1/16 -17: Freckles (by Gene Stratton-Porter) This and A Girl of the Limberlost remind me of my childhood and Indiana. I grew up playing outside in our vegetable garden and in Holcombe Gardens on Butler University’s campus, and although my childhood was in a very different era than the setting of these books, I never fail to appreciate the attention paid to the natural characteristics of the land and animal life in that part of the country. These books are a celebration of progress and self-improvement through dedication to the land/nature which is a concept I respect and strive to achieve,  but progress and preservation of nature are and historically have been considered incongruous concepts. I recommend it for young adults and adult readers who are interested in early twentieth century regional fiction, or any mid-level or better reader interested in nature.

1/18: After Milk and Song (by Erin Mullikin) This is another South Carolina Poetry Initiative chapbook winner, but it happens to be authored by one of my classmates at Clemson. It appears to be currently unavailable, but if you get the chance to read a copy of it, Mullikin’s poems delve deeply into the loss of a parent and reflection on how pieces of them and the lessons they taught you live on. They are beautifully done, and I highly recommend watching out for more works to come by her.

1/19: Mothers & Shadows (by Marta Traba) This novel was recommended to me by a dear friend who, I believe, studied it in one of her college classes. I’m sure she has more intelligent things to say on the topic than I do, but I did enjoy the story. I couldn’t help but draw comparisons between this and the (post)colonial/Caribbean/”ethnic” literature I’ve encountered and studied in the past. It isn’t a happy read, but I think it explores a lot of interesting aspects of human nature, human sexuality, and how those two things influence and play into (a country’s) history. It’s definitely more of an academic read, but I do recommend it if any of those topics interest you.

1/20: I made an exception to my rule of “books” each day because I am a dedicated reader of the magazine Bon Appetit (the website, app, and the recipe archive are also incredible, but I stubbornly support print media). I read each issue cover to cover (including all of the food and drink-related ads) the day that it arrives in the mail. So this was February 2013′s issue.

1/21: Mayakovsky’s Revolver: Poems (by Matthew Dickman) What can I say, I really love Matthew Dickman’s work. Also, after meeting him at the Clemson Literary Festival several years back (when I was still a undergrad student director), I must say he is a really nice guy! Mayakovsky’s Revolver, his second book, takes a turn for the dark and emotional topic of his brother’s suicide. I think he handles the topic with great tenderness and tactful sentimentality, but it left me more thankful for my siblings with all the complications of those relationships than sad at the (eventual) loss of them. Although I would recommend his first book, All-American Poem, over this one, I still recommend both.

1/22: The Remains of the Day (by Kazou Ishiguro) I recommend reading all of Ishiguro’s novels. I really respect him as an author, and the wide range of topics he tackles. I am somewhat enamored with literature about the social reorganization of class in England following WWI, and The Remains of the Day falls into this category.

1/23: Steal Like an Artist (by Austin Kleon) I picked up this book on a whim because it reminded me so much of one of my poetry workshop professors in college who encouraged us to carry around notebooks and jot down observations about the people around us and overheard conversations so that we could revisit these scenes for inspiration and details when we sat down to write. This recommends similar practices, but the concepts are pretty straight forward. The only difficult part is establishing the habits required to do this. I’d say this is a borrow-from-the-library kind of book if you read it at all.

1/24: Ghost World (by Daniel Clowes) I first read this novel as part of my Survey of the American Novel course, which explored the evolution of novels which shaped the American novel and then were written by Americans. The class was really great, but when we got to Ghost World, my first experience with a graphic novel mind you, I was pretty disenchanted with what the American novel has become. I really like exploring the differences between and merging of story-telling mediums, but I found this graphic novel to be particularly trying to read. I really feel like nothing happens at all, and the characters are all pretty nasty. I had hoped that re-reading it would help me to appreciate something more about it, but that was not the case. It is blessedly short, but I still wouldn’t encourage any one to read it, especially if they aren’t familiar with the genre of graphic novels.

1/25: The Forgotten Garden (by Kate Morton) This novel was surprisingly interesting. There is mystery, history, and family. I think of it as something that could easily be classified as a good “beach read,” but I’d recommend it for leisurely reading any time of the year. Do be warned, however, that the female characters steal the scenes and the male characters are severely 2-dimensional so my recommendation here is primarily aimed at women.

