As Bright as Heaven by Susan Meissner

When the coronavirus swept across the country at the beginning of March, I became fascinated with the Spanish flu pandemic of 1918. I learned that schools and campuses shut down just like they did here (although the closures didn't last as long--generally one to three months). I learned that the disease was violently fast: you could be fine when you woke up one morning and be dead by the next. I learned that the young were hit much harder than the older population; apparently, there had been a less severe strain that had passed through several decades before, which made many older people immune to the more virulent strain. I learned that the flu hit in three waves and wasn't officially over until 1920. I learned that the Spanish flu was one of the deadliest diseases in world history and killed an estimated fifty million people.

But most importantly, I learned that life eventually returned to normal. I clung to this fact during the first couple of months of the pandemic. It was very reassuring to know that even though it might take years, the virus would eventually run its course and let us move on with our lives.

When I found out As Bright as Heaven takes place in 1918, I immediately ordered a copy of it (our library wasn't open at the time, but even if it had been, my impatience to read it might have forced me to buy it).

One of the book club questions at the back of the book said, "What do you think it would be like to live in a city experiencing a pandemic, as Philadelphia did with the flu?" Little did the author know that in just a couple of years, she would be having first-hand experiences that would have helped her write a more emotionally accurate novel. And indeed, for me as a reader, I felt a deep commiseration with the Bright family as so many of their thoughts and feelings paralleled my own. There was a kinship there that made me instantly connect with the novel.

The story opens at the beginning of 1918. The Bright family is mourning the death of their beloved baby son/brother whose heart wasn't strong enough to carry him through life. An offer comes from Uncle Fred: he runs a mortuary in Philadelphia and wants to know if Thomas wants to learn the trade and eventually inherit the business.

The new start is just what the family needs to ease their grief; Thomas and Pauline pack up their belongings and embark on a different life with their three daughters: Evelyn, Maggie, and Willa. Life in the city is an adjustment, as is being in a home that houses and cares for the deceased, but overall it seems like a good change.

Pauline is immediately drawn to the embalming room. She has felt a closeness with Death ever since she lost her son, and she is soon in charge of all of the cosmetic tasks as the bodies are prepared for burial.

Evelyn, at fifteen, is studious and mature. She works hard at school and spends much of her time in Uncle Fred's extensive library.

Thirteen-year-old Maggie is drawn to the neighbor boys across the street: Jamie, who is about to head off to war (and who Maggie has a not-so-secret crush on, even though he is seven years older than her), and his younger brother, Charlie, who is mentally slow but so kind and sweet.

And then there's Willa. She is only six years old and is forbidden inside the embalming room. She is at once both innocent and selfish.

The story is told from the perspectives of these four characters. The point of view was somewhat random as the author often chose to tell about an event from a secondary, rather than the primary, person. This often provided a more objective, well-rounded view of things, which I liked.

The Spanish flu hit Philadelphia in October 1918, just after Thomas Bright left to serve in the war. The disease ripped through the city and quickly overwhelmed Uncle Fred as bodies filled up the embalming room and mortuary and were illegally dropped off on his doorstep in the middle of the night. The flu was unpredictable, taking some family members and leaving others. Maggie said,

"It's as if Philadelphia has been cut in two like an apple, and one side looks just the way the inside of an apple should and the other side is dark and wormy and makes you gasp when you see it. That side isn't an apple at all anymore but something sinister and wrong. And the worst thing is, no one's sure which side of the apple they're going to get." 

The Bright family is not spared, but just before the illness sneaks its way into their house, Maggie and Pauline are out delivering soup to the many souls who are suffering. Pauline leaves Maggie outside while she goes inside one of the infected homes, and Maggie's attention is drawn to the sound of a baby in deep distress. She ventures inside a nearby row house, and finds a baby soiled and starving and screaming. She peaks into a bedroom and sees the baby's mother, who is obviously dead. A little girl, the boy's sister, is also in the home, and her glassy eyes tell Maggie that she is also near death. Maggie picks up the baby, locks eyes with the girl, and whispers, "He's safe with me" before rushing out of the house.

The baby helps pull the Bright family through more tragedy. He is a distraction for them as they put all of their energy into caring for him. Evelyn said,

"The world doesn't stop. It just keeps spinning, with all its troubles, yanking us into its wild revolutions. There is no stepping into mourning, all secluded with nothing but much-warranted sorrow for company. Instead it's as if the train we're all on switched tracks at full speed and now we are racing forward in a completely new direction with no time to think about the destination we'd been headed toward before and now will never see." 

This description resonated with me. Even though we haven't experienced the same kind of loss as Evelyn and her family, there has been the rush of primal life--basic needs that must still be met, even as we struggle to catch our breath with the many changes that are constantly being thrown in our path. This story resonated with me in a way that it wouldn't have six months ago. I know what it feels like to have life come screeching to a halt all while it incessantly keeps pushing forward.

The story eventually jumps ahead seven years to 1925, but I can't share any more of it without giving away big things: moments that were beautiful and heartbreaking and brought me to tears.

As an interesting side note, my dad comes from a family of morticians. His great-grandpa and grandpa owned a furniture store that doubled as a funeral home. My dad's mom went to college and received a degree in English, but she had also always had a dream of following in the path of her father and getting her embalming license. So in 1944, at the age of 29, she enrolled in the College of Mortuary Science and did just that. Even though she only used her license for a few years, she was very proud of it. I can still remember visiting her in the nursing home during the last years of her life and seeing it prominently displayed above her bed.

Because of my grandma's deep interest in serving as a stepping stone between the living and the dead, this book held a different kind of appeal for me. In reading about the Bright family's experience caring for the dead, I felt a little closer to my own heritage.

I read the last fourth of the book on a beautiful summer's day when my family and I had gone to the cabin for the day. With my kids all occupied in various activities, I sneaked away to the hammock hanging between the trees. I read (and then reread) what ended up being my favorite scenes in the book, and I think I'll always associate this book with happy memories, which is one of the best ways to enjoy a story.

I have since given my mom a copy of this book for her birthday and convinced my sister to read it as well. It could not have been a more perfect book to read at this crazy time, and it gets all the praise from me.

Sweep: The Story of a Girl and Her Monster by Jonathan Auxier

Have you ever read a book and, upon finishing it, thought, Where is all the praise for this book? Why has no one been talking about it? Why has it not won any awards?

That's how I felt after reading this book. It was so beautifully written, well-researched, and brilliantly crafted that it seemed like it must have somehow been tragically overlooked the year it was published.

I personally took notice of it, not because anyone else had mentioned it, but simply because it was written by Jonathan Auxier, and I have been a major fan of his ever since reading Peter Nimble and His Fantastic Eyes several years ago.

But even with this selling point, it still took me over a year to pick up a copy because the title didn't interest me. I didn't think I had much use for a book about monsters.

Little did I know that the "monster" was only one to those who didn't know him. To Nan, he was a golem, birthed from a little piece of glowing char she'd had in her possession for a long time.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Nan is a climber in 1875 London. She works for Mr. Wilkie Crudd, better known as "The Clean Sweep." Her job is to clean people's chimneys, not by pushing a broom up into them à la Mary Poppins, but by pushing herself up into them. Because of her small frame, she can go where no adult can--small shafts that are literally no bigger than a 9-inch square (I feel a little ill just writing that out).

Nan hasn't always worked for Wilkie Crudd. When she was very young, she moved around London with her Sweep. He was tall and thin and quietly protective. He told stories and invented possibilities and made even bad things seem exciting. Under his hand, she learned to read and think for herself. But one day he disappeared, leaving behind only his hat and a warm piece of char.

Nan keeps thinking her Sweep will come back, but in the meantime, her only option is to climb chimneys and collect soot.

But then one day, the unthinkable happens. While Nan is crawling through a tiny tunnel in a school for young ladies, she gets distracted by a conversation going on in one of the rooms below. She doesn't pay attention to her position, and she gets stuck. When a climber gets stuck, there are only a few options, and none of them are pleasant.

The one that Nan's rival, Roger, decides to try is called the Devil's Nudge, and it involves lighting a fire in the hearth under her. The idea is that with the right motivation, Nan will do anything, including breaking her own bones, to free herself.

But something happens when Nan is stuck inside that flue--something that Nan can't explain or even figure out for herself. The little piece of char she has carried in her pocket for years ignites and blasts her out of the chimney, and when she regains consciousness, she realizes that everyone thinks she's dead, and her char has turned into a little baby golem she affectionately names Charlie.

