Blah, Blah, Blah, Book Blog

This is not my first Alice Roosevelt book. I have to admit, I am drawn to books about this quirky White house daughter, the rebel badass, and, despite the fact that I once considered Eleanor the best of the Roosevelts, I have to think that Alice was the most true to herself. In previous books I’ve read about her though, she was depicted as a spirited girl bent on hijinks—with no particular care for the lives of those around her. This book added a depth to her character that I didn’t feel before, and considered the compromises she made in love and life, going beyond the typical scandals that are recalled when Alice is the topic. I was moved by the story of the years following her mother’s death, her relationship with her father, and the idea that America’s Sweetheart seemed so unlucky in her choices for love. Regardless of that, Alice lived the life she wanted to live, her unequivocal independence and life of the mind so contrary to the prevailing norms, and an example still, of how to get the very most out of life.

I am so late reviewing this book, but thank goodness nobody was waiting around for my review to convince them to read it. As so many have figured out by now, this is a terrific book. Written in the style of the best Rolling Stone interviews, back when we clamored to read each new issue, this book just rolled along, surprising and delighting with sly plot twists and a beguiling cast of characters. Reid captures all of the behind-the-scenes drama, and relates it in a style that is compelling and completely believable. I was thinking so much about Fleetwood Mac while reading this that at some points I needed to remind myself that it wasn’t their story—not because it was so similar, but because the characters were so real. Definitely a must for old school rock fans.

Years ago, my husband gave me a copy of The Orchid Thief as a gift. This was back before I ventured much into non-fiction, and one of those gifts that he figured would be great because we could both read it. While we are completely in sync in our love for books, we have our differences when it comes to genres. There are plenty of classics we both love, but generally he is more action/non-fiction, and I am more historical fiction/memoir. In his defense, though, The Orchid Thief had a novel-like plot, and was so much more than a story about orchids. As a birthday present, though, it was a bust. He read it before I did, and even he did not give it rave reviews. I think he described it as “quirky”, which is apparently a negative for him, but usually a plus for me. I read it. Ok, I tried. I wanted to love it, I really did, because honestly, that cover was beautiful!

Fast forward to late last year, and NetGalley offered a new book by Susan Orleans. It had been so long since that last one, and, like childbirth, I’d pretty much forgotten the experience. But the real reason I begged for the book? It’s about Libraries! Ok, it’s about a particular one, the Los Angeles Public Library, and a fire that changes many lives, along with the library system. I don’t know if I’ve just matured and come to appreciate non-fiction more, but Orleans wowed me with this book.

Besides tremendous research and investigative skills, Orleans brings warmth and a generous spirit to the story. She gets to the heart of the systemic problems, uncovers information about the long-standing arson suspect, and brings to life on the page all of the people who help make this library hum. When so many people do the majority of their reading on their phone, this book brings me hope. It is a love letter to all public libraries, and an inspiring acknowledgement of their important place in our communities.

Just when I thought I’d read enough World War II books (are they a genre? Should they be?), along comes another from Kate Atkinson, who has brought me through the war twice already, in Life After Life, and A God in Ruins. Ironically, I have these reviews back-to-back, but I actually read Transcription first, and am working my way through a backlog of reviews. In case you can’t tell, I’m a fan of Atkinson’s writing, and think that it can elevate even a mediocre storyline. There are compelling themes here—the women’s roles described offered yet another new perspective on the war—but the characters did not seem as developed, and the story as well-plotted as her other writing. You can see that even a partial miss for Atkinson still earns a respectable rating, because I liked it enough to finished it in a couple of days, and, even better, I learned something in the process.

