutesy shortening of Danielle--try not to gag) who works at a company that specializes in breaking up couples with customized letters and "break-up kits" that contain everything from DVDs of sad movies to beer and porn magazines. Dani is supposed to follow the 5 cardinal rules of her organization, especially the one that states it's imperative NOT to get personally involved with the clients. Dani, of course, is a complete wimp and a ninny, and gets involved in all her clients lives, to the detriment of everyone involved. She even lies to her parents, because she is ashamed of working for a break-up service...as if this is somehow akin to stripping, prostitution or selling drugs! HA. Halfway through the novel, I wanted to smack Dani the ninny up alongside the head and tell her to stop being such an idiot, grow a spine and tell the truth. But of course, it takes everything around her breaking down for her to do anything. I also found it amazing that she didn't stand up to the EVIL Erin, but instead allowed Erin to force her into a horrible situation. All she had to do was tell the truth and tell Erin to go soak her head, but no, she has to agree and be submissive and meek and ridiculous, and then try to straighten things out later, when its all a huge mess. And we find out at the end that this spineless ninny is going to open her own business? Puuuulllease! I can't imagine it would work with someone that stupid in charge. I think Edwards is smarter than this, personally, and I think she could create a heroine who isn't such a dope, but I would assume she did so because she wanted to cash in on the chick lit craze started by Helen Fieldings Bridget Jones Diary, and heaven knows Bridget wasn't the smartest character on the bookshelf. But she was charming and had a ridiculous obsession with her weight that kept the reader from wanting to drown her halfway through the novel. She was certainly believable, more so than Dani and her cutesy nickname, and her penchant for vomiting when confronted with her parents infidelity. I was disgusted by my own parents infidelity before they divorced, but I certainly never had to run to the toilet to vomit, nor did I lose my lunch on my shoes. Sheez. Get a grip, girl!

Playing By Heart/Bel Canto

I watched a movie with a constellation of stars yesterday called "Playing By Heart." It was about a family with three daughters, all of whom were having various dramas with their love lives. Oddly enough, they don't tell you that all these people are related until the end of the film. It's just a series of vignettes, with the couples arguing or fighting or meeting or dating or having an affair. Angelina Jolie, whom the camera adores, falls for a delicious and too-young-for-her Ryan Fillipe, and cynical, witty John Stewart pays court to the equally luminous Gillian Anderson. Madeline Stowe, who is married to Dennis Quaid and is having an affair with Anthony Edwards (proving once again that to women, looks aren't always a big factor in whom they want to bed) is the only one who looks tired, haggard and older than she should. Gena Rowlands and Sean Connery, who will remain sexy and vital until the day he takes his final dirt nap, are the matriarch and patriarch of the family, and Sean reveals his love of another woman to Gena, 25 years after the fact. Seans character has an inoperable brain tumor, so he feels the need to lance the wound, drain it and clear the air. The only unbelievable character is Anthony Edwards as a minister and stud-muffin. Come on, the guy has a receeding hairline and a face longer than a horses! Unless he's packing something dangerous in his shorts, I just can't see why Stowe would consistently risk her marriage and his for a regular roll in the hay. I found most of the relationships to be interesting and believable, though, and heartbreaking in the sense of the last moments of Ellen Bustyns relationship with her AIDS afflicted son. The ending, weaving all the characters lives together, was touching and romantic. I was left longing for more time with this lively family. Bel Canto, by Anne Patchett, is a book I was reading for the Cover to Cover book group a the library. I was not looking forward to it, as I'd read Patchetts dreadful "Magicians Assistant" and found the ending to be a relief, though it was precipitous. Bel Canto was obviously Patchetts magnum opus, and it shows in her desire to describe every tiny molecule of her characters faces, lives, body odor. All that description became boring, tedious and totally without merit. SPOILER ALERT! Then she kills off even the children, in the end. Ruthlessly and without so much as a second thought, they are gone. Ugh. Horrible. The ending marriage between two of the main characters comes off as a sop to the reader, who must still be reeling from the deaths of all the revolutionaries, again, most of them children. Unbelievable. I can't imagine wanting to read anything else Patchett writes, as I feel ripped off by the hasty, 'goody-marries-goody' ending and the careless murder of the other characters, described in such miniscule detail.