Together, they hide away and make an unusual, but very pleasant, life for themselves. No one but Nan's friend, Toby, knows about Charlie, and that's probably for the best since it only takes a few weeks before Charlie is no longer the size of a pebble but a big and lumbering (but just so naively adorable) golem.

But of course things don't stay happy and comfortable. Nan finds out that Wilkie Crudd doesn't believe for an instant that she died in that fire ("Nan Sparrow, felled by the Devil's Nudge? Maybe another climber, but not [her]"). And as she attempts to hide from and outsmart him, she learns more about golems. Miss Bloom, a teacher from the young ladies' seminary, tells Nan that golems are created for a purpose and that "once a golem has fulfilled its purpose, it must die."

This story was the perfect mix of history, fantasy, and emotion. If one of those elements had been removed, it wouldn't have worked, but blended together, they were a magic combination.

I learned so much about the tragic life that was the reality of so many children during the Industrial Revolution.  At the back of the book, Jonathan Auxier shared a few historical facts and said, "By some estimates, the average life span of a climber was just five years." Five years. He talked about how horrific this was, especially given the fact that a mechanical brush had been invented almost a century before, but many homeowners didn't want sweeps to use it, "claiming that the brushes did not do as thorough a job as young climbers."

These dire facts might have overwhelmed the story if not for the fantasy aspect. Charlie lightened up the story considerably. Not only were his little questions and statements so innocent and funny ("Oh yes, you are doing privacy"), but knowing that he would protect Nan at all costs made it seem like the story would somehow turn out right. It was also fascinating to learn about the history of golems within the Jewish tradition.

But what really made this story jump up to the next level was that it had this undercurrent of love and compassion and hope. By the end, I cared deeply for Nan and Toby and Miss Bloom and Newt and, of course, Charlie.

At one point, Nan and Toby were eating amaretto ice on top of a roof (yes, there were still some very idyllic moments, in spite of the hardship). Nan confided her fears regarding Charlie: "I'm afraid . . . What if I can't protect him?" Toby answered, "That's what it is to care for a person. If you're not afraid, you're not doing it right."

I read this book out loud to my kids, and although it was a little bit difficult for 6-year-old Clark to follow, it was a completely immersive experience for the rest of us. We were wrapped up in Nan and Charlie's adventures, and as we got to the climax, we literally could not pull ourselves away from the story.

During one particularly tender moment, I couldn't keep the tears from leaking. Maxwell looked at me and said, "You're crying. You're actually crying." I've cried at the end of many other books, but for some reason, he seemed to take more notice of it this time. He has brought it up a couple of times since then ("Mom actually cried at the end of that book"), and I think it was maybe the first time he realized the power of a good story and how much it can make you feel.

Toby told Nan, "We save ourselves by saving others," and that was true for so many relationships in this book: the Sweep to Nan, Nan to Charlie, Miss Bloom to Nan . . . as well as one beautifully unexpected one that I won't spoil by sharing. But if there's one lesson I hope my kids took away from Nan's story, it was exactly that: We save ourselves by saving others. Isn't that so completely true?

Marilla of Green Gables by Sarah McCoy

If I had seen this book on a library display stand, I would have passed it by without so much as a second glance. I have never been drawn to fan fiction. I prefer to just stick with the real thing and leave the rest of the story up to my own, not someone else's, imagination.

And in the case of my beloved Anne Shirley, that is even more true. How could anyone possibly try to get inside L.M. Montgomery's creativity and flesh out a backstory? The very idea seemed impossible, not to mention almost sacrilegious.

But it was my friend who read it first. Her love of Anne runs deep as well, so I felt like I could trust her when she said, "It was actually really well done. I think you would like it."

So I decided to take a chance. And I was pleasantly surprised.

The story was anchored in familiarity while still standing uniquely on its own. It was delightful to have Marilla introduced to "the White's daughter" and realize with a start that it was none other than Rachel Lynde. Or watch Marilla head the fundraising of the Ladies' Aid Society's by selling bottles of homemade raspberry cordial. Or notice a certain lovely amethyst brooch pinned on Marilla's dress.

But then there were new things never before considered: unconventional Aunt Izzy who chose to remain a spinster in order to pursue a career and a life outside Avonlea; the death of Marilla's mother, which forced Marilla to grow up early; an underground abolitionist organization to help protect runaway slaves. These things propelled the story forward in its own way without being tied to events and details from the future.

In spite of all of these good things however, the story was actually quite painful.  This had nothing to do with the writing (which was really quite lovely and, thankfully, did not attempt to mimic L.M. Montgomery's lavish descriptions) or the pacing (which surprised me with an intense climax at the end).

No, it was painful because, at its center, there was John Blythe with his self-assured smile and strong opinions, and he was just so gosh darn likeable. It broke my heart over and over again because I knew how it was going to end before it even began. I couldn't enjoy his tutoring of Marilla or his slow clap after her speech at the town debate (reminiscent of another slow clap after a striking performance of "The Highwayman") or his sweet kiss after falling into the stream. Each tender moment was like a jab to my heart. I wanted to will the story to go one way, all while knowing there was absolutely no way for it to work out.

And that begged the question, Did I actually want their romance to be reconciled? If there had been a Marilla and John, then there would never have been an Anne and Gilbert, and that would have been even more tragic.

In the end, it was Marilla's fierce loyalty to her father and brother that kept her from John, but the sad irony was that they would have given her their blessing over and over again. Matthew as a young man was just as you might imagine him to be--quiet but very kind and mostly keeping his opinions to himself.

At one point, he was in a bit of a political argument with John. Marilla, who was listening in on their conversation, couldn't stand the way John seemed to be pushing Matthew around. She rushed in to defend Matthew and put John in his place.

Matthew was not one to reprimand Marilla or tell her what to do, but after John left, he said, "I have a voice just as much as you do. It's a choice we make every minute--what truths are important enough to say aloud and what ones are important just to know." It was that quiet knowing that really defined Matthew's character--both in this book and later on with Anne, and the author captured it so well.

I kind of thought Anne might show up at the very end in an epilogue, but she didn't. Instead, Sarah McCoy chose to end it twelve years before Anne's arrival at Green Gables when Marilla's hope for a child was still just a wish in the grass.

But even though Marilla didn't know what was on her horizon, I did. And knowing that Anne would be coming in just a few years made me happy--and made me want to reread the books and rewatch the movies because of course that's the only possible logical next step after reading a book like this.

Range: Why Generalists Triumph in a World of Specialization by David Epstein

My father-in-law and I were swapping book recommendations one evening a few months ago. Although we both read quite a bit, it isn't too often that our book tastes cross paths. (We both love history, but he wants it dense with facts while I prefer it laced with emotion and drama.)

But one of the books he mentioned caught my attention. He said it was about why the world needs people who haven't limited themselves to one area but have developed broadly across a wide range of disciplines. As a parent who is always wondering if it's "too late" for one of my kids to try something or if we've made a lifetime commitment to something just because we've done it for six months, I was totally intrigued by this idea.

I also knew immediately, without even reading it, why my father-in-law loved it.

Because he raised nine generalists.

Mike and each of his eight siblings grew up trying a variety of sports, instruments, clubs, and activities. Their parents pushed them very little. If they wanted to try something, it was up to them to figure out a way to get there and sometimes they were responsible for paying for it too. If they wanted to quit and move onto something else, that was seen as both acceptable and normal.

Although some of Mike's siblings have been to known to complain about the lack of visible support or encouragement, it cannot be denied that every single one of them is talented, diverse, and not in the least afraid to try new things. Because of that, I would want any of them on my team, no matter the subject. There is not a better representation of a well-rounded individual than Mike and his brothers and sisters.

While I was in the middle of this book, Mike heard about a problem that one of my friends was having with the diapers for her daughter. Mike said, "The engineer in me says someone needs to design a better diaper." Before I even knew what was happening, boxes of diaper-making supplies started showing up on our porch.

I laughed and teased Mike for thinking he could design something that people who have diaper design as their job had failed at.

But then I read about InnoCentive, an organization that "facilitates entities in any field acting as 'seekers,' paying to post challenges, and rewards for outside 'solvers.'" Basically the idea is that if you have an unsolvable problem, you can post the challenge to this website, and then solvers across all disciplines and demographics can bring their own expertise to the table to come up with solutions.

