Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

When I checked The House at The End of Hope Street out of the library, it seemed like the perfect read.  For fans of Sarah Addison Allen?  Check.  A magical house where portraits of famous women speak to the inhabitants?  Bring it on.  And chocolate cake with lots of cream for breakfast?  Who couldn’t get behind that?  Upon reading it, however, I found the reality a bit different.  On the one hand, I loved the magical house, and Menna van Praag’s writing style is very readable.  On the other hand, the plot went to a bit of a different place than I expected.

The really interesting thing, however, is that it wasn’t the plot’s destination that bothered me significantly.  (For most of the book, the lesbian romance is only hinted at, but it does become prominent at the conclusion.)  Openly embracing a homosexual lifestyle is in direct opposition to my beliefs, yes, but I know not everyone shares those beliefs.  What bothered me far more was the nature of the problems all of the female protagonists seemed to be facing.  Affairs, dead-end (sexual) relationships, unrequited love, failure to recognize true love…I truly believe that relationships are incredibly important, but focusing all of the women’s problems around sexual relationships or romantic love oversimplifies both the female gender and life itself.  The solutions to some of the women’s problems don’t involve either of those things, but isn’t it a tad insulting to women to assume that their problems are, in a broad sense, all the same?

Sadly, I’m unable to be as precise and powerful in this review as I wanted to be; it happens when you finish a book on vacation and don’t get to review it until a couple of weeks (and several books) later.  The other criticism I can still support (without re-reading half the book) is van Praag’s characterization.  Most of the characters were decently drawn and interesting, but the villains in Alba’s life are lamentably one-dimensional.  They all have their one motivation or character trait that explains their subsequent actions; there doesn’t appear to be anything else to them.  Ultimately, then, as much as I did actually enjoy the book, I can’t see myself recommending it.  Once I started reading it, I couldn’t stop, but if I had it to do over again?  I probably wouldn’t start.  On the other hand, if I’d loved where the plot went, I’d likely feel differently.

I suppose that means that the decision is up to you.

I really ought to be reviewing The House at the End of Hope Street, which I finished more than a week ago.  I meant to on Wednesday, in fact.  I meant to again, today.  And yet…I’m still trying to work out exactly what I want to say about that one, and in the meantime, I finished reading Anya’s Ghost to see if it was suitable for my oldest.

It’s not.

It’s not a bad book, you understand.  I just looked at the description and thought “hey, interesting mystery!” instead of looking at the recommended age range and thinking “hmm, 12-17 or 7th grade and up…”  It’s a graphic novel about an unhappy girl who becomes friends with a ghost–and ultimately learns some surprising truths about herself.  I would almost classify it as horror, which is not at all my thing, but it’s really just a contemporary ghost story.  Anya was well-drawn (mostly figuratively, because I’m not really qualified to judge the literal aspect there!) and became far more likable during the course of the book, as her view of her world became a truer one.  There is some common high school bad behavior here, but nothing explicit or (sadly) shocking to today’s teens.  I wouldn’t mind my kids reading it in high school, since Anya comes to some valuable conclusions about some of that behavior; for now, however, back to the library it goes.

Bottom line?  If your latter junior high or high schooler likes graphic novels and/or ghost stories, it’s worth a look.  I would NOT give it to elementary schoolers–under any circumstances.

Greetings to my legions of devoted fans–have you missed me?

Seriously, though, I spent some lovely time in Idaho visiting my parents and my brother and his family, and now I’m trying to get my house back together, think about routines for the summer, and review the books I’ve finished in the last couple of weeks. (Although to be fair, I only finished a couple; I did, however, skim several more before giving them to my oldest, their primary audience!)  I’m starting with an easy one, because there are still unpacking and laundry and THINGS waiting for me to do…

I have to admit, I was wondering about Nathan Hale’s third Hazardous Tale–few people choose to write children’s books about the Donner Party, and it was clear from the title that he wasn’t going to shy away from the more gruesome parts of its history. Then again, as my friend Andrea pointed out, what better way to appeal to reluctant readers?  In any case, Donner Dinner Party is a worthy addition to the series.  I wouldn’t necessarily have chosen to paint James Reed as such a caricature, but Hale addresses that at the end; ultimately, I thought he did a pretty good job with the story.  There’s a lot of facepalming involved for adult readers, but that would be true of even a bare recitation of the facts, really.  I’m looking forward to seeing what my oldest thinks of it, because how would it be to read it not knowing how it’s going to turn out?

I’m expecting an interesting reaction to this one.

Now that school is officially out (and the girls’ dance recital is officially over!), I’m taking the next 10 days or so to spend time with family.  Happy Summer to you all, and I’ll see you mid-June!