I would have given this book 3.5 stars, but Atkinson's writing could make even the most banal storyline compelling. Honestly, I felt like this novel could have used more editing, but hey, I picked it because I liked Life After Life, and I also love a big fat paperback. Some characters, (looking at you Viola) were just unlikable; which is ok, but at some point I need to care about them, and Atkinson did not always make this easy. I loved Teddy, but I also found him at times very wishy-washy (does anyone use that expression anymore? Am I being wishy-washy using it?) — it was hard to reconcile the rogue fighter pilot with the wildlife columnist, prone to long, meandering passages. I know very little about birds and English gardens, so I tended to lose interest there. But of course, these are minor arguments. Atkinson's characters drive this story, and, though her jumps in and out of timelines can be distracting, I found the little peeks into the future along the way compelling. I also liked the idea that this was a companion piece to the other book; you did not need to read that one first, but if you did, you felt a little bit like you were in on something.

This was difficult. A subject close to our hearts and home, but so very painful to listen to, even after 18 years. You would be hard-pressed to find anyone alive at the time without a connection to these events, but if that is the case, this book will change that. Zuckoff tells the stories for all of those who no longer can, and, even though I cried through most of it, I felt an obligation to finish. Never forget.

Well, my reading the last couple of months has been far outpacing my reviewing, so I have a backlog of reviews to do. What better way to get back on track than with a wonderful book by Kate DiCamillo. I’m saying this as possibly her oldest (non-family member) fan. Should I be embarrassed that I am not a middle-schooler reading this, and that even my daughters have aged out of this genre? Nah.

Camillo’s writing evokes wonder in even the deepest, darkest places, and her stories almost always offer a quiet measure of hope. She has a knack for creating distinct, unusual characters whose stories—and names—you can’t help but love. Really, how could you not be compelled to read about a girl named Louisiana Elefante? If you haven’t read Raymie Nightengale, read that first, because the backstory is almost as good as this sequel. Quick, read them now, because Camillo's newest book, Beverly, Right Here, just came out, and you’re going to need to read that one too. Trust me, you cannot go wrong.

This is my kind of story, reminiscent of Fredrik Backman’s quirky characters in down-on-their luck communities, or the true-grit folks you might have seen years ago on the television show Northern Exposure. While Virgil is the eponymous hero of this novel, Enger offers us plenty of other characters to love in this small Midwestern town. As promised in the publisher’s notes, this is truly a place where captivating whimsy is the order of the day. A perfect summer read.

This book had such an interesting premise, I requested a copy from NetGalley. (thanks, NetGalley!) McMorris presents her story in the form of a complicated moral dilemma—where a seemingly well-intentioned act leads to unexpected challenges and life-changing results—playing out on a couple of different fronts. Ellis Read wanted to tell a story with his photograph, but when things got complicated, he made some ill-advised but understandable choices. The situation, while specific to his era, life and career, is still relatable; especially when choices made in an instant, reflexively, fail to consider long-term consequences. In a story brimming with untold secrets, life decisions are guided by personal experience and sometimes, unbridled ambition. Still, McMorris’ treats her characters with a care and sensitivity that is compelling, and ultimately, uplifting.

I would definitely recommend listening to this, since it's "read" (performed?) by Amy Poehler. There is plenty in here that seems odd, and, as mentioned in other reviews, a bit rambling, that I imagine seems less odd when she reads it. There are some asides that acknowledge this, but I'm not sure all of that is in the book. I have no idea if the people on the audiobook were real — Carol Burnett, Seth Meyers, her parents — or just Amy doing imitations, but regardless, it was very entertaining. Her writing about the early days of her career and growing up in general provided some embarrassing (earbuds in, walking alone on the middle school track) laugh out-loud moments.

To be fair, there is almost no reason why you need to hear from me that you should read this book, especially since I am embarrassingly late on my review. (though I did put a note on Goodreads). I am not the first person to mention the lyrical writing, so yes, I am using this tired word but please don’t be turned off by it. According to my thesaurus, I could also call it deeply felt, passionate, expressive, and emotional, and any one of these words would also fit perfectly, but you might consider me a bit over the top. But honestly, I wouldn’t be. This book will rip your heart out and then, give it gently back to you. (How is that even possible? I don’t know.) You will cry before you are even halfway through, as if it’s a Fredrik Backman book, because you will know that bad things are going to happen and nobody is going to be happy. But you will go on anyway, because you are a reader, and you are brave, and you will hope for a happy ending in spite of all that. And you will learn something. (About the Cod fishing industry in Newfoundland, and its collapse in 1992.) And then, in the end, you will agree with me. There was no reason you needed my review to understand the beauty of this book.