The company was founded by Alph Bingham, a chemist who used to work for Eli Lilly. In 2001, as VP of research and development strategy, he "collected twenty-one problems that had stymied Eli Lilly scientists." He asked if he could post them on a website for anyone to see. Some of the scientists thought the problems were too confidential and also wondered at Bingham's audacity in proposing that just your average Joe could solve a problem that had evaded the most highly-trained and highly-specialized chemists. And yet, after Bingham launched the problems, answers started rolling in: "Strangers were creating substances that had befuddled Eli Lilly chemists. As Bingham had guessed, outside knowledge was the key." He said, "It validated the hypothesis we had going in, but it still surprised me how these knowledge pockets were hidden under other degrees. I wasn't really expecting submissions from attorneys."

I found this chapter, "The Outsider Advantage," so fascinating. And after reading it, I went to Mike and said, "You know what, on second thought, you might be the perfect person for fixing this diaper conundrum. You go for it."

The author made a point that I've thought about again and again since finishing this book. He said, "The bigger the picture, the more unique the potential human contribution. Our greatest strength is the exact opposite of narrow specialization. It is the ability to integrate broadly."  In other words, if we put all of our time and energy into becoming highly specialized, then robots are going to put us out of a job. We can develop a machine to analyze data and solve problems with a narrow focus. It is our ability to gather and integrate information and think outside the box that makes us valuable. Gary Marcus (a psychology and neuroscience professor) said, "In narrow enough worlds, humans may not have much to contribute much longer."

One of the things I really loved about this book was the way that David Epstein approached this topic from many different angles. The book began with two prominent sports figures (Tiger Woods and Roger Federer), who represented opposite sides of the specialist to generalist spectrum. Knowing that David Epstein was a sports writer, I was a little worried that with an opening like that, this book would have a high concentration of sports examples.

But that was not the case at all. Epstein brought in stories from all walks of life (chess, music, science, sports, academics, medicine) and across cultures and history (18th-century Venice to Japan at the turn of the 21st century to Hungary right after World War II). It felt like Epstein took his own advice and didn't limit his analyzation of this topic to his own area of interest and expertise.

I had to laugh when I was at book club talking about this book. First of all, I was one of only two people who had finished it. Everyone said it was a little slow or too technical. They were interested in the general premise, but when it came right down to actually reading it, they preferred a summary. (This was not my "serious" book club, in case you were wondering.) I didn't feel that way about this book at all, but maybe that's because I listened to it (and at double speed, too).

Anyway, one of the women (the one who had actually read the whole thing) said, "It was interesting, but . . . it's just that he kept talking about chess. And I don't care anything about chess!" I maybe shouldn't have, but I actually retorted, "Isn't that the whole point of the book? That we don't limit ourselves to just our pet interests but read and learn about other areas? That we have range?" In fact, the author quoted someone who said that exact thing--that every day we should challenge ourselves to read about or explore a topic that isn't in our preferred genre. I found my book club to be an interesting social experiment. Much as we might like the idea of developing a broad range of skills, it is challenging to actually break out of our comfort zones. I will be the first to admit that I like what I like and would often like to just continue what I'm doing and not rock the boat.

That said, I felt somewhat empowered after reading this book. I often feel guilty that I got my bachelor's degree in something that I don't feel particularly passionate about. I mean, I thought I was passionate about it at the time, but I realized pretty quickly into it that my interest level did not match those of my peers. Maybe I should have switched majors at that point. But I actually quite enjoyed my time . . . I just wouldn't go back into the same field. This book validated and normalized those feelings. I am not tethered to that area just because I chose it once, and those skills will go with me in whatever  I want to try next.

The author quoted psychologist Dan Gilbert, who said, "We are works in progress claiming to be finished." This book helped me realize that who I am now doesn't have to be who I am tomorrow. I am a fluid being, a work in progress, taking in information and transforming it into something else.

When Maxwell was in third grade, I was complaining because I had a little cold. I said something like, "Why do I have to have this cold?" And Max, taking my question seriously, said, "I don't know. I haven't studied biology very much." I replied, "Maybe someday you'll want to be a doctor and help with these kinds of things." Max quickly said, "Oh I don't think so. You see, I've already devoted a lot of time to becoming an entomologist."

At eight years old, Max had already decided that he was well on the path to becoming an entomologist. But the beauty of life is that if he changes his mind at 12 or 21 or 35, he can do that. And you never know, maybe his knowledge of goliath beetles will help him find a cure for cancer.

Because that's what range can do.

The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle by Avi

If an award was given for "worst cover ever," this book would probably be a top contender. I passed over it many times as a kid at the library because it looked rather dull. I guessed it was about a girl traveling across the ocean. Her voyage looked happy, even pleasant. Look at her serene expression, her hair blowing gently in the breeze, her crisp and frilly outfit. I assumed her "true confessions" were about a secret love interest or some other silly nonsense.

Nothing could be further from the reality of this book.

How about mutiny, murder, and hurricanes on the high seas instead?

Charlotte Doyle has lived most of her life at Barrington School in England, but the time has come for her to return home to Providence, Rhode Island. As such, her father booked her passage on a merchant ship, the Seahawk. The circumstances are not ideal for a refined young woman, but two other families will also be sailing on the ship, so Charlotte will not be alone.

But when she arrives at the dock in Liverpool, she finds out that neither family will be able to make the voyage after all. Not only that, but Charlotte can't even find a porter who is willing to take her trunk to the ship because the name Seahawk has an instant negative effect on everyone who hears it.

With a deep sense of foreboding, but no other alternative, Charlotte boards the ship. Her fears are not allayed: Her cabin is small and cramped, the sailors are coarse and frightening, and she doesn't know how she'll ever maintain proper decorum through such a long journey. One sailor, Barlow, warns her: "You're being here will lead to no good, miss. No good at all. You'd be better off far from the Seahawk." In addition to that, the ship's cook, an old black sailor by the name of Zachariah, offers her a dirk, and you know things can't be good if someone think you may need a knife to protect yourself.

It is also obvious from the very beginning that there is quite a bit of dissatisfaction and unrest among the crew, and it seems to be directed toward the captain, Andrew Jaggery. But Charlotte thinks the captain is the only civilized human on board (besides herself, of course), and she is determined to stay close to him in spite of the warnings from the rest of the crew.

Things come to a head when Charlotte accidentally finds a round robin in the crew's quarters--a type of symbol that signifies unity before a mutiny. Captain Jaggery reveals his true (ugly) colors, and Charlotte instantly switches loyalty, casts away her restricting dresses, and joins the crew.

I don't think my boys would have ever decided to read this book on their own, but it worked perfectly as a readaloud. It had plenty of suspense, adventure, and yes, unfortunately, blood to keep them extremely interested. Almost every chapter ended with a cliffhanger, which made it nearly impossible to find a good place to stop reading each night. They never wanted me to quit in the middle of a chapter, but every time I got to the end, they said, "Mom! You can't stop there! You know you can't stop there." As the climax approached, we had no other choice except to keep reading.

I will say that in spite of the thrilling adventure in this book, I came away severely disappointed by one thing (spoiler ahead):

I kept waiting for the crew to rise up in defense of Charlotte. I had it all worked out in my head: Captain Jaggery would attack her, and just as her fate seemed inevitable, they would rush to her aide in a display of true friendship and loyalty.

But the moment never came.

At first, it was understandable. They were trying to protect Zachariah because he had been one of their mates for years. But even once it was clear that Zachariah was innocent, they remained stoic and impassive, paralyzed by doubt and fear.

Perhaps it was the author's intent to give Charlotte the full spotlight at the end--to demonstrate that a girl doesn't need any help from a bunch of rough and tumble sailors. But even though it made Charlotte look awesome, everyone else (except perhaps Zachariah) was disappointingly weak, and I wouldn't trust any of them for friends in the future. Plus, we're supposed to think that these men who couldn't be bothered to give Charlotte even so much as a nod of encouragement were all of a sudden going to be totally supportive of her becoming captain of the ship? I couldn't buy it.

It was one of those times where I wanted to take the book and rewrite the climax. It could have been so much better. It's not all about girl power. There needs to be a sense of camaraderie and loyalty as well, and that was missing.

(Spoilers over.)

Overall, we all loved it, and the parts that didn't meet our expectations gave us lots to talk about. It was a little advanced for Clark who was rather a fair weather listener. He was always in and out of the room, which meant he sometimes asked questions about the most obvious things: "Who's Captain Jaggery?" (The other boys: "What do you mean, who's Captain Jaggery?!?!?! Only the most evil captain to ever sail the seas.")

Our copy had a slightly updated cover. And even though it still might not be the most tantalizing, that dirk behind Charlotte's back does give you a clue that it will be about more than just salty winds and blue skies.

