Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

Well. We are back from Idaho, where we went to my parents’ home, my sister’s home, my brother’s home, and got takeout a few times. (Okay, my sister and I also went to Walmart to do some Easter shopping, and the older three kiddos and I went with my brother’s family to Leslie Gulch Recreational Area in Oregon.) I pondered and prayed a good bit before deciding to carry on with this trip; ultimately, I felt that in this case, family needs came first. From now on out, however, we’re sheltering at home.

As for motivation, well–I’m doing better than last week in that department, but I’m also determined to start this week off with a schedule for school-at-home that will keep us more organized. Wish me luck! In the meantime, this morning I finished reading Julie Sternberg’s Everything’s Changed (The Top-Secret Diary of Celie Valentine)–which means that I can finally pass it along to my 10-year-old– and it was, in a word, delightful. (I love Julie Sternberg!) Celie’s voice feels perfect to me, and her first friend forays in her new neighborhood make for solidly thought-provoking entertainment. Johanna Wright’s illustrations complete the experience beautifully; if you have a middle grade girl, you don’t want to miss Celie Valentine. (If you’re lucky enough to have a solid income during this craziness, consider ordering the series–if not, you should definitely put it on hold at your local library, to be picked up when the world calms down a bit!)

Alrighty, folks. I don’t know about you, but I’m struggling a bit after the week we’ve had–motivation is just feeling hard to come by. I’m hoping some family time will help, and so I’m signing off for a week or so. Stay well and safe and I’ll be back in a bit!

I almost read Laura Amy Schlitz’s Splendors and Glooms right after it was designated a Newbery Honor book; my random “I’m actually in the mood for this” passed too quickly, however, and I’ve been putting it off ever since. (That was January of 2013.) Since accepting audio as a Newbery medium, however, I’ve been looking to see what’s available, and lo and behold! there Splendors and Glooms was. Audio is especially attractive for a long book, and so I checked the hard copy AND the audio out of the library. Bam! I quite enjoyed the audio–the narrator was a good one–and I just finished reading speedily through the physical copy, which the narrator’s British accent did more or less necessitate (there were words I missed).

I’m honestly surprised at how spellbound I was.

Okay, so I do love historical fiction; on the other hand, mysteries where someone is missing for much of the novel are not my favorite, and for some reason I was thinking that Splendors and Glooms was medieval (also not my favorite). As soon as I actually picked it up, of course, I realized my mistake–it’s Victorian, which is much more my scene. Schlitz is almost as good as Daphne du Maurier at creating atmosphere, and her details of the time–of the dinginess caused by London’s infamous fogs, of the types of foods, of the make-up of the London streets–both ring true and contribute to that atmosphere. At the end of the day, however, it was Clara and Lizzie Rose and Parsefall that held me–as well as Cassandra and Clara’s parents. Clara’s sad household, her disappearance, and Lizzie Rose and Parsefall’s subsequent decisions and actions make for a compelling tale, and the ending was surprisingly satisfying. If you’re looking for a gothic Victorian tale with atmosphere, pathos, and a magical element, Splendors and Glooms is definitely for you.

Day 2 of student dismissal is in the books, folks. Tomorrow online education is scheduled to start.

Wish us luck.

In the meantime, I put off buying my corned beef too long and braving Costco just wasn’t worth it; something else to lay at Corona virus’s door. At least I can review a book today? That’s something, right? I actually read (listened to) The Perfect Score because a)my oldest had read it but not the sequels and wanted to reread it before she moved on to them, and b)I liked the one Rob Buyea book that I’ve read enough that I wasn’t going to pass up another one of his when it was actually in my house. Having read it, it’s obvious why it’s suggested for fans of Gordon Korman (as well as Andrew Clements, I should think); it’s a school story about a small group of kids who are thrown together in the midst of a full-blown standardized test craze at their school. Their home lives differ widely but intersect in curious ways, and their growing friendship affects their decisions surprisingly. Which is kind of a boring description, right? Alternatively, it’s a school story about a small bunch of kids under pressure and what they do about it. Most of the adults are good people with flaws, which is nice to see, and the message, while certainly not subtle, feels authentic. (And the ending’s satisfying. Because that’s most of what matters. right?) Buyea’s The Perfect Score is a totally worthwhile read, in my opinion, and one that kids are likely to enjoy as well. I’d say check it out at your local library, but…yeah. If yours is open, go for it. If not, give B&N a try!

Today I am grateful to have a worthy priesthood holder in my home, and I am grateful to have had a calling that forced me to revive and improve my piano skills so that I could play a simple sacrament song without weeks of practice. It was a simple version of church that we had in our home today, but we worshipped–and for now, that’s enough.

