Resume

We now resume our previous book broadcast.

I see from my stats that the people in the United States have given up on me and think that I've quit blogging. Seems most of my readers are in India.

Hello, India readers.

I actually have been reading lots of books, even though I haven't been blogging about them. I know that I was purposefully vague about what was happening, exactly, with my daughter. That was intentional. I'm shy about revealing everything to people that I don't know---I'm even shy about giving all the details to people that I DO know. But I will tell you this: prognosis is good. We are winning our medical battles. The road will be long, and the way hilly, but we will make it. Nothing that my daughter has will hinder her life. We just have to get through this next little bit.

Enough said. On to the matter at hand: BOOKS!

Here's a summary of what I've read in the past four months.

1. The Gift of Asher Lev by Chaim Potok. I can never get all the way through this one when Potok starts getting really technical about abstract art, which is about in the middle of the book. Then I have to put it down because my Humanities 101 class in college only covered so much. I do like the continuing story of Asher Lev, though, as this is a sequel to My Name is Asher Lev, which I loved. This reading, I especially resonated with Asher's wife, Devora, who asks again and again: Do you think there is a plan, my Asher? There must be a plan.

I was asking myself the same question at the time about the plan. With Devora, I hope there is a plan.

2. The Secret Life of Bees by an author I can't remember. But the book is popular enough. You can find the author. This was my second reading of Bees, and I got it this time. In the book, a young girl longs for her mother, named Deborah. Since I was reading this on the nights that I'd left my daughter in the hospital, I was longing for my daughter.

I understood the longing in the book this time. I understood it really well. Good book. Find a copy.

3. The Partly Cloudy Patriot by Sarah Vowell. Unlike me, Vowell is a political die-hard liberal.

She and I see just about every issue in politics from completely different perspectives. But she is one mighty fine writer and I liked reading this book of essays about her reflections on events in American history. She's funny. I especially liked her essay on the presidential libraries.

Katy, have you read this? If not, find a copy. You'd probably be able to use some in your class if you ever teach American history.

4. Sarah's Quilt by Nancy E. Turner. As you'll recall, I loved These is My Words, the prequel to this book. When I started Sarah's Quilt, I almost put it down because . . . alas, alas, there was no Jack, why read the book at all? But it didn't take me long before I was hooked again, reading this fictional narrative about Sarah Prine in the 1900 Arizona territories. Loved it. I laughed. I cried. Writing is good. Story is good. Two thumbs up.

5. The Hunger Games, Catching Fire, and Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins---a trilogy on the YA scene. Plot, all plot. Writing gets better as the series goes on. But GOOD. I'd recommend it if you are looking for a roller coaster literary ride. SHWOOSH!---there you go. I was captivated, and that's hard to do.

6. Dreaming Water by Gail Tsukiyama. I was expecting absolutely nothing from this book because it's been on the NY bestseller list, and I usually find that I strike against the book. I find that what appeals to the masses usually doesn't appeal to me. So I was pleasantly surprised when I actually liked this book. In it, a mother/daughter pair deal with the daughter's illness and their husband/father's passing. Takes place over a twenty-four hour time period, which is an interesting convention to use for a novel. And here, it works.

Like I said, I didn't expect much. But was pleased to get quite a bit.

7. Waiting for Snow in Havana by Carlos Eire, about a boy in Cuba, growing up in 1962 when there was a lot of political turmoil. The story was interesting enough, but I got bored with Eire's way of telling it. Didn't finish. If you are interested in Cuba, try this. If not, don't bother.

8. Antonio's Gun and Delfino's Dream: True Tales of Mexican Migration by Sam Quinones. Although I don't agree with some of Quinones conclusions about the immigration issue, I did appreciate his treatment of the subject as he told the stories of individuals who leave Mexico to come the US. I read the chapters about the people that I found interesting. Some people I found boring, so I skipped them.

Solid writing. Good subject choice.

9. The Space Between Us by Thrity Umrigar. I had tried this before, and couldn't get through it, but I gave Space another shot.

Another shot which missed.

It just has so much potential, this story, about two women from vastly different lives and castes in India. My problem is that you know who the father of Maya's baby is by the time you are on page twenty. And since that's the main "mystery" of the book, what's the point?