Pretty sure I’ve had a mild case of food poisoning the last few days, which means I’m feeling extra tired, unmotivated, and determined to get to bed earlier tonight, which means that I’m bailing on both you and my terrifying sink full of dirty dishes in a rather embarrassing run-on sentence.

Sorry about that.

Last night I finished Consider the Blessings:  True Accounts of God’s Hand in Our Lives, by President Thomas S. Monson, and I found myself unexpectedly nostalgic.  I’ve been listening to Thomas S. Monson speak for–quite literally–my whole life, and he was my favorite speaker for a long time; I remember him sharing some of those same accounts in General Conference over the years.  (It’s possible that they move me more now than they did then, age and experience being what they are.)  It’s a pleasure to have so many of his stories in one collection.  Consider the Blessings is a gift book–the experiences generally run no more than 2-3 illustrated pages–but it’s the very best kind of gift book.

Consider reading it.

It look me a looonnngg time to read The Seasoning of a Chef:  My Journey from Diner to Ducasse and Beyond.  Food and cooking memoirs are totally my thing–I COULD NOT put Garlic and Sapphires down–but…

It’s a great premise (the subtitle sums it up pretty well) and it pulled me in at the beginning.  Psaltis’ diner-owning grandfather, the people who worked for him, and Psaltis’ own beginning mistakes make for an interesting start.  And the end, where he’s a well known chef looking for the right opportunity–that was interesting, too.  As for the middle?  Psaltis spends it working in this, that, and the other restaurant, learning this, that, and the other from those restaurant’s chefs.  On his days off, he works for free at this, that, and the other restaurant, learning this, that, and the other from, well, you get the idea.  He doesn’t write much about the actual food, which I would have enjoyed, and his workaholic, extremely confident personality makes him seem sort of one dimensional.  I like to cook, and I waitressed for a year, but that wasn’t enough for me to feel like the book’s intended audience.  If you are in the industry, it would probably grab you more.  For me, well–I read the middle 140 pages 1-2 at a time (which is as much time as I can sometimes steal for myself in the bathroom), and that worked well.

You’ll have to decide what that means for you.

I’ve mentioned my fascination with Holocaust narratives; I have to say, though, that it’s really a fascination with WWII in general.  It seems to have brought out either the best in people or the worst, and it thrills me to read about the extraordinary deeds of ordinary people.  When I spotted His Name Was Raoul Wallenberg in the library system, then, I didn’t hesitate to put it on hold.  I finished it yesterday, and I have to say–it tells an amazing story.

Raoul Wallenberg was a Swedish diplomat who was assigned to Budapest in 1944; his mission was to save as many lives as possible, and his methods were impressively varied.  He stockpiled food against the coming invasion by the Russians; he harbored hundreds of Jews in the basements of buildings.  He also created an official document called a “schutzpasse,” designed to impress the Germans and extend the protection of his neutral nation to all carriers.  Diplomats from other neutral nations worked alongside him to do what they could, even as Russian guns could be heard from the east.  Raoul’s story was inspiring, captivating, and totally unfamiliar to me.

I will admit that the book has flaws.  It’s a very prose-like verse novel with an overly dramatic flair, designed to showcase Wallenberg’s heroism.  (A worthy goal, but understatement would have complemented his obviously heroic actions a bit better, in my opinion.)  It also spends longer than it needs to describing Raoul’s early life, although the photographs included made the entire story more vivid.  On the other hand, it’s hard to hurt good material, and the book grew more and more readable and fascinating as it went on.

Ultimately?  It amazed me that there are monuments to Wallenberg in London, New York, Stockholm, and Budapest, and  yet I hadn’t known anything about him.  His Name Was Raoul Wallenberg isn’t a perfect book, but it’s an incredibly worthwhile one; its hero’s story deserves to be both known and retold.

…and apparently completely forgot to post yesterday.  Whoops!  I went to post tonight, looked at the date, and couldn’t even remember for a minute how I had lost a day.  (Then again, I was up with kids–different kids–at 1:30 and 4 this morning, so the fact that I finally DID remember is the more impressive one.)  I deeply apologize to my (mostly imaginary) loyal fan base, and I promise you a regularly scheduled post tomorrow!

Ever since I finished Honey I’ve been trying to figure out what it reminds me of, but so far–no dice.  It’s a fun, touching story of a girl who hears her father call someone “Honey” on the phone and is trying to figure out who it is; her quest ultimately involves food poisoning, nail polish, cassette tapes, Dum Dums, and a wig.  The ending is satisfying, and although the book itself is a simple one, Sarah Weeks does a good job of tying all of the threads–big and small–together at the end.   Her writing style was possibly on the simple end of the scale for me, but it’s just the sort of style to make her books especially accessible for otherwise unenthusiastic readers.

Bottom line?  This one is is short, sweet, and worth your time.