I chose this book from NetGalley because I love Crandall’s writing. While this book covers some similar territory as Whistling Past the Graveyard, I love to read a good southern saga, and I appreciate Crandall’s tendency to place her young female protagonists in charge of their family’s destiny. Tallulah James is just one of many memorable characters; Crandall suffuses them with a natural warmth and kindness despite the tumultuous times and their unpredictable, often destructive, family. Set in an era revered for its righteous outrage — civil rights marches, Vietnam war protests — Tallulah discovers that not everyone’s motives are pure, and that often, they come at a grave cost. This is a perfect coming of age story, with courage in the face of hardship and uncertainty, and friendships that survive over time and tragic loss.

When I got this book from NetGalley, I considered it a Middle Grade novel, as the protagonists are twelve years old. But, while I usually consider a twelve-year-old today so much “older” than their counterparts in the early part of the twentieth century, history has forced maturity on Patryk and his friends in this story, with a hometown that has been repeatedly occupied by malevolent strangers. The Great War has turned their town into a contentious place, and the boys’ games have begun to change too, from innocent fun to grave tests of daring. My teenagers have not read this book yet, but I can imagine that it will inspire in them the same chills I felt, the kind that accompany an overwhelming sense of dread and foreboding. This is a difficult, disturbing story, but an important addition to the historical fiction of World War I.

I have read a couple of books lately that confirmed for me that I am simply too old to appreciate the edgy, increasingly depressing and horrifying themes of recent YA novels. And yes, I am too old, but this book was not one of them. The ironically named Happy Valley High has the typical roster of peer groups wreaking havoc on the self-esteem of the tender-hearted, but Cliff Hubbard has had enough of all of that. Instead, in a twist of fate only a decidedly adept novelist could achieve, the awkward, 6’6” 250lb Hubbard is teaming up with the ridiculously popular quarterback, to accomplish what is perhaps my favorite mission statement ever, “to make the school suck less.”

I don’t usually like to summarize the books I review, but I wanted to do this here, because I think the plot itself seems, in those few sentences, to be wildly unbelievably and unlikely to compel a teenage reader. But Norton’s writing is sharp and his observations are spot on and often hilarious, despite the serious topics he tackles. Cliff Hubbard is a character who literally cannot be ignored. This book will make your heart hurt, but it will also make you smile, and it may even provide a little hope for those of us who agree that making school suck less is always a worthy goal.

This is a terrific book, especially if you are like me and love to read the NY Times obituaries. I used to feel weird admitting that, but two things made me change my mind. 1. The NY Times still prints them, and that can't possibly be just for the friends and family. and 2. They made a documentary about the NY Times writers of those obituaries, appropriately called, Obit. But I digress, sorry. This beautifully-designed, pocket-sized edition (I know adorable is not an acceptable literary term, but still) is tempting to devour in one sitting, but I suggest you take your time. Winik does not use people's names, which I liked, (This is a follow-up to her original Glen Rock Book of the Dead, which I couldn't get a copy of in my local book store.) but I did spend some additional time trying to google to figure out who some of them were. (The Playwright, anyone?) So yes, I read it in two days instead, but really, this one is worth savoring.

I found this book interesting because I haven't read much about WWII from the perspective of an Italian civilian, (actually an English woman married to an Italian), caught between constantly changing governments and allegiances, hoping for the Allies to appear. The courage of her and her family, as well as the peasants in the surrounding farms, is astonishing and surprising. I will admit that the book was made even more interesting by our visit to Italy last summer, and the tour of La Foce by Origo's great granddaughter...