Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

First things first–I know I no-showed over the weekend, but I had family in town.  AND there were extenuating circumstances!  Tonight, however, I am beyond thrilled to be reviewing R.J. Palacio’s Wonder, which I finally got around to listening to and thoroughly loved.  Honestly, it was the perfect antidote to Admissions, which is really kind of a downer; Wonder is a beautifully written book bursting with heart.  It’s taken me a long time to get to it, so I’m assuming most of you are familiar with the premise, right?  Auggie Pullman, a boy with the kind of facial abnormalities that send some kids running away from him, enters the 5th grade after having been previously home-schooled (partly due to the ongoing surgeries caused by his difficulties).  How he copes, how he makes friends, and how it turns out make for a beautiful journey of a book.  If, like me,  you’ve been slow and haven’t picked this one up, then it’s time to repent, people.  Hurry up!  Go read it!

You’ll be very glad you did.

I was quite excited to receive an advance copy of Henry Marsh’s Admissions:  Life as a Brain Surgeon; I enjoy memoirs, and I tend to enjoy case studies, so it seemed like a natural fit.  When my hubby found it available on audio I was even more excited, since it meant I could actually GET to it sooner rather than later.  As I read it, however, I did find that I ended up feeling differently about it than I was anticipating.  Here’s what I think you ought to know going in.

What This Book Is–And Isn’t

1.  This IS an extremely well-written memoir, and one that manages to avoid crossing the line into over-technicality (despite its topic).
2.  This ISN’T a book that focuses on Marsh’s career.  Instead, he reflects a bit on his child- and young adulthood and occasionally on his most memorable cases.  He relates his volunteer work in Nepal (and, to a far lesser extent, in Ukraine).  He spends far more time than I expected, however, ruminating on the healthcare system in the UK, on how doctors’ daily lives have changed, and on the limitations of brain surgery.
3.  This IS a book that mingles significant self-assurance with self-deprecation.
4.  This IS a book by a man who cares deeply about animals and the environment.
5.  This ISN’T a book of faith.  Marsh is openly atheistic, and his ideas about how his profession and his lack of belief are related are presented with a presumptive style that I didn’t appreciate.  Presumably any memoir, by definition, presents the opinions of its author, but I doubt Marsh’s colleagues all share his views on that particular subject.
6.  This ISN’T a particularly cheerful book.  It is what it is, you understand; I just find it helpful to know that sort of thing going in.
7.  This IS an interesting read all the way through.  (Although being a memoir, it inevitably lacks complete resolution.)
8.  This IS a book you ought to read if you’re interested in a British brain surgeon’s life experiences and how those experiences shape his view of our world and its future.

There you have it, folks.  If you decide to read it, let me know what you think!

I still have 25 pages left in the book I was sort of hoping to review tonight AND I’m a little poopered from the holiday weekend.  Have a good night, folks!

Yesterday I FINALLY finished The Old Tobacco Shop:  A True Account of What Befell a Little Boy in Search of Adventure, and I’m calling that a hard win.  For one thing, the end-of-the-school-year events this year have been ridiculous–we’ve had more than ever before.  For another, what with the water heater and other things, I’ve been more than usually busy/tired at night, meaning that by the time I opened it up, I managed 3 or 4 pages before I fell asleep.  Victory, however, is finally mine!

Can you tell this one’s made me a little punchy?

So.  The Old Tobacco Shop was a runner-up to the Newbery medalist in 1922–the very first year of the Newbery Medal.  (Newbery Honor awards came along later and were rewarded to previous runners-up retroactively).  It hasn’t aged as well as some–the relating of Freddie’s initial meeting with Toby and Aunt Amanda creeped me out a bit as a parent, not to mention the scene with the adult urging the child (young enough to be getting over a lisp) to smoke a pipe that he said he didn’t want to smoke–but it’s still rather an entertaining adventure story.  It’s got a Narnia/Oz quality, or perhaps a bit of “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang”–a group of travelers thrown together on a fantastical adventure, which *spoiler alert* may or may not have been real.  There are random imps (as in, actual ill-intentioned supernatural creatures) at the beginning, pirates (and a piratical research society) in the middle, and an Old Man of the Mountain towards the end.  The writing style is typical for its time, which didn’t bother me; I read plenty of older books as a child.  (It moved along at a pretty good clip for a book published in 1921.)  All in all, if you’ve got a child who enjoys the Oz books, say, and you can get past the tobacco element, it might be a fun read for said child.  Otherwise, this is probably more of a book for people like me, with Newbery aspirations.

I know I missed the 21st, but seriously.  Monday was the day of ALL THE THINGS–ALC Awards Ceremony in the morning, 6th grade promotion at 2, and the all-Granite-District-Elementary band concert at 7 (my oldest had to be at Eisenhower Jr. High at 4).  My hubby took the day off for it, and then Tuesday evening I was making dinner and discovered that while our cold water was clear, our hot water was a decidedly unappetizing shade of yellowish-brownish-reddish.  Our amazing friend John Harvey came over late Tuesday night to diagnose and late last night (after preschool graduation, which was chilly but really kind of adorable) to install a new (bigger!) water heater.  Today was the 6th grade farewell breakfast, for which my 6th grader signed us up for a clarinet duet, and then she went to her friend’s end of school party while a friend came over to play with Girlie #2.  A friend from RI came for dinner, and now the kiddos are in bed and I’m due for a shower.

IN MY OWN BATHROOM.

Blogging just can’t compare to that luxury, folks.  Goodnight all!