Cold Sassy Tree by Olive Ann Burns

Just a heads up: In the course of this review, I mention a couple of things that might be considered spoilers, so continue at your own risk.

When I was a kid, I can remember seeing both A Tree Grows in Brooklyn and Cold Sassy Tree on our bookshelves. Not knowing anything about either of them, I kind of thought of them as the same book--probably because they both had the word "tree" in their titles.

As an adult, I eventually picked up A Tree Grows in Brooklyn almost ten years ago, and I fell in love with everything about it. But Cold Sassy Tree remained unread, even though it seemed to get tossed around quite often as a suggestion at various book clubs over the years. It finally landed when my book club planned out our reading for 2020 and voted to read it in February for the relationships genre.

And surprisingly, even though the protagonists, storylines, and settings are markedly different between the two books, there was something about the writing that actually did end up reminding me of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Maybe it was just all in my head from my association with the two books in my childhood, but a certain quality under the surface seemed to resonate in each of these two books. Maybe it is just that both of them seem to exude that sharp and vibrant writing style that marks them as a modern classic. (Other books that have a similar feeling to me: Crossing to Safety, To Kill a Mockingbird, and East of Eden.)

The story is told from the 14-year-old perspective of Will Tweety in 1906. He lives in the town of Cold Sassy, Georgia with his mother, father, sister, grandma, grandpa, aunt, uncle, and cousin. His grandfather, E. Rucker Blakeslee, owns the general store and is well respected in the community.

That is, well respected until his wife, Mattie Lou, passes away and, not three weeks after her funeral, he elopes with the milliner, Miss Love Simpson. Mary Willis and Loma (Will's mother and aunt) are so mortified and ashamed of their father. They'll have absolutely nothing to do with Miss Love.

But Will likes her. She is kind and young (more than 20 years Mr. Blakeslee's junior), and so pretty. Ostracized from the rest of the town, she takes Will into her confidence, explaining that the marriage was really a business arrangement. Mr. Blakeslee gets a housekeeper, and she gets deeded the house and the furniture after his death.

But regardless of what it started out as, it is soon clear to Will that his grandfather has strong feelings for Miss Love, and Miss Love is slowly but surely reciprocating.

I don't know what I was expecting exactly, but this story unfolded in the most surprising way. Remember, it was told through the eyes of a 14-year-old boy; and while I didn't always enjoy being in the head of said 14-year-old (ahem, puberty), I have to admit that it cast the story in an interesting and compelling light. It felt so authentic and real that I couldn't quite fathom how a 60-year-old woman had written it.

Speaking of which, I enjoyed the writing style so much that I looked up Olive Ann Burns after I was finished to see what else she had written. Tragically, much like Harper Lee, it looks as though she was a one-book wonder. But I can't help but think that if her one and only book was this good, imagine what else she might have produced.

One of my favorite characters was Mr. Blakeslee. I loved the way he pushed against social constructs and laid aside conventionality in favor of what he deemed was right or proper . . . or just what he selfishly wanted. For example, when Miss Love is dismissed from being the Methodist pianist, he sees it as an opportunity to have a good time, just the two of them, singing and preaching together. (His religious views were rather unorthodox as well, but I loved them.) At another point, after Will's Uncle Campbell commits suicide, rather than making the whole affair feel shameful and unforgivable, Mr. Blakeslee pours out compassion and expects the whole town to come along with him in honoring the man. (It's quite possible that his actions were also a reflection of the guilt he felt, but it helped the town move forward in a positive way nonetheless.)

The most tender moment for me, and the one I'll probably always remember from this book, occurred when Will read the suicidal note from his uncle. The P.S. said, "I fixed the faucet," which alone about broke my heart since it was something his wife, Loma, had been nagging him to do for a long time. But then Will noticed that "even as I stood there holding his sweet and lonely words, I heard water going 'drip, drip, drip' into the bathtub." It was too much for me. It made me so sad to think that this man felt like he couldn't do anything right, and then, just before he took his own life, he tried to do something that would make his wife happy. But it hadn't worked; the faucet was still dripping. But then Will, in spite of all of his mischievous and naughty ways, picked up the wrench and changed the washer because, in his words, "nobody was going to say Campbell Williams was so sorry that he couldn't even fix a faucet." There were many heartbreaking moments in this story, but this one--this is the one that got to me.

I listened to the audio version of this book, and I thought it was fantastic. I never even cracked the cover of the actual book, so I never saw what the text was like. To me, the southern accents just flowed easily and naturally. But after going to book club and hearing about the experiences of those who had chosen to read rather than listen, I felt like I made the right choice. Apparently, the dialogue, which had been so engaging for me, was a bit of a beast to read when written out.

I was surprised to find out that this book was published in 1984. For some reason, I expected it to be older than that. I think it has that timeless feel that makes it difficult to place in a certain decade. I can see why many people think of it as a modern classic. It is multi-layered and vivid and just so real. 

Lovely War by Julie Berry

The last book review I wrote was at the end of July, over six months ago.

 

I can't believe it has been so long since I have graced this blog with my deep thoughts after finishing a book.

But this is a book worth breaking my silence for. It is difficult to write a review of a book I hated (or had mixed feelings about). But it is exhilarating to talk about a book where I loved every single page. And that's what I get to do this time.
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The basic premise of the book might sound a little strange at first, but stay with me. I promise it works beautifully.

The story begins in 1942 in a hotel room in New York City. Aphrodite (the Greek goddess of love) has just been caught by her husband, Hephaestus, having an affair with his brother, Ares (the Greek god of war).

Ensnared in an incriminating golden net, Aphrodite pleads guilty but begs for a chance to explain. She says, "Do you want to see what real love looks like? Do you want to hear about my favorites? Some of my finest work?"

When Hephaestus relents, Aphrodite begins, "I'll tell you the story of an ordinary girl and an ordinary boy--a true story. No, I'll do one better; I'll tell you two."

And with that, she takes her audience back in time to London in 1917 where Hazel Windercott meets James Aldridge at a parish dance, and it is as close to love at first sight as one can get. Their romance is adorably sweet and innocent but lasts only a few days before James reports for duty in the Great War.

The second love story involves Colette Fournier (a Belgian who lost her entire family when her village was massacred) and Aubrey Edwards (an African-American pianist/soldier).

There are so many things I could tell you about this book and why I loved it so much, but I’ll just share three.

First, it was eye opening to learn more about the Great War, especially how black American soldiers were treated by their fellow countrymen. This paragraph, told in Apollo’s voice, sums up the tragedy of it:

"Another week, and tensions will overflow. The army, hoping to prevent a race riot, will decide there's no good place in the states to put them [black American soldiers], and no English-speaking outfit anywhere along the Western front that will serve beside them. So they'll hand them off to the French army like a goodwill offering. No, toss them like a hot potato. No, lob them . . . like a hand grenade."

I often feel proud of the sacrifice made by my country to bring about the end of both world wars, but learning more about the prejudices and violence within the American army because white soldiers weren’t willing to fight with black soldiers was so disheartening, it made me feel sick. It’s so easy to focus on the unity that is felt when a country comes together in the same cause, but this is one time where differences were not overlooked, and the army suffered greatly because of it.

Second, I loved both romances so much, and, if pressed, I don’t think I could choose a favorite between the two couples. The writing was gorgeous and never seemed trite or cheesy (which was such a relief since I had tried another World War I book a few weeks before but gave up on it because the writing seemed so mediocre). Also, this is a book I would feel comfortable recommending to anyone—the romances were so sweet and innocent.

Third, I loved seeing this story through the perspective of the gods. Some friends I talked to said they didn’t really feel like the gods added much to the story, but I felt like they helped me see love and war and talent and beauty and heartache and death in a completely different light.

Here’s one favorite example of this (but be warned that it contains spoilers).

Spoilers ahead . . .

Aphrodite calls Hades as one of her witnesses, and hegives his own accounts of a few of the characters. I always tensed up a little when it was his turn, knowing that someone was probably going to die.

During one scene, Hazel and Collette were on a train together traveling to meet James when it is hit by an explosion. Hazel is killed when she throws herself over Collette to save her friend’s life. When this happened, I actually had to turn off the book (P.S., I listened to this, and the audio is excellent). I was in shock, and I said to myself, “No. No, no, no, no. That did not just happen.” When I finally drummed up the courage to turn it back on, Hazel was having a conversation with Hades (not a good sign). She asked to go back, and, surprisingly, Hades agreed to let her.

