Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

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.

Last night was my oldest daughter’s show choir performance, which meant that my son got to bed 45 minutes past his bedtime, and my girls, well…number 2 wasn’t up more than 10 minutes later than usual, but my oldest does the post-performance-adrenaline-crash like no other.  There are always tears about something after she performs, and last night was no exception; by the time I got her calmed down enough to fall asleep, she was certainly up a half hour past her bedtime.  And tonight?  Tonight was my son’s preschool celebration, which means that he was up more than an hour past his bedtime, and the girls about an hour past theirs.  (The little one was up late, but she naps.  It’s different.)  Now, I know everyone’s kids have different sleep issues, but let me sum up for you:

1)There will be no sleeping in.

2)There will be weeping, wailing, whining, and (probably) gnashing of teeth.

3)There will be early bedtimes tomorrow, to which Mommy and Daddy will look forward more than anyone else.

4)And then–there will be much rejoicing.

The one year I was in jazz band taught me, first and foremost, that jazz is not my forte.  I truly respect it as an art form, but I’m not terribly good at playing it, and I don’t generally choose to listen to it.  I watched my more talented (and dedicated!) classmates with the greatest respect–you know who you are!–but I had no passion for jazz.  (See below for my best memories of that year!)

That being said, I checked Jazz Day:  The Making of a Famous Photograph out of the library because I’m a complete sucker for historical picture books–and I was not disappointed.  In 1958 an inexperienced photographer gathered together as many jazz musicians as he could for one photo shoot; he had pitched the idea to Esquire magazine, which was doing a story on “The Golden Age of Jazz,” and gotten the assignment.  The most famous of the day’s shots was entitled Harlem, 1958, and it is the story of that shot that Roxane Orgill tells so beautifully.  Made up of poems from the points of view of both musicians and bystanders, Jazz Day is immeasurably enhanced by Francis Vallejo’s illustrations.  The historic photo featured jazz musicians even I’ve heard of–Dizzy Gillespie, Count Basie, Thelonious Monk–alongside musicians that were relatively unknown at the time, and Orgill makes the moment of its capture vividly real.  (She also slyly includes in the book a poem about Duke Ellington, explaining his absence.)  I may not be passionate about jazz, but I am passionate about books, and this one fascinated me.  If you are passionate about jazz, it’s an absolute must read; if you’re not, well–it’s still too good to miss.

My Best Memories of Jazz Band:

1)Learning how to play in 5/4 (thank you, Decoupage).

2)Experiencing the Berklee Jazz Festival and a different side of Boston than I’d seen before.

3)Listening to one judge poke fun at Mr. Neves’ pronunciation of Party Time (Have you gone to the potty today?!) during his audio evaluation of the piece.  (I’m pretty sure there’s a better name for that, but it was lost to me a couple of kids ago.)

I honestly can’t remember how I came across Alexander and the Wonderful, Marvelous, Excellent, Terrific Ninety Days:  An Almost Completely Honest Account of What Happened to Our Family When Our Youngest Son, His Wife, Their Baby, Their Toddler, and Their Five-Year-Old Came to Live with Us for Three Months.  What I can tell you is that as my children have been enjoying Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very  Bad Day–and as they eagerly await the picking up from the library of Alexander, Who Used to Be Rich Last Sunday–I have been enjoying Alexander and the Wonderful, etc., even more.  Judith Viorst is a gifted comic writer and a woman somewhat after my own heart when it comes to worrying, inflexibility, routine–and love of family.  When her youngest son, his wife, and their three children come to live with their parents during some home renovations, she mostly revels in their temporary togetherness; she also, however, worries after her velvet chairs.  How she balances the two sides of her personality is a comic lesson for us all.  Now, in addition to checking out her children’s books for my children, I’m going to have to further explore her adult books as well!