It was my oldest who read The Cardboard Kingdom first; she found it in her school library and then told me that my second girlie and I would likely also enjoy it.  I duly checked it out of our trusty county library and finished it tonight, promising that second girlie that I’d then review it and she could have it in the morning.  (I had to be a bit forceful about the “in the morning” idea–she was trying to swipe it anyway.)

I found the premise and its execution to be out of the common way, in part because there is no one main character.  Not all of the sixteen kids receive the same number of pages, but the story is very much about the kids in a neighborhood building cardboard alter-egos for themselves and enjoying the resulting play all summer long.  More than one of the characters displays some non-gender-traditional behavior, which provided plenty of inner consideration for me; what I ultimately decided, however, is that that’s going to be a thing in this world, and the overriding message here is an important one for kids.  “This is who you are?  Okay!  Let’s play!”  There is a bully whose background reveals a whole lot about why he struggles, there are kids from single-parent homes, broken–or breaking–homes, kids from more traditional homes, and a Machiavellian blonde girl with a frighteningly ruthless view of the lemonade stand from a business point of view.  (Of all the group, she freaked me out a little.)  Some of the pages were wordless, or nearly so, while others sported an average-to-spare amount of text.  All in all, I’m expecting Girlie #2 to love it.

For me?  It was rather a sweet read, perhaps because my childhood was more solitary (not just because there weren’t a ton of kids nearby, mind you–I was also an inveterate bookworm).  If your kids love graphic novels about ordinary kids, and you love watching kids use their imaginations to play, then read it together.

Good times are sure to be had by all.

When my 9-year-old picked out Hamster Princess:  Harriet the Invincible at the library, I was skeptical.  Not only did it look young for her, it was pink and purple and sparkly and all but screamed “I’M REALLY GIRLY!”  at me.  I checked it out, however, and stashed it in my room to preview.

Doing so was an incredibly delightful surprise.

Harriet is a snarky, adventurous sort of princess, who despises her deportment lessons and receives news of her ‘Sleeping Beauty’ curse with glee.  If she can’t escape the curse, then the curse has to keep her alive until her twelfth birthday so that it can take effect, right?  Being invincible is all the excuse she needs to leave the castle and engage in all sorts of dangerous adventures, from ogre-fighting to cliff-jumping.  When her twelfth birthday comes around, however, the unexpected happens, and a new kind of adventure awaits Princess Harriet and Mumfrey, her trusty riding quail.

I got a serious kick out of this entire book.  It’s short and highly illustrated, making it a good fit for reluctant readers; it’s also almost unbelievably entertaining, and I love Harriet’s persistent argument that since she is a princess, anything she does must be considered princess-ly.  (Princess-y?  I’ve got a cold, and maybe that’s messing with my head, because the more I consider which one it ought to be, the more both of them look like nonsense.)  In short?  Even as my 9-year-old is panting with eagerness to get hold of this one, I’m looking forward to its sequel.

That says everything you need to know about this one.

I read Carl Hiaasen’s Hoot back when it was named a Newbery Honor book; when my oldest read it and liked it, I checked Chomp out of the library for her.  We both got quite the kick out of that one, which is why I checked out Scat (and thankfully found it on audio for myself).  I finished listening to it tonight–and since it’s getting late, you get a list of impressions for this review.

1.  Hiaasen is funny, with eccentric characters and not-always-believably crazy situations.
2.  He’s also passionate about Florida–and its flora and fauna.  His staunch environmentalism is unmistakable.
3.  Based on Nick’s dad’s experience in Iraq, Hiaasen’s not a big fan of that situation, either.
4.  He finds humanity in people with flaws, as well as a great deal of humor.
5.  His plots have certain predictable components:  characters living on the outskirts of society, often teaming up with more typical counterparts; an antagonist with no respect for wildlife or the environment; supporting characters who may or may not make choices consistent with their personal views on the situation; satisfying resolutions.
6.  Thus far, Hiaasen has reliably provided me with completely entertaining reads.  The man’s a literary good time.
7.  I imagine my oldest will want to read his most recent book after she finishes this one.

As for the plot–why did Mrs. Starch, feared Biology teacher, seemingly disappear after entering the Black Vine Swamp alone?  Is Duane Scrod–aka “Smoke”–an arsonist (or worse!) or just, well, more than a little rough around the edges?  Did Nick see a panther on their prematurely terminated field trip?  I could go on, but that should be enough to give you the gist.  If (you or) your child get a kick out of humorous mysteries, you’ve really got to read Carl Hiaasen.

I’m almost sure that normal people don’t look at their (and their children’s) library cards and try to arrange reading schedules in their heads so that there will be enough space available should all the holds on all the cards come in at once.  I’m also fairly certain that most people’s answer to this problem wouldn’t be to sign their 4-year-old up for her own library card.

I’ve never claimed to be normal.  Guess what I’m planning on doing this week?

I finished listening to Gitty Daneshvari’s School of Fear this morning, and I have to say, that book is seriously odd.  The premise–4 children with extreme phobias go off to a semi-secret school designed to cure children of such things–feels like it could go in a number of different directions.   What it ultimately becomes, however, is a sort of hybrid of Roald Dahl, “The Weakest Link”, and “Miss Congeniality”.

Sound weird?  Try reading it.

It’s the sort of book where the characters trade zingers back and forth and the absurd just keeps happening; it was wildly entertaining but not necessarily lovable for me, but I expect my 12-year-old to find it fabulous.  If you’re looking for a book that’s entertaining from the get-go, full of semi-likable (but not lovable) characters, and ends by setting up a sequel, look no further.  On the other hand, if you’re in the mood for predictable, well–this isn’t going to be your best choice.