Firelight and Talk of Angels

Firelight and Talk of Angels were two movies among many that I've gotten from the library recently. I was looking forward to them because the lead actors in both are ones I admire for their etherial beauty and for their talent at playing dramatic roles. Vincent Perez was the lead male in Talk of Angels, and did a magnificent job, playing the son of a wealthy Spanish merchant and author. He did particularly well considering the female lead wasn't nearly as good, though her Irish accent wasn't as bad as I'd expected it to be. The movie just ended without really concluding the storylines, however. We never know what happened to Perez's character, or to the Irish governess. We never know if they ever met again, or if Perez was killed in the civil war he was so anxious to join. Firelight was a much better movie, crafted with lovely cinematography and enacted by the radient Sophie Marceau, who is much beloved by film cameras everywhere. The gist of the story is that Sophie has to sell herself, due to her fathers debts, to a wealthy married man who wants her to have a baby for him, since his wife is in a coma and unable to have children. She agrees never to have anything to do with either the baby or the father after giving birth. She renegs on that deal, however, because she longs to see her child, and becomes the governess of the very spoiled and willful girl once the girl is 7 years old. Fortunately, Sophie tames the child and helps her learn to read, and the father falls in love with her, and his wife dies, so they can all be together. She believes that by "firelight" all rules are gone, and one can fulfill ones wishes and deepest desires. Indeed, by the end of the film she questions whether or not she has caused things to happen by her strong desires, or if it was fate and chance that created the situation. Interesting film, and a chance to watch the incomparable Sophie Marceau be luminous on screen. I just finished reading a trashy, but interesting novel by the queen of good trash fiction, Judith Krantz. Titled "The Jewels of Tessa Kent" it was a love letter to the ultra wealthy and materialistic women of the world who love gems and jewelry nearly more than people. If, like me, you think that people are always more valuable than things, you will be as amused and disgusted by the lead character, Tessa Kent, as I was. Still, the gem lore and the insight into the world of rare and precious jewels was worth the ridiculous plot.

Freak the Mighty and Simon Birch

I want to be sure to write about two fascinating movies I recently viewed. One was "The Mighty" with Sharon Stone and Kieran Culkin, and the other was Simon Birch with Jim Carey, Oliver Platt and the gorgeous Ashley Judd.
Both films are about children who are in some way deformed who are befriended by another child who learns something about life from the handicapped child before he inevitably dies. However, I adored "The Mighty," which was based on the book "Freak the Mighty" and found Simon Birch to be somewhat contrived, though it was based on the John Irving novel, "A Prayer for Owen Meany."
Perhaps it was because the acting was very high caliber in the Mighty, or perhaps because it obviously had a better screenplay, but the movie's pace and characters moved and thrilled me, and I felt changed, as I always do when in the prescence of art. Simon Birch left me feeling that something was missing, and that the suits behind the movie had contrived, in every way possible, to wring a tear from my eye. I felt pandered to, as a movie-goer, where I had no feelings like that when watching the Mighty. I felt a strong connection to the young actor who plays the young chubby kid who helps Culkin by carrying him on his back and defending him from local bullies and thugs. Culkins absorption in the Knights of the Round table and the mythology of that era also rang a bell with me, as I've loved tales of Arthur and Merlin since childhood. The beauty of the ideal the two young men set up, of doing as much good as possible, was refreshing, as it was presented in a way that made the adults seem tawdry and dull by comparison to the honesty of the children. It also has a tremendous theme song sung by one of my favorite rock stars, Sting. I also recently watched a comedy/farce called "The Crew" with Burt Reynolds, who hasn't aged well, and Richard Dreyfus. It was amusing, but silly, and not something I would ever have paid money to see.
I have mixed emotions about the book "The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay" by Michael Chabon, because, though it held some lovely moments that I savored, by and large it was too intricate and too detailed about the ins and outs of the comic book business at the time. All that information made the plot drag several times. But the prose was beautifully crafted and the characters believable. Simone De Beauvoirs "Night and Day in America" was a disappointment. All she did was kvetch about how course and loud and obnoxious Americans were in 1947, and how they ruined Jazz and nearly everything else they imported from Europe. She liked the optimism of post-WW2 America, but found the Americans too unrefined for her selfish and snotty taste. Halfway through the book I wanted to slap her. Bleck.