Some might say that this was too happy (and unrealistic) to have happened, but for me, it made the gods not only an entertaining part of the story but an essential one. It made sense that one of them would work out a deal with Hades, and I loved that that person was Hazel.

End of spoilers.

One of the big themes in the book is that everyone is broken by war, and because of that, everyone has some grief that they are carrying. At one point, Aubrey and Collette are talking, and Aubrey is apologizing because he is so torn up and devastated by the death of one of his friends (and feels quite a bit of survivor’s guilt because of it), but he knows Collette has suffered so much more loss than he has. Collette quiets him and says, “Grief is not a contest,” and I thought about how easy it is for us to compare our grief when really, grief is grief; a loss is a loss; heartache is heartache. It is all real and painful, and it’s okay to feel it.

I'm trying to remember when the last time was that I read a book where I got so much pleasure from the actual reading and also felt so incredibly satisfied when it was over. It’s been a long time, and I’m glad I can now add this book to that small and very exclusive list.

Three Recent Readalouds: "B" is for Betsy, The Show Must Go On, and Gooney Bird Greene

A couple of months ago, with the approach of his fifth birthday, I felt like I needed to make more of a concerted effort to invite Clark to listen when I was reading aloud to the other boys. I mean, the invitation was always there, but he almost always opted for Mike to read a picture book to him instead (definitely not a bad thing). I couldn't really blame him since the last few books we had read hadn't exactly been preschool-friendly.

So I followed my own advice and picked several books with short chapters, lots of pictures, and characters/plot that would appeal to a five-year-old. My older boys were super accommodating, which proves that kids just love to be read to, even if it's not what they would choose to read on their own.

1. "B" is for Betsy by Carolyn Haywood

This was a really sweet and adorable story. It felt like a cross between Betsy-Tacy and Ramona with that innocent old-school charm (it was first published in 1939) and just a touch of spunkiness (although not up to Ramona levels).

Betsy enters first grade at the beginning of the story (which, we soon realized, was more like kindergarten would be today). She meets Ellen on the first day, and they become fast friends. She gets lost on her way to school. Under her teacher's gentle supervision, her classroom grows tadpoles, organizes a gift for an older friend in need, and create their own circus.

You might think that this story would be too old-fashioned or too girly for my kids, but the truth is, we all enjoyed it. And it was especially a winner for Clark. The plot wasn't intense or complicated. He could keep track of all of the characters. And he latched onto all of Betsy's little adventures because, even in 2019, they still sounded like just the kind of thing he'd like to do, too.

Although this wasn't Clark's first time listening to a chapter book, it was the first time with all of his older brothers listening as well. And I think it made him feel like part of the club. He enjoyed jumping in with the answers when we did a little review every night and coming up with his own ideas for what was going to happen.

And it meant he got to have his back scratched, which Clark is always in favor of.

2. The Show Must Go On! by Kate and Sarah Klise

This was our second readaloud with Clark. And while it was a cute story, in retrospect, I actually wish I hadn't read it aloud.

I always say that first readalouds should have lots of pictures, but it turns out that it actually is possible to have too many pictures, and this book is the perfect example. There were pictures on almost every page, which in and of itself wasn't necessarily a bad thing. The problem was that many of the pictures contained speech bubbles or other textual information that was actually critical to the plot of the story but that had to be explained if you weren't reading it yourself (i.e., "This is a conversation between Gert and Bert"). It was a bit like reading a graphic novel aloud, which would be very difficult.

When Sir Sidney decides to take a much needed rest and go on vacation, he leaves his circus in the seemingly capable hands of Barnabas Brambles. But Barnabas is only interested in making money, and in just a short week's time, he has effectively done way more damage than good and has literally only made a dollar in the process.

It was a fun story, and we made it work as a readaloud, but I honestly think it would have been much more enjoyable for my kids if they had just read it on their own.

3. Gooney Bird Greene by Lois Lowry

I started reading this one with just Clark, but the other boys were around during the final three chapters, and even though they pretended they weren't listening, they totally were (especially Max, who picked up the book after we were finished so that he could read the first four chapters).

Turns out, this was actually a really easy book to just jump into the middle of because each chapter is kind of its own self-contained story. In fact, the art of storytelling is really the whole point of the book.

When Gooney Bird Greene arrives at Watertower Elementary, everyone can tell she isn't an ordinary girl (and it isn't just her name, although that alone is enough to make a person look twice). When Mrs. Pidgeon teaches the class about the format of a good story (it must have a beginning, middle, and end, etc.), all of the students agree that the story they most want to hear is about Gooney Bird Greene. And since that puts Gooney Bird right smack in the middle of everything, she is happy to oblige by sharing absolutely true stories about herself.

The thing is, they don't sound like true stories. One of them is titled "How Gooney Bird Came from China on a Flying Carpet." Another, "Beloved Catman is Consumed by a Cow." But by the end, the kids realize that Gooney Bird actually has lived a fairly ordinary life, but when presented in just the right way, it sounds rather extraordinary.

We liked this book, but it wasn't until the final chapter that I finally saw the genius behind it, and then I kind of loved it. Everything came together beautifully as Gooney Bird revisited the stories she had told and showed the class how each one of them also has similar experiences that are just waiting to be told.

I don't know if teachers use this book as a way to introduce the story format, but I can't imagine that they don't. This book is just too perfect not to use in a classroom setting.

What are some other short, easy readalouds Clark would enjoy?

Upstairs at the White House: My Life With the First Ladies by J.B. West

When I was growing up, my mom always tuned into Paul Harvey on the radio while she was making lunch. Besides the news and interesting stories, he also had a segment called The Rest of the Story where he revealed the little known history behind famous and well-known events.

This book was a little like that radio segment, giving a backdoor view of some of America's First Families.

J.B. West served as Assistant to the Chief Usher and then later as Chief Usher of the White House from 1941 to 1969. I have to admit, before I read this book, I didn't even know there was such a position as "Chief Usher," but basically Mr. West's job was to work directly with the First Ladies, helping each one make the White House her home, ensuring that social events ran smoothly, overseeing the staff, and generally helping with all of the ins and outs of daily life. As such, he had a unique view of the President of the United States and his family, one that was often more personal than was portrayed by the media.

During his time at the White House, he served Eleanor Roosevelt, Bess Truman, Mamie Eisenhower, Jacqueline Kennedy, Lady Bird Johnson, and Pat Nixon. As each presidency turned over, Mr. West introduced the reader to the new First Lady and immediately shared little anecdotal stories that helped create a clear impression of this woman that contrasted sharply with all of the others. These women did not run together in a blur of First Ladies. Each one was uniquely her own person.

As I neared the end of the book, I wrote down the name of each First Lady and any words that came to mind that would help me remember her. These are merely my own observations and as such are not necessarily an accurate or complete representation of these women:

Eleanor Roosevelt: somewhat aloof, very busy, boundless energy, politically active, more interested in things outside of the White House than in it, distant relationship with the President

Bess Truman: simple, practical, not flashy, well-informed, adviser, private, very much in love with her husband and daughter

Mamie Eisenhower: vivacious, spunky, sparkly, opinionated, formal, elegant, high-class, openly affectionate

Jackie Kennedy: quiet, unassuming, sophisticated, witty, ambitious, educated, dedicated to history and the fine arts, unemotional 

Lady Bird Johnson: selfless, people-pleaser, social but private, loyal, friendly, hands off but particular 

Pat Nixon: reserved, decisive, warm (J.B. West only worked for her for six weeks, so she was the least well-known.)

One of the things that surprised me was how much freedom the First Ladies had to change around the White House and make it work for their families: bedrooms into dining rooms, the swimming pool into a press room (J.B.West's biggest regret), walls torn down and new ones built, a schoolroom designed for Caroline Kennedy and later transformed into a teenager hangout for Lucy Johnson, trees planted for privacy, furniture swapped in and out, a whole network of phone lines added, and the plumbing completely reworked to get strong enough water pressure for Lyndon Johnson (they were never able to actually please him).

I also appreciated how respectful J.B. West was of the privacy of the First Families. If you want a book that is full of scandalous details, this isn't it. And I felt like that was as it should be. Mr. West had a very personal relationship with each of the First Ladies, and trust was an integral part of that relationship. Even though the relationship technically ended once the President left office, I think it shows the kind of man that Mr. West was that he would still hold that trust sacred even once there wouldn't have been any negative repercussions.