I actually checked Andrea Cheng’s The Year of the Book out of the library because I thought my second girlie might be able to read it herself; it’s under 150 pages, there are illustrations, and the topic seemed accessible.  After reading it, however, I think the emotional context might make my emotionally intuitive 6-year-old a bit upset.  I AM, however, going to stick it on my nine-year-old’s shelf for her to try, because I ended up really liking it.

The Year of the Book introduces Anna Wang, a Chinese-American fourth grader who is having friend difficulties.  Luckily for her, she loves to read just as much as she likes to do anything with friends (the book is sprinkled with references to well-known titles and characters); all the same, she does want things to be different.  How she is ultimately able to resolve some of her friend difficulties makes for a delightful book, although one of her friends’ family problems ups the emotional reading level of it a noticeable amount.   I highly recommend this one–for ages 8-ish and up.

I checked Resistance:  Book 1 out on my daughter’s library card quite a while ago; I thought it might interest her without being too much for a girl who just turned 9 1/2.  It took me a long time to get around to looking at it, of course–doesn’t it always?–but I finally picked it up a few days ago and finished it tonight.  And…

I am ambivalent.

On the one hand, it was interesting, and it wasn’t too much for a going-on-ten-year-old.  The introduction and author’s note did an excellent job of explaining France’s situation during WWII, and the body of the book certainly kept my interest.  On the other hand, the plot seemed slightly contrived, and I didn’t care for the art.  Of course, I will say that fiction about WWII in Europe is always iffy with me because I’ve read a great deal of non-fiction from the time; I doubt the book’s intended audience would have an issue with the plot.  I have no idea how that audience would feel about the art, either, come to think of it.  My problem with it had to do with the characters’ facial expressions–I didn’t feel they expressed nuances of emotion with impressive accuracy.  (Mostly, they just seemed to look either grumpy or surprised, and (in my opinion!) a bit on the ugly side.)

Bottom line?  It absolutely held my attention, but I didn’t love it; since graphic novels aren’t my thing, however, I hesitate to deliver a strong verdict either way.  I’m afraid it’s up to you when it comes to this one.

Once upon a time, back when my sister lived in New Jersey, I borrowed a few books from her house.  (This was at least five years ago, and yes, I did ask.)  I read two of them in a somewhat timely fashion, but two more have been sitting on my shelf, waiting to be read, ever since.  Fast forward to a month or two ago and my oldest niece is looking at my bookshelf.  I sheepishly point out the books I borrowed from her mom years ago, and, taking a closer look, she says–“I think I bought that one myself, with birthday money or something; that explains why I never got around to reading it!”

Oh, the guilt.  I basically stole my poor niece’s book when she was only a tween (or thereabouts)!  And so, in a belated attempt to put it right, I moved Cameron Dokey’s The Storyteller’s Daughter up to the very top of my reading list, and I finished it over lunch today.  When my parents head out to Colorado to visit my sister, I’ll send it with them; maybe Macy will even have time to read it before she leaves on her mission!  That’s something, right?

Yeah, still with the guilt.  Anyway.  I don’t read as many fairy tale re-tellings as I used to, and I have to say, The Storyteller’s Daughter made me wonder why.  (Okay, it’s probably because I read more non-fiction, but still.)  Cameron Dokey weaves a web of words that beautifully showcase her chosen tale; her writing style is perfect for a series entitled “Once upon a Time.”  I didn’t know much about “The Arabian Nights,” but no matter.  All that I needed to know was there.  Shahrazad (the Persian spelling of Scheherazade), the storyteller whose life depends upon her skill, is a quietly strong heroine, and the king she marries is successfully portrayed as an emotionally wounded man who must be healed for the sake of his kingdom.  The stories Shahrazad tells remind me stylistically of the fairy tales I read in my childhood; they entertain in and of themselves while furthering the story of their teller.  In the end, it’s almost hard to label the book’s genre–fairy tale?  Folk tale?  Fable?  Love story?  I’m honestly not quite sure.  What I am sure of, however, is that this is a book to be read and relished by fans of all of them.