In the meantime, have any of you (besides my favorite sister) read Leif Enger’s Peace Like a River? I was working at Borders (may it rest in peace) when it came out, so when my neighbor passed along her copy to me it was already on my radar; when my sister recommended it, I bumped it higher on my list, and thanks to my hubby finding it on audio, I finally got to it.

It was powerful. I’ve actually been sitting on this review for a bit, trying to decide how to describe it–a western? A fable? A coming-of-age drama? A modern myth? I suppose it’s really all of those put together and then some, which is why it feels so hard to describe. Peace Like a River is essentially the story of a family–of 11-year-old Reuben, the asthmatic narrator; of Davy, his outlaw older brother; of Swede, his whip-smart, tale-spinning little sister; and of their father, a quiet man with an unusually close relationship with God. Their friendships, their travels, and their reactions to trouble make for a tale that is more compelling than I could have imagined. It’s beautifully written in a deceptively simple way that belies its sentence-by-sentence craftsmanship, and yet it’s also firmly grounded in tangibility (if you know what I mean by that–although I barely do myself). It’s both heartbreaking and uplifting in a way few stories achieve. I wish I could express myself better, but I’m honestly not sure how, and I can’t come up with a way to share more of the plot with you that makes sense, either; all I can say is that it was supremely and completely worth the read. If you have access to it in our current upheaval, seek it out; in the meantime, Enger’s other books have jumped to a MUCH higher spot on my list.

There’s some serious upheaval going on, folks. In addition to church being canceled–and all church events–school events were canceled on Thursday. Which meant that the play my 5th grader has been diligently rehearsing for, that was supposed to run for TWO nights, only ran for one…and only her Grandma got to see it. My 7th grader had a band concert on Wednesday, so my mother-in-law took my fifth grader to her play and saw it while the rest of the family went to see the 7th grader, planning on seeing the play on Thursday. Except. She was also supposed to compete in the state FPS meet–canceled. And since she missed the school performance of her play because of an ill-timed stomach flu, my poor (and very sensitive by nature) 5th grader has had a rough week. And NOW school isn’t canceled, exactly, but the students are dismissed for two weeks. (Although I assume there will be reevaluation then, and I have no idea how that will go.) There will be no library visits, because HEY, the libraries are closed, and no preschool for my 5-year-old, and yowsers. Strange times.

Anyway. Despite the upheaval, I’m still finishing books–mostly audiobooks, but still–and yesterday morning I finished listening to Eva Ibbotson’s The Abominables, which was published posthumously. It’s got a bit of hybrid feel to it, in my opinion; it isn’t quite as given over to absurdities as her other middle grade novels, and yet it doesn’t have much in common with her dramatic youth fiction. There are absurdities, of course–the title creatures are yetis driven (by the encroaching tourism industry) to seek refuge on an English country estate. To get there they must travel in the back of a lorry across part of Asia and most of Europe, and they and their human allies manage to involve themselves with a cruel sultan, a bemused bull, and a tipsy St. Bernard (among others). When the end of their journey is in sight, however, they find themselves up against a level of cruelty they have never imagined, and while much of the resulting message is relayed with Ibbotson’s trademark comic flair, there are some poignantly serious moments as well. Whether its slightly different feel is because it was written at a different time in her career, or whether Ibbotson hadn’t been satisfied (or finished?) with it when she died (published posthumously, remember) I honestly don’t know. What I do know is that The Abominables is both funny and serious–not to mention a little bit strange–and fans of Ibbotson’s, at least, won’t want to miss it.

Henry Holt and Company was kind enough to send me an ARE of Happiness: The Crooked Little Road to Semi-Ever After back in April of 2017, and in my (never-ending) quest to move through my piles of books, I finished it on Monday. And–wow.

Wow.

If you’ve ever born a child, you know that there are certain books that you absolutely SHOULD NOT read pregnant, not because they aren’t powerful and incredibly worthwhile, but because some vicarious emotional journeys should only be undertaken when you’re in an emotionally stable place yourself.
Happiness is most definitely one of those books. It’s well-written and gripping and draws you into Heather and her family’s world–the world of a family whose oldest child, a child somewhere between toddler and preschooler, needs and ultimately receives a bone marrow transplant. Gracie needs this transplant because she is born with a condition that her doctors can’t actually manage to diagnose, a condition where her red blood cells deteriorate and she needs a blood transfusion every 3-4 weeks. In the meantime, Gracie’s father, who initially told Heather that he wasn’t prepared to actually be a father in any real sense, undergoes an unexpected (to him) emotional transformation, becoming (once again) a vital part of Heather and Gracie’s lives. As a reader, you share those lives in a painful way, from newborn blood transfusions (it is NO JOKE to get a needle into those tiny veins) to pre- and post-transplant drugs and their side effects. They watch other children in the transplant unit struggle; they are very much aware when some of them die. It is a complex emotional journey that held me spellbound–and would have sent me over the edge when I was pregnant or caring for a newborn of my own, because what if? WHAT IF?