And finally, there was just something so comforting in seeing the orderly way in which the Presidency was transferred each time. It was methodical and unemotional. At exactly 12:00 noon on the day of inauguration, the staff unpacked the new President's belongings with crisp efficiency so that by the time the First Family arrived, it was as if they had always lived there. In a world where emotions run high and people have strong opinions and biases, it is nice to know that some things continue to run the same no matter who is in office.

When I started reading this book, I didn't know that it would end up feeling like just the right lead-up for Independence Day. It was a hearkening back to the past while giving hope for the future, and its subtle undertone of patriotism was just perfect.

That We May Be One: A Gay Mormon's Perspective on Faith and Family by Tom Christofferson

Please note: this book (and consequently, this review) reflects some of my beliefs on a sensitive topic. I know not everyone will hold the same view, and that's okay. I believe that discussing different viewpoints in a mutually respectful way brings greater compassion and empathy. I was grateful for the way this book expanded my heart just a little bit more.

Tom Christofferson grew up as the youngest of five boys. His parents were devout members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and so was he. He had a strong testimony of the Gospel, served a faithful mission, and even got married in the temple. But he was also gay. And the more he tried to fit into this preconceived idea of a "good" member of the Church, the more it didn't work for him. He couldn't get the two sides of himself (his faith and his sexual identity) to line up, and eventually, he left the Church.

He stayed away from the Church for over twenty-five years. During that time, his mother and father and four older brothers remained a constant source of strength and support in his life. Even though the rest of the them stayed strong in their religious convictions and standards (his oldest brother, Todd, was even called as an Apostle), they didn't let that stop them from loving Tom unconditionally.

And eventually, he came back. This book describes that process, but it is also a reflection on how we can be inclusive of all of our brothers and sisters, regardless of their beliefs and actions, and it is also Tom's own opinions on how he now fits into the Church as someone who is still gay but also faithfully keeping his covenants.

I really loved Tom's warm and kind personality, which came through so beautifully in this book.  But I also loved the way he was so candid and honest with his experience. After he decided to make a full return to the Church, he broke off his relationship with his partner of more than twenty years. That was extremely difficult for him (understandably so!), and one friend asked him why he couldn't find a way to be with his partner again. Tom answered, "The way I feel now, the way I experience the influence of the Holy Ghost, is powerful and delicious to me, and I don't ever want to live without it again." I thought that was a really interesting perspective from someone who had always lived a good life with high standards but who saw a noticeable difference in his ability to feel the Spirit when he resumed keeping the commandments. I know that this idea will be hard for some outside of my faith to understand and that Tom's decision might even rub them the wrong way. It might seem unfair or even wrong for Tom to have to hold back one part of himself in order to gain something else.

But his example of moving forward with faith through the questions and the doubts inspired me. This quote is a long one, but I still want to include it here to help me remember it in the future:

"I draw a parallel between my situation and that of the people of King Benjamin, who lived 120 years before the Savior was born. As they listened to their prophet-king, and through the power of the Spirit, they were converted to the gospel of Jesus Christ. They likely understood that Jesus embodied the higher law of the gospel, which would subsume and replace the law of Moses. And yet, for the rest of their lives, while being converted to Christ they continued to live the Mosaic law. I feel similarly, that more fulsome and more expansive ways to understand all our relationships and connections may be forthcoming, but meanwhile it is my determination to live the law I have.

Even though my challenges and questions may be different from Tom's, I have them just the same, and this is the kind of attitude and perspective I want to have--one of faith and trust: that God loves me perfectly and that His plan is grander and more expansive than my limited vision. There are many things that don't make sense to me, and sometimes these things pull me back and impede my progress because I don't know how to move forward without answers. But this is the answer: trust that there is more; trust that my knowledge isn't complete; trust that God loves all of His children.

Tom's mom seems like she must have been quite an amazing lady. When Tom was still just a baby, his mother was diagnosed with cancer. She underwent many radiation treatments, and one day, she said to her mother, "I can't stand having 16 more of those treatments." Her mother said, "Can you go today?" She replied, "Yes," and then her mother said, "Well, honey, that's all you have to do today." Tom applied that advice to his own life, and I like to think I can use it in my life as well. I just have to do the best that I can today. I don't have all of the answers, but I do have some answers, and so I can take one day at a time, trusting that with each step, I will gain a little more ground.

Tom quoted Joseph Smith, who said, "When you climb up a ladder, you must begin with the first, and go on until you learn all the principles of exaltation. But it will be a great while after you have passed through the veil before you will have learned them. It is not all to be comprehended in this world; it will be a great work to learn our salvation and exaltation even beyond the grave." I liked the idea that this progression will continue beyond this life and into the next. Little by little, the picture will gradually become more complete.

I was so glad to have read this book. I'm sure it took a certain amount of courage and bravery for Tom to be vulnerable and write about his experiences, but I'm so grateful he did. I know I have room to be more inclusive and kind, and I am working on it. In a world where it is so easy to say the wrong thing or have it be interpreted the wrong way, this book gave me hope that reaching out in love and compassion is always the right answer.

The Hired Girl by Laura Amy Schlitz

Sometimes I put off reviewing books I loved because it feels to daunting to try to condense all of my overflowing gushing into one little post.

And that is precisely why it has taken me over three weeks to write about this book.

It cannot be denied that even though 2019 has not been a huge reading year for me so far in terms of quantity, it definitely has been in quality. I have loved almost everything I've read.

But at this point, this book probably tops the list for me. It just checked every single one of my boxes: it was historical (just after the turn of the century--one of my very favorite time periods); it was written as a journal (my favorite way to read a first-person narrative); the story was sweet and innocent (a true young adult novel--although I'd probably still hold off giving it to a young teenager (I'll explain why in a minute)); the ending did not disappoint me (and I was so scared that it would!).

But most of all, it made me want to keep reading. I found myself sneaking in a few pages here and another few pages there. Any chance I could get, I was back with Joan, unfolding another bit of her story. And even though I've read so many good books this year, none of them have compelled me to keep reading the way this one did.

I loved it so much.

Joan Skraggs is a bright, intelligent young woman, but her potential is literally being snuffed out by her belligerent, hard-hearted father. He pulls her out of school and relegates her to the life of a chore woman on the farm. In a panic, Jane envisions her life stretching before her and realizes that she is trapped. Nothing will ever change. This will be her life forever.

But then by chance, she sees an advertisement in the newspaper for a hired girl. It promises six dollars a week, and that sounds like a fortune to Joan. She knows she has to at least try. It is what her mother would have wanted for her. Donning a (hideous) new dress, adding a few years to her age (from 14 to 18), and giving herself a new name (Janet Lovelace), she takes the train to Baltimore, burning her tracks behind her.

Baltimore is big and noisy and crowded, and Joan is completely overwhelmed when she arrives late at night without a single reference. She has all but resigned herself to sleeping on a bench in what appears to be a well-to-do, safe neighborhood when Solomon Rosenbach happens upon her and insists that she follow him home to meet his mother.

And that is how she ends up as a hired girl for the Rosenbachs--a Jewish family made up of Mr. and Mrs. Rosenbach, married daughter Anna, sons Solomon and David, young daughter Mimi, and long-time housekeeper Malka.

Joan's voice is vibrant and authentic, and she is impossible not to love. She has a little bit of Anne Shirley in her but is still very much her own self. She is dramatic and emotional. Her entries sway wildly between ecstatic and despairing, and, for the most part, it is completely endearing.

One of the really brilliant aspects of the writing is the conflict between Joan's pretended age of eighteen and her real age of fourteen. Sometimes I forgot she wasn't really eighteen. After all, she had left home, was earning her own wages, and was very responsible. But then I'd think, "Why is she acting like a lovesick teenager?? Oh yeah, because she is only fourteen, and this is literally the first crush she has ever had on a boy!" It really would have been so easy to just make her grow up really fast or not at all, but both ages were very much a part of who Joan was as she came into her own self.

On that subject, I'll just add one word of caution. The story is very mild and innocent (refreshingly so!), but there was one scene towards the end where Joan's emotions overcome her better judgment and she makes a rash offer. Nothing comes of it, and for an older teenager, I think it would actually be somewhat enlightening because you can see how quickly you can lose all sense of reality when you think you're in love. But personally, I don't know if I would be totally comfortable with a younger teenager (say, under fourteen) being confronted with this mature situation. But then, you know I usually fall on the very conservative side of things.