10. The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion. This book is about Joan's husband dying and how she deals with it. It was too depressing for me because of where I was in our medical journey. So I put it down. The writing is delicious, though, and satisfying. I'll go back to this one, and enjoy it. Later.

11. Still Life with Rice by Helie Lee, about a young woman's Korean ancestory, And The Street of A Thousand Blossoms by Tsukiyama. I wasn't especially impressed with either. Can't remember why--that was how little impression they made. Don't feel the need to go back.

12. The Prize Winner of Defiance, Ohio, about a woman who writes for jingle contest in the 1950's. There's nothing of literary substance in this one. It's cute. Like dogs who wear sweaters are cute. It's cute like smiley face stickers are cute. It's cute like "Baby on Board" signs on cars are cute.

If you are at a beach house one day, and you are suntanned and drinking a lot of orange juice and club soda, and you are expecting nothing but fluff and you find this on a bookshelf, give it a shot.

13. Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet by Jamie Ford. I made the mistake of reading all the criticism that people posted on the reviews on Amazon.com about this book. Lots of people didn't like it because of the anachronistic errors (like the Internet in 1986). And I can say, yes, there are errors like that in this book. It just shows that Ford has a lousy editor who didn't check for that stuff. But I liked the book anyway. Good story---about a man who once was a boy who watched his love go to a Japanese internment camp. Good characters. Endearing. Developing writing---good for a debut. Ford will get better.

I'd recommend this book. I liked it. Good book club selection, too.

14. The Middle Place by Kelly Corrigan. Here is a gem! Corrigan explores what it means to be a daughter. And a parent. At the same time. What it means to fight cancer. What it means to watch your father fight cancer. What it means to dream. To have your dreams come true. To have your dreams dashed. To fight. To surrender.

Sometimes in my reading, I find a book I need to buy.

This one I need to buy . . . so I have something lend when people ask me for a good book.

***So there you go. That's where I've been, more or less, for the past four months. Hope there are one or two to intrigue you. Enjoy.

Blessings

In the city of San Felipe, on the island of Fogo, I never saw a Catholic priest. I heard their voices transmitted via radio waves every Saturday night. The only people who had radios were the people who owned the bars---mass coming out of a bar, great. So I knew the Catholic priests were on the island. What I did see, occasionally, was the work of the matriarchs of the Catholic parish. Usually women in their 50's and 60's, usually women of some means, usually educated, always respected. They rarely let us in their homes, but I saw their faith and their work.

Once I saw one of these women walk the road where we were. The children clamored around her and she smiled down at them. I was close enough to hear her interaction with one of the children there. He was five or six, and squirrely. He obviously wanted to be near her, but wasn't paying rapt attention. She got his attention and said to him, "Recebe bencao." Receive the blessing. He raised his chin and she touched his head. It was holy, that touch. I didn't understand the culture behind it, but I understood the meaning. Receive the blessing.

When women meet Danielle, like the lovely chaplain at Lucille Packard's Children's Hospital, or the wonderful woman who brought me dinner from her daughter (my friend) two nights ago, so often, in parting, they reach out to touch her. They put a hand on her little chest and say, "Blessings. Blessings to you."

Yes, Danielle, receive the blessing.

So often on this road that won't end in the foreseeable future and which has a blurry past, I have had people tell me that they are praying for my little lady. People I know well. People I don't know well. People who love my parents. People who have only seen me once. Or twice. Or every day. They pray.

My daughter, receive the blessings.

The only time I've snagged on the word "blessing" on this journey is when people hear of what we're going through and they say, in sincere compassion, "We were just so blessed to have healthy children. I can't imagine what this is like for you," and "It's a blessing my child never had to go though this." And it is a blessing to have healthy children. A blessing for us that our two boys just came home . . . no surgery . . . no IV's . . . no agony.

But what I want to say, and eventually will find the words to tell these blessed people is that God has blessed us with Danielle. She is a blessing, come how she did. I'm not at the point yet where I think this experience is a blessing. I may never get there. What I want to tell them is that it is, indeed, a blessing to have Gerber baby born to you. But it also a blessing to have a child who comes to you who needs something more.

When I remember this, the doubt and fear that has swirled so fiercely, parts for a moment. And that is when I feel closest to God. For a moment there is quiet and peace. For a moment, I'm not afraid. And for a moment, I feel Father say to me: "Deborah, my daughter, receive this blessing."