In my current stage of life, however–my youngest being 5–I am comfortably past the newborn worries (while entering into the adolescent ones). I found Heather Harpham’s memoir to be compulsively readable and entirely engrossing without being personally stressful. (The only aspect of it that I struggled with was her increasing use of the F-word. I appreciate that she was under a kind of strain that I have yet to even imagine, but I still find it personally jarring.) If you are safely past the pregnancy and newborn stage of life, this is a memoir you will never, ever forget. If you’re not, well–you may want to put it on a TBR list for the future.

I actually didn’t check Birdie out of the library; my 5th grader did. (Her elementary school library, that is.) Since it’s a relatively short verse novel by an author I’ve enjoyed (Eileen Spinelli), I asked her if I could read it as well. She did have to renew it last week, but I had a relatively open night last night, and so I settled down on the love seat to redeem myself. I even managed to finish it AND get into bed at a decent hour!

Like my daughter, I quite enjoyed it. Eileen Spinelli writes simply but movingly about real situations that kids struggle with; in this case, Birdie’s mother is dating again, three years after Birdie’s firefighting father died in a fire. It seems like everyone else in Birdie’s life is dating as well, and she isn’t sure how to deal with it all. To say more would ruin the experience of seeing Birdie’s life through her eyes, so I’ll just let you pick up this gentle treat yourself. In the meantime, my 5th grader can (finally!) return it to her school library.

Just as soon as she gets over her stomach flu.

That’s how I feel about Professor Chandra Follows His Bliss, folks. I won a copy in a Shelf Awareness giveaway last January (remember the catching up I’m STILL doing?) and read it just over a year later; I’ve been sitting on the review because I haven’t been sure how to sum it up. A list, maybe?

Pros:
There are funny bits. And there is genuine caring, if almost always expressed awkwardly. There is also the thread of a family that I did want to follow.

Cons:
None of these characters are as likable as I want them to be. The new age-y attitudes frequently annoyed me (as they did Chandra, some of the time), and if the whole lot of people in the book had been honest and attempted to be kind, well–there’d be less story. I also felt like Chandra’s memories of constant work and his memories of young father moments didn’t always jive with each other OR his children’s attitudes toward him later on.

Ultimately, this was not so much my thing, and yet there were parts I enjoyed and parts I got quite a kick out of. If tales of dysfunctional families (all of whose family members make their share of truly poor decisions) are your thing, than this should be right up your alley. If you want to be able to truly like your characters, than it depends on how forgiving you are.*

*I’d avoid the audio unless accent mistakes don’t bother you, by the way. Possibly ALL of the American characters were from California or Colorado, and yet they were rendered in a New York-ish accent. It was painful.

I’m sure my legions of faithful readers noticed that I missed BOTH of the two-odd-days-in-a-row that leap year brought us; weekends are hard, you know? And I’ve been working right along on my basement, cleaning out and organizing the big girls’ bedroom so that–eventually–my son won’t have to share with his younger sister. The getting rid of things is the most satisfying, but there’s much more organizing than actual tossing. (Thanks to my grandparents for the thrifty/packrat/borderline hoarder genes.)

Anyway. Tonight I finished listening to Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning, which is the March book for the new book group I’ve more or less joined. To start with, DON’T listen to this book. I wasn’t going to make it through any other way, but the latter part deals with specifics of logotherapy, which Frankl developed, and clinical psychiatric terms and explanations do not lend themselves to an auditory approach. I listened to bits of it three and four and five times, trying to parse out the terms and their meanings in context. Maybe those who are not at all visually oriented would be fine, but the lack of the visual most definitely hindered my comprehension. (Then, too, it’s been a couple of decades since my brain was in optimal shape for this sort of reading. It gets a different kind of exercise now.)

Anyway. Essentially, in Man’s Search for Meaning, Frankl uses his experiences in the Nazi concentration camps to explain and support his brainchild, logotherapy, which postulates that human beings are most motivated by a search for meaning. Finding meaning in suffering will therefore help us through the suffering, inspiring us to “suffer well”. Much of his approach rang true to me, and I appreciated the (relative) accessibility of it. (The fact that I was able to grasp it via an auditory experience, without any visual whatsoever, is proof of that.) This is not the sort of book I usually pick up, but I’m glad to have read it; it’s been on my radar in a “someday I’ll get to that” sort of way for a very long time. Be aware that this is not a memoir, but rather a book to be shelved in the social sciences section of a bookstore; that said, since a goodly portion of the book draws on Frankl’s experiences in the camps, it feels like a cousin to memoir. Ultimately, its central assertion is both valuable and relevant in today’s world, and I’m going to be thinking about it–on and off–for a long time to come.