I'm Late To The Party, But I Finally Made It

I just finished watching "Tuesdays with Morrie" starring the late, incomparable Jack Lemmon, God rest his soul. I realize that I am late to the party on the Tuesdays with Morrie phenomenon, but I somehow never managed to be in the right place at the right time to watch the movie or read the book. I am also often disappointed when it comes to bestsellers at the quality of the writing in the book or the story development and the characters in the movie. Tuesdays with Morrie, however, did not disappoint, it was a marvelous movie and a heartrending book, and I loved every minute of both. Great writing, wonderful characters and timeless truths...you just can't beat that. As with all great art, I was moved by this work, and made to see life in a different light. Due to a horrendous bout with a cold and upper respiratory infection, I've also had time to read several books. First of all, "The Dare" by Susan Kearney and "A Simple Gift" by Karyn Witmer suffer from the same problem; neither author has ever heard of the writers cliche to "show, don't tell." Particulary in The Dare, Kearney rambled on and on about everything the characters were feeling, their tiniest motivation, their every mental burp, not allowing the reader to learn what kind of characters these are by their actions or inactions. The exposition was so deadly dull that I nearly threw the book across the room in frustration. I believe that it is important for the reader to get to know the character by their conversations, their actions, their memories or adventures so that the plot can move forward and continue the normal story arc of introducing the characters to the problem, investigating the problem or challenge, finding the solution and tying up loose ends. And Kearney compounds her glacial plot problem by redundancy. We hear so many times that the main character wants the main male character, wants to be more human, is having trouble being human, blah, blah, blah. Over the course of the book, it became ridiculous and laughable. I can't imagine Kearney having a decent editor who didn't point this out to her. I would heap scorn on the head of any editor who didn't care enough to ask for a rewrite of a book with so much deadwood in it. A Simple Gift was a romance novel disguised as "chick lit" because I assume the publishers wanted it to sell better than another sappy romance novel would. Witmer sets up the problem nicely, but soon degenerates into sloppy writing and weakens her characters with soggy, overdone melodrama. I knew before the second chapter exactly what was going to happen and how it would all take place, that's how cardboard cut-out the characters and plot became. Transparent characters are boring, and thin plots grow tiresome, fast. How these authors get published in the first place is beyond me. There aren't any real editors left in Publishing, apparently. Fortunately, Cory Doctorow's "Someone Comes To Town, Someone Leaves Town" transcended that abhorrent title to become a nicely done dark fantasy. There were some seriously bizarre moments and characters, yet Mimi and Alan manage to survive their freaky friends, relatives and backgrounds to come together at the end. The author never does reveal Alan's actual origin, as in human or some other form of life, but, to be fair, he also doesn't reveal Mimi's origins, so we never know if she is just a freakish winged mutant from a long line of Russian mutants, or an angel. His descrption of her wings, and her flight, are riveting, and the intricate building of the life and surroundings of both characters wins readers attention also, making the place he's created seem real enough for a visit. "The Truth About Medium" by Gary Schwartz, PhD, is one of those random books I pick up to keep up with what is going on in the world of paranormal research. The book illuminated the authors scientific study techniques with several psychic mediums, and the outcome of those tests, which was amazing, but failed to convince the reader completely of the veracity of the powers of mediums, like Allison DuBois, on whom the TV show "Medium" is based. I've watched that show and found it dramatic and interesting, but only mildly so, not enough to go out of my way to TiVo it every week. But I do believe that there are people who can communicate with "ghosts" or the prescense of those who have died and left something of their soul behind. I've worked in hospitals and nursing homes and hospices, so I have been there when a person died, and I felt something leave that person, so the very air in the room seemed to change. I believe the soul exists, I am just not certain of whether there is a real heaven and hell for it to tour when it leaves the body it has inhabited. Perhaps, as some in society claim, we make our own heaven and hell while we live. Or perhaps, as the author of the Doomsday Book, Bellweather and Passages has written, our brain creates a scenario for our selves when we die, because it can no longer make sense of the signals from a body that ceases to function. At any rate, I am glad that February, with its ice, wind and gray frosty days is at an end, and March has come in like a sunny lamb. Thank God!

