Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

This fall, Ben Hatke combined two of his graphic novel heroes in Mighty Jack and Zita the Spacegirl–and it was fun.  There were shifting group dynamics to resolve, artifacts to find, and earth to save (from giants and monsters, no less!).  I sort of wish I’d read the other books more recently–the details of all of the robot and creature friends were awfully hazy in my head–but the story still came through.  (Jack and Maddy’s mom also had a slightly bigger role, which was nice.)  Overall, this is a satisfying graphic novel in its own right and a success at uniting two different stories into one big adventure.

And my kiddos are going to love it.

I received a complimentary copy of Paula Knight’s The Facts of Life well over two years ago.  The thing is, I read it then, too–in March of 2017.  I’d gone to Idaho for a week because my kids and my brother’s kids (who live there) shared the same week of spring break that year, and I finished it while I was there.  Instead of bringing it home and reviewing it, however, I lent it to my sister, who moved shortly thereafter; that complimentary copy is at her new house, somewhere, and I’ve been putting off reviewing it ever since, because I don’t love doing it without a copy of the book at hand.

Today, however, is the day (and please forgive me for the lack of detail, given the lapse in time involved).  I so appreciated Penn State University Press for the chance to read Knight’s memoir; I’m actually a big fan of the whole idea of the Graphic Medicine Series.  What better way to make stories accessible to readers who aren’t feeling 250 pages of text but need to know they aren’t alone, or want to learn more about the struggles others are facing?  I’ve never struggled with true infertility, but I spent a few years of my life desperately wanting to begin our family while knowing that we weren’t in a stable enough place to do so.  My sister and sisters-in-law were having children all around me–I once called my 50+ widowed aunt and told her that I needed to talk to someone that I knew wasn’t pregnant–and I watched them and listened to them and ached.  (And occasionally cried.)

Paula Knight’s experiences, however, didn’t mirror mine.  Her youth in the 1970s gave her a different kind of curiosity.  As for her attempts at motherhood, well–miscarriage is its own kind of pain, and (unlike my mother) I don’t have a great deal of experience with it; I just hurt for her.  Most significantly, her post-miscarriage conclusions and decisions were wholly different than anything I’ve ever spent time thinking about.  All in all, it was an interesting memoir–and a poignant one–but not one I related to as much as I thought I might.  (It’s also quite graphic–appropriately so, given the subject, but I felt like I needed to be careful with it around my young children.)  This is an empathy building, worthwhile reading experience, though.  If you try it, let me know what you think!

I finished Curse of the Harvester (Dream Jumper, Book #2) tonight, partly so that I could review it and pass it off into my children’s hot little hands tomorrow; I imagine they’re going to love it.  As for me?

Ehh.

I’m not the intended audience, you know?  The flatulence gag did absolutely nothing for me, and a bunch of dream-jumping-action-sequences linked by random “tests” and villains that are abruptly introduced and barely explained does not actually constitute a plot.  The ending didn’t help, either; it implied more books to come, and yet it’s been a couple of years and nothing else appears to be coming.  (Honestly, the ending-with-no-subsequent-books might also annoy my children.)  On the other hand, they’ve already read the first book, so whatever, right?  It’s not like graphic novels are a significant time investment.  I probably would have chosen to read it anyway, because SEQUEL, but you’ll have to make that call for yourself.

I read quite a lot of older books as a child.  L. M. Montgomery, Louisa May Alcott, Frances Hodgson Burnett, Gene Stratton Porter–their writing styles were as comfortable and familiar to me as anything written during my lifetime, and reading books written in the late 19th and early 20th centuries is still a beautifully nostalgic thing for me.  (Provided, of course, that they’re written by the above sorts of authors rather than by, say, Thomas Hardy.)  Jean Webster’s Dear Enemy was just such a delightful trip back to the literary worlds of my childhood.  It’s more of a companion novel to her Daddy-Long-Legs than a true sequel, as it follows Judy’s college friend, Sallie MacBride, as she takes over the running of the John Grier Home; in between discharging the gardener, placing out children for fostering or adoption, and convincing anyone with the means to contribute to the JGH to do so, she works and spars with the young Scotch doctor who sees to the orphans, laughingly addressing him as ‘Dear Enemy’ in their professional correspondence.  (My apologies.  That was quite long enough for a sentence!)  The ending surprised me not one whit, but I so enjoyed the journey–Sallie as a narrator is a lovely combination of idealistic, determined, frustrated, and hilarious, and the world of her orphan home completely engrossed me.  If you have fond memories of reading those authors I listed above but haven’t read Jean Webster, you’re in for a treat.  And who doesn’t need a treat this time of year?

Is anyone really surprised that I ended up missing Halloween?  Because really, I’m not.  At least it’s a 31st/1st, so I won’t get as far behind!

Anyway.  Britt and I started listening to I’m Sorry…Love, Your Husband:  Honest, Hilarious Stories From a Father of Three Who Made All the Mistakes (and Made up for Them) while driving from RI to VT; we got through maybe 2/3 of it on our trip, and I just finished listening to the rest of it a day or two ago.  Parts of it were laugh-out-loud funny, parts of it weren’t as relatable to me personally, and parts of it left me shaking my head a bit.  And that’s expected, right?  Any sort of book of personal experiences is bound to have parts in each of those categories.  Clint Edwards’ book focused more on marriage learning experiences than parenting ones–although there were some of both–and I think I actually preferred Jim Gaffigan’s Dad is Fat because it focused on the parenting stories.  To me, every marriage is different, but kids–in so MANY respects–are universal.  That said, however, Edwards’ book was certainly entertaining.  I would have preferred less crudity of language from someone who specifically mentions his religious beliefs (he shares mine, and I know for a fact that language is something talked about), but the bits he mentioned about his childhood suggested possible reasons for those particular tendencies.  All in all, if the topic sounds decently interesting to you–as it did me–you’ll likely enjoy the book, like I did.*

*You’ll also enjoy Gaffigan’s book, so read that, too!