March by Geraldine Brooks (#20, Contemporary Literature)

I think the first book I ever read about war was in either late elementary school or early middle school--My Brother Sam is Dead. If I remember correctly it was set during the Revolutionary War and the family was split on each side of the war. I am always divided after I read books about war, on the one hand it is imperative to understand that war is not all about patriotism, and real people, young people, die and one side's cause is not always just and right. But on the flip side I always feel slightly sick to my stomach at the horrid acts people can commit against each other. What do they call that? The group mentality or something? Killing is one thing, but it is the killing of the young and innocent that gets to me. And of course March had a lovely chapter where it made me think war is just never worth such horrible occurrences.

I love what Geraldine Brooks did by taking a timeless classic, Little Women, and expanding it to tell the story of the missing father off at war. She did an amazing job weaving in a past about the March family that we didn't learn from Little Women, and adding a perspective we never heard during Alcott's classic.

I certainly was not around during the Civil War, and I am extremely grateful for that, but I think she was able to tell a story, that although appears to have a happy ending based on Little Women, was true and real and utterly sad, yet hopeful, because I think what we went to war for has been amended . . . maybe???

To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf (#19, Classic)

I have four best friends from college and we are all scattered across the country--Portland, ME, Atlanta, GA, Memphis, TN, Washington D.C. and NY, NY. When we all get together, whether it is all five of us or just two of us, we have so much to talk about and so much to say. We constantly interrupt each other and without fail find ourselves about ten degrees away from our original train of thought. Imagine if you were a fly on the wall trying to keep up with us, not to mention we are talking about things and people you are not familiar with, and then we keep skipping around and jumping in and adding on, that is how I felt reading Virginia Woolf.

Stream of consciousness, that is what they call it, and apparently that is one of the many traits she is known for. I call it stream of confusion. It took me awhile to read and know who was "thinking" and figure out what they were thinking about, because it was non-sequitur about 90% of the time. And when I finally think there is a main "thinker" she gets the ax.

The stream of consciousness may not be my "pick of the litter" for narration, but I can appreciate its literary uniqueness, and but for other shortcomings from Woolf it wouldn't stop me from reading another of her novels. Shortcomings may not be the right word, maybe what I mean is shortcomings in her own life come across too strongly in her works. To clarify, I mean the book is quite dark, and has many references to suicide, and we all know how Virginia's life ended (suicide by walking into a river with a rock in her pocket). All books do not need a happy ending, but I am so far from understanding utter despair, especially when there is a lack of want for general necessities of life.

I can understand why Virginia Woolf and her books are considered classic works and should at least be dabbled at, but she is definitely not my author of choice, but I am sure she fits the bill for many people.

Holes by Louis Sachar (#18, Reader's Choice)

In about 20 hours time I went from checking Holes out of the library to snapping it shut onto my nightstand. What a great children's book. Because I seem to like the long books, Steph suggested Holes as a nice way to gain some quick ground, but don't think that just because a book is shorter it means it is less worthy. Holes is more creative and memorable than many long-winded adult books I have read in my day.

This was not my first foray into books by Louis Sachar. If you remember he also wrote the greatly imaginative Wayside School stories. I remember these stories as fondly as the Roald Dahl books I read as a youngin'. Hmm, maybe I should add a Roald Dahl book to the list . . .

Anyway, back to Holes. The characters are funny, the plot is there and it all ties together perfectly at the end, and the ending definitely had me with a big smirk on my face. Very cute. Four stars.

The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls (# 17, Nonfiction)

Currently, at this point in my life, I have about zero desire to have kids. I am sure that at some point that will change, think some 10+ years in the future and I will suddenly have that maternal instinct. With that instinct I believe the whole you would throw yourself in front of a bus for you child comes into play. This is all conjecture, but I think I may throw myself in front of a bus for Georgia, my cat, so hopefully I would do it for my own child too! So, basically right now I am pretty much a kid-hater, yet I found myself pulling at my hair and hating the selfish parents while reading The Glass Castle. Growing up poor is one thing, but squirreling away candy bars for yourself while your children go with no food, and their only hopes of a meal coming from school trash cans and dumpsters?!? People like that shouldn't be allowed to procreate.