Happy Birthday, Dear Blog!

Today is the official one-year birthday of Butterfly Books Blog! Joy, joy, happy, happy! I am amazed that I've actually made it this far, as I was uncertain I'd be able to fill a blog once a month for an entire year. I can't say that I havethe Butterfly Bookstore that I was hoping to open one day in Maple Valley, the land without a bookstore, but, I've not given up, and I am still holding on to the dream of one day being a bookstore maven with my own place. I also never thought that this years Superbowl, which I avoided last year by starting a blog, would be starring our own Seattle Seahawks! Hurrah! GO HAWKS! Having interviewed Mike and Kathy Holmgren for the Mercer Island Reporter years ago, I can honestly say they are the nicest folks you'd ever want to meet, just wonderful people with good hearts. I think Mike deserves a new Superbowl ring for all his hard work getting our Seattle team into shape and getting them through a record year. Meanwhile, I just re-read "Adrian Mole's Secret Diary, Aged 13 and a half" which I though was hilarious and reminded me that the horrors of being a teenager are universal. I also finished "Pompeii" which was assigned for the Between the Covers book club at the library. It was a story told from the perspective of an aqueduct engineer in the Roman era, and it was a bit hard on all the nobility and their unseemly ways. I also just finished a movie called "End of Summer" with Jacqeline Bissett and Julian Sand and Peter Weller. It was supposed to be a romance, but it was rather melodramatic and took a strong look at the classcism of American Society (and religious hypocrisy) at the turn of the century in a way that was both profound and sleazy. I am reading Wynonna Judds autobiography now, and reading Mercedes Lackey's "The Fairy Godmother" and enjoying both. I am halfway through my 39th journal and will doubtless have to start #40 in March, probably by St Patricks Day. I hope that everyone has a great week, and this year, I actually plan on watching the Superbowl, and cheering on the guys in the blue and green uniforms, so I won't be able to blog here during the festivities. Go Seattle!

The New Version of the Time Machine

I just watched the new version of The Time Machine, based on the 19th century novel by the brilliant HG Wells. There have been several versions of this movie made throughout the years, including one that I think was called "Time After Time" with Malcolm McDowell that was really wonderful. But most versions take great liberties with the storyline, so much so that you almost don't recognize it.
This new version does take some liberties because of the technological advances of the last several decades, so that when he arrives in the future, it's believable. I thoroughly enjoyed Orlando Jones' character, the librarian database that knows all of the past and the future, and is saddened by what has happened to humankind. Guy Pierce is wonderful as the time-traveling professor, and Jeremy Irons is suitably menacing as the evil overlord of the Morelocks. The Eloi village is gorgeous, and the people look rather like a mix of polynesian and African than anything, which is a fascinating extrapolation on what people will look like thousands of years in the future; mainly, they will revert to what we originally were when civilization began, a brown-skinned people.
I was somewhat disapointed with the movie "Too Much" with Antonio Banderas, if only because it was so blatantly obvious where the movie would end up. Banderas is such a dish, though, its hard not to watch his every movement, especially when he's in seduction mode. Darryl Hannah basically phones in her performance, and Melanie Griffith plays a dumb blonde whose ex-husband Danny Aiello won't let her move on with her life. Joan Cusak plays the inevitable sidekick in a rather broad, almost vaudvillian fashion, and the man who plays Banderas' father, whose name I think is Eli somethingorother, does a fine job of being a forgetful old dude.
I read the first of a series of books written as mysteries starring Beatrix Potter, she of the famed children's books, at the turn of the century in England. The writing style was a bit too intricate and fluffy for me, but it fit well with the style of writing that might have been in vogue decades ago, so I suppose it was appropriate, if boring.
Possession was interesting, if not well cast in terms of Americans (British actors are always wonderful...I have no idea why. They seem to be better trained at the very least).
I thought there wasn't any real chemistry between Paltrow and the male lead, who looked like an underwear model for Calvin Klein. There was plenty of chemistry between the British leads, and I liked the fact that they went back and forth between the eras to find out what happened to the poet and his love.
I have six more movies on hold at the library, so I shall have to post my reviews about those eventually.