One of the things I loved about this story was the juxtaposition of two very different religions. The Rosenbachs are orthodox Jews while Joan tries to be a devout Catholic. Being a part of the Rosenbach household, Joan learns very quickly about kashrut (which foods are acceptable and the appropriate ways to prepare and clean up after them), the rituals surrounding Shabbos, and the inexcusable condition of anti-Semitism. As Joan studies Catholism with Father Horst and prepares to be confirmed, she has deep conversations with Mr. Rosenbach about the differences in their religions, and I loved these discussions. At one point, Joan says, "Mr. Rosenbach, have you ever gone off by yourself and tried to feel that Jesus Christ is your Savior? Maybe if you were to go somewhere quiet, and sit still and open your heart to Him, you might be saved from damnation. Don't you think it might be a good idea to try?" And Mr. Rosenbach (kindly but with laughter behind his eyes) counters with, ""Miss Lovelace, have you ever gone off to a quiet place, and sat very still, and tried to imagine that Jesus Christ is not your Savior?" Joan is at once horrified at the very idea, and I thought it was the perfect way to demonstrate that we all try to follow the feelings in our hearts as best we can, and that is going to look different for everyone.

I began recommending this book before I'd even finished it, but I did it with a caveat: "It's so good, I'm loving it so far, but the ending might ruin it." And indeed, as I got closer and closer to the end, I was convinced it really was going to all come crashing down, and I was going to hate it. But I'm happy to say that the ending was perfect, and I have no need to retract any of my premature recommendations. In fact, now I would give it my wholehearted stamp of approval.

I leave you with a little taste of Joan: "[Mrs. Rosenbach] said, 'I'm sure you don't mean to be rude, Janet, but I'm afraid you're rather impetuous.' I nodded agreement and tried to look penitent--though I like the idea of being impetuous. It sounds like a heroine. I'd rather be impetuous than placid any day."

Three Recent Re-reads: Princess Academy, Their Eyes Were Watching God, and From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler

I've had the pleasure of re-reading a few excellent books over the last couple of months. Rereading is so great, especially when you have a horrible memory like I do and can basically enjoy it like the first time all over again!

Princess Academy by Shannon Hale

When I suggested this as our next readaloud, my boys balked a little at the title. With the word "princess" in the title, it does tend to come across as a little bit girly. But having already read it twice myself, I assured them they had nothing to fear.

But . . . it turns out . . . I had forgotten how slow-paced this book is. It didn't seem slow when I was reading it to myself. But when I was reading it to three boys who just couldn't wait for the bandits to arrive, suddenly Miri's repetitive thoughts on whether she would rather stay on Mount Eskel or move to the palace and become a princess seemed rather dull and boring. I caught myself thinking, Oh no, Miri, not again. Do you have to agonize over your feelings for Peder one more time? 

Over the years of reading aloud to my boys, I haven't shied away from books that might be seen as being more traditionally for girls. Consequently, some of our favorite books have starred female protagonists, such as The Penderwicks, Ramona, and Pippi Longstocking. But I can also recognize that there are certain themes and subjects and plots that my boys are just more naturally drawn to. And daydreaming about what it might be like to be a princess isn't one of them. (In all fairness though, it isn't really a matter of girl vs. boy as much as just a matter of taste. For example, I don't enjoy books with fantasy creatures in them; that doesn't have anything to do with the fact that I'm a girl, but rather, that's just my personal preference.)

But we held out for the promised siege, and it was worth the wait (although, I have to say, I don't remember being so incredulous about Dan's demise when I read it the first two times . . . tiny Miri was able to hold onto a root with huge Dan hanging onto one of her legs???? No way. I'm sorry, but no way.)

So all's told, it was a bit of a let down. It pains me to say it, but it was. I still liked the writing (how about this wisdom from Doter: "Unhappiness can't stick in a person's soul when it's slick with tears"), but the story was a bit of a drag. This is why I'm sometimes afraid to reread a book I loved in the past. You just never know how it's going to strike you on a reread.

(For a more positive review, read the one I wrote back in 2012.)

Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston

I read this book for the first time in 2013, but when it was selected for my book club's "classic" month, I knew I would need to reread it as I could remember almost nothing from before.

I purposely held off reading my review of it because I wanted to be able to experience it this time without being influenced by my 2013 self. (I will probably finally go back and read it after I finish writing this review.)

What I found was that bits of the story immediately came back to me as soon as I began listening. I remembered Janie's three husbands (Logan, Jody, and Tea Cake) before I was re-introduced to them. I knew each one would be flawed but that the last one would be the best. And Janie saved her best self for the end as well. According to Tea Cake, "God made it so you spent your old age first with somebody else and saved up your young girl days to spend with me." I thought that was so sweet.

This time I was struck by the characters of the three men: Logan's biggest fault was that he was old and boring, something that wasn't exactly under his control. Jody's was that he wanted all good things to be credited back to him, no matter the cost. And Tea Cake's was that, for all of his love, he was still a bit immature. (I had forgotten the two big scenes that really highlight this weakness: the time he spends all of Janie's money having fun while she is home worrying; and the night he physically hurts her to prove to the world how much he loves her. Tea Cake was so likeable, and it was hard to see him make stupid choices, but they made him more real.)

Incredibly, I had forgotten how the book ends until I was literally right there, in the room with Tea Cake and Janie, both of them with a gun in their hands. Sometimes I am annoyed with my poor memory, but in moments like this, it means I get the full emotional impact all over again.

The other thing that surprised me was how little phrases from the book pinged with recognition inside me, like this one: "She stood there until something fell of the shelf inside her." I couldn't have quoted it, but once I heard it again, it registered as something I'd heard (and loved) before. The writing is just so good.

I'm guessing I shared this in my review the first time because I think it's one of the most beloved quotes from the book, but it's worth sharing again because it sums up the theme so beautifully: "Love is like the sea; it's a moving thing. But still and all, it takes its shape from the shore and changes with every shore it meets."

If you've somehow missed reading this classic, I highly recommend it.

From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler by E.L. Konigsburg

When Mike and I decided to go to New York for our anniversary, I had a sudden longing to revisit Claudia and Jamie's adventures. Originally, the Met was on our itinerary, and I thought it would be so fun to have this story in my head while we walked through the museum (even though many of the referenced landmarks are no longer there). Even though we ended up needing to cut it due to lack of time, this story still made an excellent companion on the flight there and back. I had forgotten how much I loved it.

I actually never read this book as a child. I know we owned a copy, but frankly, the cover did absolutely nothing to make me want to read it. (I actually just looked it up to see if it was as bad as I remembered. It was the 1976 edition, and yes, it was.) I had no idea what I was missing, but finally as an adult in 2009, I read it for the first time, and it was marvelous.

Claudia Kincaid feels unappreciated at home and decides it would be best to run away so her family realizes how much they would suffer without her. She carefully and methodically makes plans: She settles on a place (the Metropolitan Museum of Art), a time (on her way to school), and a companion (her middle brother Jamie--mostly because he has enough money to fund the entire grand scheme). Once they are well settled in a 16th-century bed, Claudia decides she can't go home until she has done something noteworthy, and figuring out if the Museum's newly acquired angel statue is really an early work of Michelangelo seems like just the thing.

One of the best parts of this book is the relationship between Claudia and Jamie. They start out as two normal siblings with plenty of arguing and bickering and not a lot of shared goals. But gradually, things come into alignment until something clicks. Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler explained it this way:

"What happened was they had become a team--a family of two . . . Becoming a team didn't mean the end of their arguments, but it did mean that the arguments became a part of the adventure, became discussions not threats. To an outsider, the arguments would appear to be the same because feeling like part of a team is something that happens invisibly. You might call it "caring." You could even call it "love." And it is very rarely indeed that it happens to two people at the same time, especially a brother and a sister who had always spent more time with activities than they had with each other."

The other really masterful part of this story is Claudia's subtle, almost invisible, transformation. When she runs away, she really gives no thought to her parents. She wants them to be sorry she's gone, but she doesn't have any idea about the mental and emotional anguish she will put her parents through when she and Jamie suddenly vanish without a trace (and, as a side note, I couldn't help thinking that even in 1967, this story was probably somewhat unbelievable. But in 2019? It could never happen. Those two kids would have been found within hours of leaving). But then it becomes more about making some sort of impact or contribution before she goes home so her time will be well spent. But eventually, she realizes that she can go home and still be plain, sensible Claudia Kincaid and that that will enough (especially once she has the secret of the statue secured). In the words of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler: "Happiness is excitement that has found a settling down place."

Even though we didn't get to visit the Met, there was still something about being in New York with this story bumping around in my brain that just made it so much more special and fun. Also, it put me in an E.L. Konigsburg sort of mood. I need to read some of her other books.