The Glass Castle chronicles the life of the Wall family--four kids and two crazy parents running from town to town after they either don't pay their rent, get caught stealing, overdraw their accounts, hoodwink the "mob", or just generally wear out their welcome. I am all for not coddling your kids, but these parents take it to the next level: leaving their 13 year old daughter alone to be pawed at by a drunk old man in a bar, letting a 3 year old cook their own meals, having a 15 year old run the household, etc etc.

I was hooked at the first short chapter where Jeanette sees a homeless woman picking garbage out of a dumpster on the streets of New York City, and then realizes it isn't just anyone, it is her mother! Growing up when I would get whiny about why my parents wouldn't buy this or that for me, my mom would say, "Kids in Ethiopia have nothing" or some other equally meaningless line to me at the time. So as I was reading the book when the mom says to her daughter, "Count your blessings, there are people in Ethiopia who would kill for a place like this" I laughed out loud. I wasn't laughing because it was funny, because in the book she was referring to a shack with no heat, no running water, no toilet, basically just some old wood on stilts, while my mom was referring to my 5 bedroom, newly renovated, in-ground pool, 40 acre home.

Read the book. It will humble you and make you appreciate your coddled childhood, and your parents all the more.

The Crimson Petal and the White by Michael Faber (#16, Reader's Choice)

Where to begin, where to begin. 837 pages. And I am behind, I need to read 25 books by the end of the month, and I choose another long and involved novel, what was I thinking!?!

Let me just start with a few of my "favorite" quotes from the book.

"Minute upon minute she lies on his thigh, milling him, slyly inserting her middle finger into his anus, deeper and deeper, pushing past the sphincter. When he comes, she feels the contractions squeezing her finger first, then clamps her lips firm around his cock as the warm gruel squirts into her throat."

or maybe . . .

"Afterwards, when his hard-won cockstand has shrivelled to a stub, Sugar presses on, in the hope of getting more out of him."

or maybe . . .

"Now me! he commands hoarsely, his whole body prickling with anxious sweat, for already he can feel his organ's rigid flesh begin to lose its charge of blood. Mercifully, the prostitute delays no longer than an eye's-blink before taking him in her mouth and clapping her palms on his buttocks."

or maybe . . .

"Without any erotic niceties, she hitches up her skirts, yanks off her pantalettes, and flings her legs over her head, the sides of her knees almost touching her ears. Her cunt is wide like a nestling's mouth, and with an unsteady hand she sloshes water into it, half a glassful."

Had enough? :)

My, my, my, my, this book had me blushing many a time. I suppose I should have known when it states clearly in the description that it is about a 19th century prostitute named Sugar. Beyond the vulgarity the story was slow. The first third had me wondering why I was reading Porn, the middle third had me bored to death, and the last third finally caught my attention and had me semi-hooked. The story reminds me a bit of Dickens with the references to the very poor London, while at the same time reminding me of Jane Eyre (think crazy woman in the attic).

I don't know if I would recommend it to anyone . . . it was a little too dirty for me, but I suppose if you're telling a story about prostitutes you can only use certain words to get across the point. Anyhow, I'm done, and now it's time to move on to some short books to catch up!

Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray (#18, Classic)

If I had to use one word to describe Thackeray's Vanity Fair it would be long. Some books are close to 1000 pages, yet reading them does not feel like a chore. The pages flip quickly if the story is exciting and you want to know what will happen next. All of Diana Gabaldon's books are long, yet when I read them I do not have the urge to throw the book out the window after lamenting to myself, "Is it over yet?"

But enough complaining. I suppose I am not used to 19th century British literature. Even though I graduated with a degree in English, I somehow managed to escape a full education in Brit lit. I have never read Dickens--a glaring omission I know--and I am not well schooled in post-colonial lit. I was attempting to expand my knowledge with this book.