Even More Movies

I'm still on an extended movie-viewing junket, and I wanted to record my latest viewings here.
I watched "About A Boy" and wasn't surprised at all that the screenplay author had the main characters mother try to commit suicide and be found in a pool of vomit. I imagine that Peter Hedges found his mother that way more than once. I know that my mother, a nurse fo 43 years, was always rescuing his mother and taking her to the hospital to dry out. Mom also used to rescue Mrs Silverstein down the block, and when Mrs Bolton across the street flipped out (her military husband was a complete jerk and walked out on his family) and started thinking she was psychic and in tune with the planets and whatnot, my mother would go over to their home and make sure her youngest, Krissy, was fed and bathed at least 3 times a week. Mrs Bolton decided to breed dogs at one point and then ran a bunch of puppies over with her car. She then shoved their corpses in the freezer. BRRRR. She neglected her children so shamefully that they lived on raw hot dogs and whatever else they could scrounge from the neighbors. West Des Moines at that time was a wealthy neighborhood, yet I've never lived anywhere where the people were more screwed up as a group. Anyway, Peter was a bit older than me, I think, as he played with my older brother Phil. He's become quite the success story, and I read in an article that his mother finally did kill herself with alcohol.
Anyway, the movie was wonderful in a way that only British movies can be...full of the extremes and eccentricities that make them wonderful fun to watch. I am not a fan of Hugh Grant, but the man can certainly act, and the young boy playing opposite him was, as they say, "Champion!"
I also happened to see a delightful movie called "Songcatcher." It stars the formidable Janet McTeer and the gorgeous Aidan Quinn. It was heartwarming, fascinating and had me wanting to sing along with all the folk songs. I found it odd, however, that the people making this movie felt compelled to add a lesbian secondary storyline to the movie. That was just wierd, and a bit too modern for turn of the century Appalacia.
I also watched a movie about 1930s Liverpool, England, called "Liam" and was stunned at the depth of the drama and the fine work by the actors. A very moving film about being poverty-striken and how easy it is to fall into fascism or communism when you have nowhere else for your shame and outrage. The title character was played by an endearing little lad with a lisp, who was by turns tender, funny and mischevious. There was no happy ending to the movie, and it doesn't clean up all the ugly questions it unleashes. In other words, its disturbing, but in a good way.
I also saw a French movie called "The Widow of Saint-Pierre" whose title is a play on words. There are many widows in Saint-Pierre, a fishing village, but there is also a condemned murderer, and the method they want to use to kill him is a guillotine, which is called a "widow" in this movie. Juliette Binoche is one of those women who will always look luminous in front of a camera. I think cameras just love some people, and her flawless skin and dark eyes seem to rivet the viewer. She is against the death penalty, and convinces her husband, the local captain of the guard, to her point of view, and the two spend a great deal of time trying to rehabilitate the criminal and show the townsfolk what a great guy he is when not drunken and murderous. I won't spoil the ending but its a tense and sad movie that was still a feast to watch. Binoches husband is played by a French actor I've seen before who is just marvelous to watch. He's so empassioned and alert, he also rivets the eyes of the viewer.
I've finally gotten ahold of the movie "Posession" and will be watching that tonight.

A Plethora of Movies

I'm not usually the kind of person who goes on "movie jags" and views many movies in a sitting, but recently I've been checking out movies from the library in batches of 7 or more, and watching them in a few days.
Because I'm getting them from the library most are old releases, but I did get the DVD set of "Firefly" the wonderful Science Fiction TV series for Christmas this year, and I have to say that I savored every moment of each episode. What a fascinating world Joss Wedon has created, and what fully-realized, delightful characters! And Ron Glass, a favorite of mine from his Barney Miller days, was there playing the enigmatic Book, the spiritual guide of the wayward group. My husband and I went to see "Serenity" at a local theater several months ago, and I loved the movie, was riveted by the characters from the first frame. My husband felt the movie was very similar to "Blakes 7" an old British science fiction series that he and I had watched over and over during the 80s. I enjoyed the crew of Serenity and the characters created by Wedon much more than the characters aboard the Liberator in Blakes 7. The episodes that were my favorites were inevitably the ones that never aired. I loved "Hearts of Gold" and "The Message" and the other unaired ep, and I hope that I can buy a copy of "Serenity" when it comes out in DVD to complete my collection.
Here's a list of some of the movies I've watched in the past two weeks:

Patch Adams --Robin Williams is hilarious, and I loved this movie...it's a three-hankie chick-flick.
Rough Magic--this movie shows us Russell Crow before he became a jerk who loses his temper and throws things at the drop of a hat. This is the young, luscious Crowe, and a gorgeous Bridgit Fonda in a "magic realism" movie that is filled with odd corners and wierd happenstance. The ending is so strange it's unbelievable. There are some stereotypes of Hispanics in the movie that are rather disgusting, and one character is turned into a sausage and eaten by a dog. He is, fortunately, barfed up and returned to manhood later in the movie. Yeah, it's that strange.
Gosford Park--this movie had a stellar cast, including one of my favorite British actors, Steven Fry, whose talents are completely wasted herein. I wanted to like this movie and its "Upstairs Downstairs" sensibilities, but I just couldn't as the plot was turgid and the characters cardboard.
A Beautiful Mind--again, Russell Crowe before he was a complete jerk, playing a brilliant madman. If you are a fan of the gorgeous Jennifer Connolly, you'll be glad to see her here, playing the loving wife to a man with a fractured mind. I found the movie interesting and the acting excellent, but ultimately I left the film unsatisfied, and I am not certain why. Perhaps because the madness was so frightening.
The 7 Faces of Dr Lao--this movie is just delightful and fun, with Tony Randall doing 7 unforgetable characters and barely keeping above censorship. His "Pan" character, who is a satyr, for example, is rather melancholy until he becomes the male lead and tries to seduce Barbara Eden. Then he's all goat-frisky and lustful glances. But my son watched the movie and enjoyed it as a childrens movie, despite the sly bits.
Lionheart--here we have Eric Stolz in all his ginger-haired youth, looking adorable and clomping about on horseback trying to find King Richard and join the Crusades. He ends up finding many orphaned children in need of protection from "the black prince" and starts a childrens crusade, which ends with the death of the bad ol' black prince, played with sinister intensity by Gabriel Byrne. The ending is somewhat inconclusive, as you never find out what happens to the children or the errant young knight Stolz, but considering that history has recorded that most of the children in the real childrens crusades died or were sold into slavery, I can forgive them for that.
The Golden Bowl--interesting film set at the turn of the last century, and told in a fairly brisk and straightforward manner. Uma Thurman is in this film, highlighting yet again her inability to do anything but chew scenery mercilessly. I have never understood why men find her so alluring...she always seems washed out, bony, haggard and lisping to me. The other actors in the film take up the slack, however, and even Nick Nolte, the old reprobate, does a fairly decent job playing America's first billionare.
The Subject Was Roses--a very young and handsome Martin Sheen shines in his role as the prodigal son coming home from the war to his very unhappy parents. Its obvious from the way this was filmed that it was a successful stage play before they tried filming it, and it comes off as a stage that is being filmed...very claustrophobic. Particia Neal is at her ferocious best here, so it's worth the trip to the library to see the film.
This Happy Feeling--a classic zippy Debbie Reynolds movie that doesn't require much in the way of brains or effort to enjoy. It's got a funny drunken housekeeper, an alluring aging European male lead, and a young and gorgeous John Saxon, who would only become sexier with age. Very enjoyable plot and a great little movie all around.