What have been some of your recent rereads? Did your opinions change or stay the same?

Girl, Wash Your Face by Rachel Hollis

Before my book club decided to read this book, I'd never even heard of Rachel Hollis. (Since she has 1.3 million followers on Instagram, maybe that means I've been living under a rock; it wouldn't be the first time.)

But even not knowing a thing about her, I made assumptions about the book. And those assumptions made me less than excited about reading it.

And now comes the part where I say, "But I was wrong! This book changed my life!"

Except . . .

I was right.

The book was basically exactly what I thought it was going to be. The general gist? Be true to yourself. Pursue your passion. Achieve your dreams. You've got this, girl.

I am not above reading motivational self-help books. In fact, there are times when it's a genre I quite enjoy. But in this case, there were a couple of overarching things that I just couldn't get past.

First, Rachel Hollis came across as a bit full of herself. I don't know how many times she mentioned her self-made company, wide recognition, and devoted tribe, but it was more than enough for me. Also, there was something about the way she touted her many years of experience and wisdom that just rubbed me the wrong way. For example, she wrote about being named by Inc. Magazine as one of the top thirty entrepreneurs under the age of thirty. This initiated a slew of speaking engagements at various colleges, and she said that every time, she would get some variation of the same question (my snide comments and observations are in the [ ]): "'Hi, Rachel,' they'd always begin (because apparently we call adults by their first names now like we're a bunch of hippies! [last time I checked, college students were also adults]). 'Can you tell us the secret of your success? Like, what's the one thing that truly gives you an advantage over others?' First of all, God bless our youth [that are, at most, ten years younger than she is]. God bless these wee infants who believe that a lifetime [29 years] of hustling and working and sweating and stressing and building, building, building a company could be summarized with one single answer."

Do you see what I'm talking about? If she was named one of the top entrepreneurs under the age of thirty, then that means that the very oldest she could be was twenty-nine, right? And here she is, talking about a lifetime of hard work like she's eighty or something! Granted, she has worked really hard and accomplished as much or more than some people do in an entire lifetime, but still, it was presumptuous of her to act like she had all of the answers at the ripe old age of twenty-nine.

Second, our dreams did not match up. Like, at all. Of course it's not her fault that I don't want to be an entrepreneur or run my own company or give advice to millions of people or plan large-scale events. And she's quick to say that your dreams don't have to be the same as her dreams--you just need to identify what your dreams are and then go for them. The funny thing is, you might think we have some things in common since she is also a Type A/Upholder personality, a wife, a mom, and religious--just like me. But even within those categories, we're actually really, extremely different. So yeah, it just wasn't the greatest fit for me. Not her fault.

I will say that in Rachel's defense (I'm thirty-four, so does that make me enough of an adult to call her by her first name?), I read a paper copy of the first two-thirds of the book and then switched to the audio (which Rachel reads herself) for the last third. And I liked it much better. Somehow, hearing her interpretation of the words made them sound more genuine and authentic. Given the fact that she does do a lot of public speaking, I guess this makes sense--maybe this book is a little like poetry: it makes more sense when it is read aloud.

Also, for all of my cynicism, I was actually incredibly impressed with her own vulnerability and the way she opened up and shared some very personal stories, some of which did not always put her in the best light. She has gone through some extremely difficult and challenging and heart wrenching things, and I respect her for being honest and open in the hopes that by so doing, she will help others through their own hard things.

The book wasn't all for naught. Besides finding some of her stories really captivating and interesting, I also had a couple of takeaways.

The first was when she was talking about goals and developing habits. She said, "It's much easier to add a habit than to take one away." Even though I kind of pride myself on being able to make and achieve goals, when she said that, a little light bulb clicked on for me. Suddenly I could see why I was having a hard time eating more healthily. It sounds a little bit stupid when I write it out, but I was trying to cut the junk food out of my life without filling it in with nutritious foods. I was trying to break a habit of bad eating instead of creating a new habit of healthy eating.

The second thing I really loved was when she quoted Tony Robbins, who said, "If you're going to blame your hard times for all the things that are wrong in your life, you better also blame them for the good stuff, too." Without getting into the details because I think that's Rachel's story to tell, she shared the traumatic experience of losing her brother and then acknowledging that some positive things came out of that horrible event. This was a little bit mind-blowing to me. While I definitely believe that God can turn all experiences for our good, I've always been hesitant to acknowledge that good because it feels wrong to be at all grateful for something bad. But this insight gave me a new perspective.

I feel a little like a jerk for criticizing certain aspects of this book, but I always try to give as honest of a review as possible. And the truth is, I wasn't in love with this one. (And thankfully, I know Rachel won't be reading this review because "my opinion isn't any of her business anyway.")

I have a feeling this might be somewhat of a polarizing book. What did you think of it?

All Rise for the Honorable Perry T. Cook by Leslie Connor

This book. I had a friend recommend it to me a couple of years ago. I hadn't heard anything about it before, and I didn't hear anything else about it after that. But something made me keep it on my to-read list, and I kept circling back around to it until I finally had time (thank you, no reading goals!) to listen to it.

And, friends, this book. I loved it so much. I think it might end up being like Navigating Early for me where you might not love it as much, but then please don't tell me about it because it will make my heart hurt if you don't.

The story grabbed me right away because it was so wildly different from anything I'd ever read before: Perry Cook has lived all twelve years of his life at the Blue River Co-Ed Correctional Facility. It's an unusual arrangement to be sure, but Warden Daugherty is one to think outside the box, and it has worked out quite well for everyone. And now his mom is about to get paroled, which means the two of them are making plans for life outside Blue River.

But then everything comes grinding to a halt. The district attorney, Thomas Van Lear, looks over Perry's mom's case and is disturbed to discover that Perry has been living at a jail for all of these years. Not only is he concerned for Perry's safety and well-being, but he also wonders if Jessica has truly served out her sentence by being granted special treatment to raise her son. In a quick turn of events, Jessica's hearing is put on hold and Perry is removed from the facility and placed in the Van Lear home temporarily. It rocks Perry's world and feels unjust. Even realizing that his best friend, Zoe, is Van Lear's stepdaughter doesn't make things better. He misses his mom and his many mentors and the life he has always known.

But he tries to remember Big Ed's advice: "'Win-win.' That's Big Ed's . . . motto for being a successful resident. The first win means you count all small, good things that happen to you every day . . . The second win means you do things that bring victories to others. I've heard Big Ed say it at least a hundred times: No matter where you live, you have a community of some kind, and you can be a contributor." And so that's exactly what Perry does. And as he looks for the good and listens to the experiences of the residents for a school assignment, he realizes that there's always more to someone's story than you might think at first glance, and if he can help others to see that, then maybe, just maybe, he can use that to reunite with his mom on the outside.

See? Different, right? And you might think that a boy living in a correctional facility wouldn't be believable, but it totally was, and I just loved Perry so much from the get-go. And I liked that he was who he was because of the environment he was raised in: people had made mistakes but they were trying turn around their lives and make things right, and they passed on a lot of wisdom in the process.

One of the things I really appreciated in this book was that Mr. Van Lear was not a clear-cut bad guy. You kind of wanted to hate him because he was so insensitive and rigid, but at the same time, he was doing what he truly thought was right, and you couldn't blame him for that. I think it takes real talent to create a believable character you can be sympathetic towards even as he continues to hurt the main character.

I also really liked that there were a few short, infrequent chapters told from Jessica's point of view. It's fairly unusual to get an adult's perspective in a middle grade novel, but it worked and added just a little more depth to the story.

In the midst of all of Perry's anxiety about his mom and his new situation, there was a little secondary plot between Perry and the school bully, Brian Morris. And again, just like with Mr. Van Lear, Brian wasn't one-dimensional. Even as he was being mean to Perry, he was showing another side of himself, and when things finally resolved between them, it wasn't hard to accept.

I did end up having one issue with the plot, and it was fairly significant because it involved Jessica's sentence and Perry's father. I won't go into detail here because there was a bit of a mystery that I wouldn't want to ruin. But I will say that in spite of some rather gaping holes, I still loved this book. I can't explain myself. I don't know why with some stories, a similar oversight would have been unforgivable, but here I was completely willing to turn a blind eye and extend my belief. It doesn't make sense, but I think it must have something to do with the characters. I loved them all so much that I guess I was fine with an unresolved issue here and there. Reading is like that sometimes. In this case, I connected with the characters, and it made all the difference.

Content note: There is some mild swearing. And also, some of the subject matter might initiate some mature questions.