Receive the blessing.

Receive the blessing.

Receive the blessing.

Three before the New Babe

I have three book reviews for you. Blogging about them is on the to do list of things that need to happen before Baby Girl arrives. She may come soon.

1. I read The Hardest Worst Time by Tim Egan, which chronicles the lives of the people who stayed in Oklahoma and thereabouts during the Dust Bowl days. TADA! This is how history was meant to be taught! Egan is a great writer and has chosen a fascinating angle (the lives of people) to explore this time. I need to find what else Egan wrote because he's funny, insightful, and interesting. I had zero (ZERO) interest in Oklahoma or the Dust Bowl, but Egan drew me right in. Fabulous. Liz, give this one a try.

2. My Life in France by Julia Child is my latest most delightful find. Child writes about (guess what) her life in France. But it's really about food. Good food. And enjoying food---and life, really. This will be on my list of "Could recommend a good book?" books to pass on and relish. Usually I go on and on about good books, but that's all I have to say about this one. It's good. Anjanette, this would be a good one to recommend for the Merced girls, especially Debbie Fire who says that she has just discovered cooking.

3. I'm almost done with Wallace Stegner's The Gathering of Zion, The Story of the Mormon Trail. (Pause. Deborah is gathering her thoughts . . . Pause. Deborah is trying to figure out how to say what she wants to say. Pause.)

I'm glad I came to this book in my 30's. That's about the right time. For some, earlier or later would be better. Stegner is clearly an admirer of the Mormons and their determination. But he looks at the Mormon migration through the lens of a non-believer. A respectful non-believer, but a non-believer still. I think this would have jarred me had I read it younger. Now it's easier for me to sort out where Stegner may be right and where he's probably wrong in his perspective. Like Refuge, by Terry Tempest Williams, which I did read too young. I could go back to it now.

On the up-side, Stegner is Stegner. This isn't as polished as Angle or Crossing to Safety, but it's still solid writing, which sprinkles of wit, charm, humor, and lovely word choice. And I was charmed by the introduction where he writes:

"That I do not accept the faith that possessed them does not mean I doubt their frequent devotion and heroism in its service. Especially their women. Their women were incredible."

See? I claim that. Incredible Mormon women. Pioneer stock. I come from some of those. I know some who are alive today.

On the down-side, Stegner trusts sources like Fawn Brodie, who I don't trust at all. (Ever noticed how there are are no Mormon baby girls who are named Fawn? Thank you, Ms. Brodie, for purging that name from our Primary rolls. You can have sole credit for that one.)

The only downside is a cleaner bathroom

Finally, a book worth reading in one day!

Yesterday, I devoured The Help by Kathryn Stockett in a twelve hour time period. I read while the kids had a rest time---it was a long rest time yesterday, they both slept. Good thing, because I wanted to read. Then I read while the two-year-old read Where's Waldo after he got up from his nap. Then I read again when the kids went to bed.

What a great day. What a great book. Great writing, great characters, great plot. Humor. Life. Strong women. Sassy dialogue. Complex, struggling, real characters. All the things that keep me reading. The setting is Mississippi in the 1960's. The book is about the black women who serve in the white households and raise the white kids. About about the women who employ them.

Stockett is good. Her non-fiction research (and experience) makes for some mighty fine fiction.

I think you'll like it. The tone reminds me of the Secret Life of Bees, but I think this is much better.

If I had to point out a downside to this book, it would be that after reading about these women who worked so hard to keep these houses (and kids) clean, my bathroom looked shamefully neglected. So today I yielded my oh-so-pregnant body around my bathrooms and gave the toilets and the floor a mighty scrubbing. They look a lot better. Aibileen (one of the characters) would be so proud.

But that's the only bad thing about this book. It might make you think about cleaning your bathroom. That's not a bad downside, really . . . and while you clean, you can mentally chew on the book's plot. So, yes, you may want to clean your bathroom, but you'll also have something else to think about.

And truth be told, the "Deborah Wants to Scrub Everything" is probably just pre-birth nesting. Probably didn't have anything to do with the book.

Probably.

Probably doesn't count. The carnation post.