Now as to the books I've been reading, I finished Sue Monk Kidds "The Mermaid Chair" and fell in love with the plot and the characters, until the total sell-out ending.
The main character is a married woman who undergoes a midlife crisis and must go back to her hometown, a small island in the Carolinas, to care for her nutty mother. While there, she meets a monk with whom she has a lovely affair, and then uncovers the secret that is making her mother crazy. Her husband is an insufferably smug and nasty psychiatrist that she ends up going back to at the end of the book, for no discernable reason. But the majority of the book is quite a delight of oddball characters and interesting happenstance.
I also read Gregory Martins "Mountain City" and was moved to tears by several sparse, yet well-written passages. The book is like a biography of a small dying town in Nevada and the people the author grew up with there. I discovered that I could identify with Martin's collection of oddball characters, as I grew up in several small towns in Iowa, all rife with characters. It was an honest and heartfelt story.
I had a bit more trouble with the popular novel "Bee Season" by Myla Goldberg, but when loaned to my neighbor, who was born into a Jewish family, she explained many of the odd bits I didn't understand. This book is a real study in a disfunctional family and their pushy father who married a woman who turns out to be totally insane.
I also finished a book called "Forbidden Magic" by Cheyene McCray that was a thin fantasy plot woven around a whole lot of soft porn. I generally don't like porn, but I do enjoy SF/Fantasy novels, so I decided to read it all the way through. Heavens! If you are looking for something to raise your blood pressure a bit and make you drool over your spouse, this is the book.
"In Like Flynn" by Rhys Bowen seemed to be a watered-down version of Maisie Dobbs novels by Jacqueline Winspear to me. There was certainly more cheesy romance thrown in than in Winspears excellent novels. You could see the end coming a mile off.
I also just completed Caleb Carr's famed novel, "The Alienist" and though it had some horrific descriptions and frightening moments, it still held my attention long into the night. Obviously Mr Carr knows how to grab a reader and hold them through to the last page. I found one of the main characters dismissal of pediophiles and murderers as people who are just in need of some psychotherapy and understanding to be ridiculous, however, as I believe, as did the reporter in the story, that they deserve nothing less than death.
I'm currently reading "What Love Sees" by Susan Vreeland, as I've read all her other works and enjoyed them tremendously.
I am also planning on watching "About a Boy" tonight, as the screenplay was written by a guy who used to live next door to me in West Des Moines, Iowa, and whose father was a minister and his mother was an alcoholic whom my mother was always rescuing from suicide.

The Remedy by Michelle Lovric

If you're a fan of TC Boyles "The Road to Wellville" you'd love "The Remedy," where each chapter begins with the recipe for a quacks potion, one that is then used during the chapter by a character. This book was entrancing, and though the characters aren't really heroic, due to their selfish and possessive ways and their ability to kill or cause pain to others with abandon, the reader still finds him or herself rooting for the love of Valentine and Mimosina to win out over their lies and deceptions. Pevenche, the fat daughter no one wants gets the last word, which bothered me a bit, as I wanted the book to end with Valentine and Mimosina being totally honest with each other and marrying after they realize they really are two of a kind. The view that this book gave to the street quacks and remedies of the 1700s in London and Venice was exquistie and powerful. The characters fascinate, even in glimpses of their lives, and the passions of the Italians vs the English are so well delineated, I found myself wondering if the author lived in Venice and has actually created some of the remedies and help to hawk them, and had a splendid and labyrinthine love affair with an Irishman herself. The prose style was suitably ornate and read as if the author were a product of the period, which made the reading experience all the richer. My only wish for the book was that the author had defined some of the ingredients of the potions in modern terms, so that the reader would know what those items were that were going into these elaborate decoctions. Many of the items listed were things that I had never heard of, and wondered if they were fabricated words or real items that were called that in the 1700s and are now called something else. Other than that, I'd highly recommend this book for those who enjoy glimpses of the past lives of fascinating people in Europe.

Swan by Frances Mayes

Those of you who have read "Under the Tuscan Sun" and "Bella Tuscany" know what I mean when I say that Mayes prose is luminous. Her words about the gorgeous surroundings and fascinating people of Italy make the reader want to hop a plane for Rome after they turn the last page of the book.
I've even seen the movie version of Under the Tuscan Sun with Diane Lane, and found it not as enriching as the books, but not a complete waste of time, either. As movie adaptations go, it was fun and a good use of a couple of free hours.
So I gasped and grabbed the copy of "Swan" that I found in a used bookstore with all due joy--here was yet another feast from the author of the aforementioned robust and lush nonfiction. Fiction, being a stringent discipline, from what I've gathered from those who write it, wouldn't be a match for the gutsy Mayes, I figured. She'd probably have it sewn up in a jiffy, plot, characters and all.
"Swan" takes place in a small town in Georgia, full of Southern characters and wierd happenings, so it starts out at a nice, languid pace, but gets to the action in plenty of time to catalog reactions. The mother of the main characters is exhumed and her fathers grave is defaced by some unknown assailant. All the little old Southern ladies have apoplexy, of course and there's much flashbacking and guilty reminiscences about the deceased. Many things come to light for the readers, but unfortunately, the author doesn't see fit to enlighten the characters about most of the revelations, so they just bungle along until the end, which is horribly unsatisfying, almost cruel in it's abruptness.
We never find out who exhumed the body and defaced the grave marker, nor do we find out if one of the main characters has a different father than the other. None of the mysteries are solved, and distressingly enough, the main characters are left hanging as well.
Shame on Mayes for doing this to those of us who expect more of such a fine wordsmith.