Vanity Fair is a satire that was first written in monthly installments, that was then later combined to make it a whopping 800 pages. Thackeray satirizes British society in such a way that leaves the reader little hope for the virtues of humans. His characters are all flawed, which I suppose is an accurate representation of life, yet in literature don't we always seek to escape into a kinder world than in that which we live? His novel has been compared to War and Peace, that it is the only novel in the English language that can be compared to it. Vanity Fair actually came first, so some might argue Tolstoy modeled his book after Thackeray's.

The ending corresponds with Thackeray's theme of a new kind of realism. He portrays characters that live in a real world and meet real endings. There is no happy ending here. Yes, there is a marriage between the two characters who should have gotten together at the beginning of the novel, but it isn't even a satisfying union as Thackeray writes that Dobbin's love for Amelia would never be what it once was. After this book, I need something a little on the light and fluffy side.

Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides (#15, Contemporary Literature)

I would like to start my post by saying why the heck does there have to be that stupid Oprah seal on the book cover???? The copy I read certainly did not display it. Ugh, wasn't that the first thing Steph and I said when we started the whole reading and reviewing? NO OPRAH BOOKS! Okay, so maybe we lied. I can't help it if once in a blue moon Oprah chooses a book that isn't meant for the general population. Anyway, enough ranting.

Middlesex was good. I liked the history of the family starting back in Greece in the early 20th century. I am not going to lie, a brother and a sister becoming husband and wife is a little weird. (Sorry Andre, never gonna happen! :) I learned a lot from reading this book, and mostly things I probably did not want to know about. For instance, what exactly is a "crocus" and can I see a picture of one on Google Images? (That is absolutely what I am going to do the second I finish my review)

Great beginning, great middle, but seriously did it have to end as it did? Stop reading now if you haven't read it yet and plan on it . . . was it really necessary to kill off the Dad? What is the literary necessity there? Enough other drama hit the fan at the very end, I just really didn't need so much all at once. I think having a child who you think is a girl but is actually a boy is more than enough for one parent to deal with, but no, go and kill off the husband too, lucky lady.

Good book. Anytime something I read makes me want to learn more about another subject I give it a thumbs up. Off to study up on hermaphrodites.

The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas (#14, Classic)

As I continue along the list of books I want to read I have started to see a trend with myself. I am a lover of Classics. Classic books are my tried and true. I guess it makes sense that I would prefer books that have been read for generations by all types of people and are still considered good. Give me a classic any day, forget about the new fangled contemporary fiction and cry-baby nonfiction books, anyone can write a memoir.


The Count of Monte Cristo is on my top ten favorite books list, so of course I had to branch out and read another Dumas classic. I love reading a book that in one moment seems so serious and proper, and the next I am laughing out loud at a man dressed as a woman being called a slut. The characters are funny, heroic, evil, silly, moronic, and best of all clever and full of depth, and if they don't have depth I believe Dumas made them that way on purpose.

I love adventure, I love mystery, I love comedy, and Dumas deftly weaves all three together into a beloved classic.

The Reluctant Tuscan by Phil Doran (#13 Nonfiction)

Ah, to be back on the Mediterranean. Those were the days: walks on the sea, trips to the market, and fresh mozzarella and tomato sandwiches with some Nutella and Pain au Chocolat to wash it down, oh and don't forget bottle after bottle of unique wines. After my summer in Provence I have been constantly planning my escape from the materialistic and fast paced life we lead here in the states. I want the run-down villa and quirky neighbors on a day to day basis. Or do I? Yikes, maybe not. After reading The Reluctant Tuscan I may have to rethink my early retirement.

Life really is different over there, and Phil Doran figures that out pretty quickly when he moves from his overly stressful job in LA to a small town in Italy. In his anecdotal memoir he takes the reader with him on his many misadventures in figuring out "the system" in Italy, and by system I mean lack of one. Since when do stores close down for a whole month? Who gives someone a goat as a housewarming present? Welcome to Europe.

I laughed. I didn't cry. I felt many pangs of nostalgia. I am not exactly sure if I liked it or not. I related to his plight, but I think I am bored with Memoirs. What will be the next big genre and can it please happen soon?