Before I lost my concentration to the third trimester of this pregnancy, I was doing a nice side-by-side comparison of The Agony and the Ecstasy by Irving Stone and Il Gigante by Anton Gill, both about the life of Michelangelo. Agony is historical fiction (and nicely researched at that), and Gigante is historical, period. My comparison was short-lived, but interesting, and I read about half of Agony (Does it drive anyone crazy that I sometimes critique books that I only read part of?). The part I read is good. You can skip the love scene if you are into censoring what you read---you'll see it coming. I need to go back someday when I can concentrate academically and give these two books a solid read. I know very little about Michelangelo and Italy during this time, and these books are well-written and worth the time.

What I was in the mood for, however, was a re-read of These is My Words by Nancy Turner, and a "I've lost count how many times I've read this" read of Joy in the Morning by Betty Smith. Both were just about my speed during this "Where is my brain? Oh, it's making a baby" last few months before girl baby arrives.

I need to find more books that give much and don't require much intelligent analysis on my part.

Since I don't have anything new to recommend, does it count if tell you what I've been thinking about lately? Probably not, but here you go . . . if I were in a creative writing class and had to write a personal essay, I would write it about my latest realizations about carnations. You know, the flower.

Last Sunday, I was wandering the church during the last hour because it's too uncomfortable for me to sit for three hours anymore. The Braxton Hicks hit and I have to get up and move. So as I was roving, I passed a lovely spray of flowers, left from a funeral the day before. Since I didn't know the person who died, I could be objective, and not sentimental, about the flowers. I was looking at the roses (lovely), the irises (beautiful), etc. What stuck out where the carnations.

I realized that I don't now, nor have I ever, liked carnations at all (aside from when I was six years old and carried them when I was flower girl for my Aunt Kit). Carnations have no personality---they just look like a flower sneezed and a carnation grew there. Achoo! Florists use them to fill space. Boring. So carnations are a boring sneeze flower. Which CAN be used if you are a gangster and need a red one for your lapel---but other than that, I can't think of a good use for them. It's no surprise to me, in hindsight, that I married a man who never once gave me carnations. Eric is a roses man. He was so clever about that, even from the start. No wonder he won.

When I die (in sixty years), please find something else to have at my funeral. If you want inexpensive, try daisies. Or better, yet, don't have flowers at my funeral at all. If you are looking for a symbol of life and beauty, just leave bouquets of books and books and books around my coffin. Slip a copy of something I haven't read into my hand before you close the lid. If I like it, you can think of me smiling from the great beyond.

If I don't like what you choose, I'll come back and let you know why. You'll see me in a dream and I'll have my reading glasses on my nose and your book in my hand. I will have flowers in my hair---lilacs perhaps, or maybe honeysuckle. But no carnations.

Here's What Santa Brought Me For Christmas

Books. Santa brought me books. Santa reads my blog so he knows which books I adore, but don't own copies of. He brought me:

Their Eyes Were Watching God by Hurston
Through the Children's Gate by Gopnik
Essays of EB White by EB White
These is my Words by Turner
Griffin and Sabine by Bantock

Santa brought me that last book because I do like the book, and I do like name Sabine. If I were pregnant with a girl, "Sabine" would be on the list for a girls name. Not as in "Sabine" as in "Sabine women/passive/captured/exploited" but "Sabine" as in reminds me of the verb "saber" as in "She who knows with conviction/understands/comprehends."

Wait! Since I am pregnant with a girl, I can put Sabine on my list. TADA!

That Santa. The longer I live, the more clever I think Santa is.

P.S. My children also punctuate things they say with "TADA!" Ah, the sweet echoes of linguistic Deborah quirks.

I Capture the Castle

Found another good coming of age novel: I Capture the Castle, by Dodie Smith (The same Dodie Smith who wrote A Hundred and One Dalmations).

Fun book. An old castle in England, an impoverished genius, gargoyles in the kitchen, a practical pastor with a refreshing view of faith, an older sister with secrets . . . and a younger sister trying to figure them all out. While she tries to figure herself out. And figure love out. With occasional references to Bronte and Austen. Nice, very nice.

And the writing's not bad either. No clever phrases turning necessarily, but lovely images and nice snapshots of personality. (Gotta love the bohemian Topaz.) I'm going to find a used copy somewhere and put it next to my new copy of Guernsey. When I sleep, I'll imagine that the two books could have each over for tea, crumpets, and lovely, lively conversation.

If you are looking for a good holiday read, try this one. Take some cocoa with you and enjoy.