Photos of me with famed authors

For those of you who actually read my blog, you might want to see photos of me with some famous authors that I've met in the last year or two.
Fair warning, I do NOT photograph well, mainly because my skin is so fair and my hair so dark...I look like a lightbulb with hair in most pictures.
But I do enjoy meeting authors, and interviewing them for the newspaper.
Here's the link to the photo page:

http://www.geocities.com/deanngrossetti/photo.html?1127701920234

Syne Mitchell's End in Fire

I've read all of Syne Mitchell's works, from her fascinating family-in-space drama, Murphy's Gambit to Technogenisis, which will make me look askance at the internet for the rest of my life, and The Changeling Plague, which made me worry about all the genetic research being done here and in other countries, and ultra-wealthy men who have money and power, and will do anything to expand their lifespan. Now that Syne is a mother (Kai, her son, is a toddler already), she's crafted a dramatic story about a mother who is also an astronaut, and who must become a strong leader when World War III breaks out during a satellite run and threatens to strand her entire crew. As usual, there were a number of technical bits that weren't easy for me to understand, but Syne doesn't make them a crucial part of the plot, so you can get the gist and breeze on by to the next graph.
What I love about Syne's novels is that she makes her characters and their situations so normal, so believable, that you feel like you know the people you are reading about. She also has a sly wit, and makes that evident throughout her novels. Her female protagonists always have courage, and smarts, and grace under pressure, which makes sense when you realize that Syne herself displays these very qualities. I was fascinated by the way that Claire Logan, the heroine, took command of the space station, and managed to keep them from flying apart in the face of a radiation effect that threatened to kill them. She was able to handle a military creep who defines the word "jarhead" and keep the youngest member of the crew from suicide, while also keeping the Chinese crewman busy and helpful. I could empathize with Claires fears and worry about her sons radiation sickness and her husbands need of help to handle the chaos of an America that has been bombed.
That was my only problem with the novel; Claire's husband is such a weak idiot. He resents her career as an astronaut, he resents the time she spends with the child he helped to create and he resents her being at the space station. So we must assume from this that he's a jealous, weak and immature as*hole? Is Syne saying that, as Claire is a kind of everywoman, that her dork of a husband represents what most men think of their wives if their wives are successful mothers? If so, I have to disagree with her. My husband isn't jealous of whatever time I spend on our son, as he feels he's involved in Nicks growth and nurture, too. Claire's hubby cheats on his wife the first chance he gets, with a nurse who happens to respond to his call for help with his sick son. I found myself thinking Claire would be better off without this turkey, but at the same time, most kids really need both parents to help them grow, and divorce tends to cause emotional problems, so I'd wish that Claire works it out with weak hubby and helps him grow a spine.
What Syne didn't do in End in Fire was tell us what happened to the Japanese crewmate, Mutsuo that they rescued, and what happened to Hyun-Jin, her Chinese-American crewmate. All we know is that they jumped from the return capsule, and that they had parachutes. We have no idea if they lived or died, or were cut down by prejudiced, frightened Americans once they landed (America was at war with China). I also found it odd that North Korea, which regularly makes an appearance on the "Country Most Likely to Bomb US" list was ditched in favor of India, which doesn't seem to be as aggressive a country, with as crazy a leader in charge. But who knows, 20 years from now, when this story takes place, the political situation might have actually changed in exactly that way.
Right now I am in the midst of reading Wen Spensers "A Brothers Price" and a memoir by Ernestine Bradley about growing up in Nazi Germany.
Now that cooler temps are on the way, I'm looking forward to some great fall reading!