1/26: Scrumptious Pies & Tarts (by Linda Collister) This is a cookbook I’ve had for a long time and rely on for go-to tart recipes, but I found myself re-reading the entire book when I pulled it down to look up a mango tarts recipe for a friend. If you are interested in baking, this is a great way to master pie and tart crusts. They are not the easiest of recipes, but once you master the basics here, you can handle anything pie and tart-related!

1/27: The Last Unicorn (by Peter S. Beagle) This is a really quaint and beautiful book. I recommend reading Patrick Rothfuss’ review of this novel, because his suggestion along was enough to convince me to buy the novel. I love the heroism, the value and delicacy of life, and the resolution of the story. It really is a great novel, and one that I think can be read repeatedly with more learned each time. I definitely recommend checking it out.

1/28: The Swerve: How the World Became Modern (by Stephen Greenblatt) Non-fiction really isn’t my preferred reading material, but I am making a concerted effort to branch out. I thought The Swerve, with its Pulitzer Prize, would be a good possibility. I won’t go so far as to say that I was wrong, but it was definitely too dry to read while sleep-deprived. It was slow going, but informative and interesting enough. I’m on the fence about recommending it, so I guess I’ll say this: check it out is you’re into historical essay non-fiction.

1/29: How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe (by Charles Yu) This is one of the more interesting and highly-meta novels that I’ve read in a long time. It is written with a tone of complete sincerity, formatted (at the level of chapters anyway) as appendices to a larger (not included) document on surviving in said universe. There are a few charts, and the narrator treats time travel and other science fictional topics as real, scientific topics. It is quirky and amusing, but also tells a really touching story about a family trying to survive (or more specifically, live safely perhaps?) in the science fictional universe. I recommend it for any science and technology-minded and/or geeky and/or nerdy readers.

1/30: The Book of Three (by Lloyd Alexander) This is the first in the Pyridian Chronicles series, which was recommended to me by a dear friend. It definitely falls into the category of young adult fiction, and reads like a very simplified version of Tolkein’s Middle Earth and cast of characters. This is a quick read, but really fun.

1/31: The Black Cauldron (by Lloyd Alexander) This is the second novel in the Pyridian Chronicles series, and it is more unique in it’s story line than the first but remains rather simplistic but clearly influenced by Tolkein.

Stay tuned for February’s list in about a month!

1/1: Vietnamerica: A Family’s Journey (by GB Tran) This is not my typical speed when it comes to books, but as far as graphic novels go, it was great! The art was really expressive, the use of blank space thought-provoking and tasteful, and the storyline itself is informative. It explores diaspora and cultural identity within America, the reasons for relocation, and challenges the idealistic opinion of America as a “melting pot” or “salad bowl” of multiculturalism. In short, I think it’s a good read.

1/2: Bellwether (by Connie Willis) I love Connie Willis for her time-traveling historian novels, so it was with great confidence that I picked up this novel. I must say that it fell far short of the time-traveling historians, but I did not previously know about “bellweathers,” and it is truly an interesting and very real concept. Furthermore, she did offer a valuable social-critique that could be loosely (and as a pun) summarized in the term sheeple. I’d recommend it if you’re looking for a simple but still interesting read.

1/3: White Dragon (by Anne McCaffrey) I don’t think there is much that hasn’t already been said about McCaffrey’s Dragonriders of Pern series. I was raised on these novels, so I enjoy them as much for sentimentality as for the genre-shaping world and story arc. Please note, this is the third book in the original trilogy, but the whole series has great world building and easy-to-love characters.

1/4: The Jolly Postman (by Janet and Allen Ahlberg) This is, hands down, one of my favorite children’s books. I used this when working with Elementary school students to teach the format of letters as much as for reading. The incorporation of allusions to commonly-known fairy tale characters, actual page-envelopes with removable letters, and a rhyming frame story make this book is entertaining for all ages.

1/5: The School of Essential Ingredients (by Erica Bauermeister) I loved this one so much that I did a full review of it as soon as I finished reading it, which can be found here.

1/6: Joseph Anton: A Memoir (by Salman Rushdie) I must admit that memoirs are not my favored genre, and I won’t even get into the “should memoirs be classified as fiction or non-fiction” debate, but I really enjoyed this book…to a point. I have studied Rushdie’s novels in classes, and I have sought them out independently; it would be safe to say that I am a fan of his work. In that regard, it was really fascinating to read the opening chapters of this memoir and hear what he had to say about/in defense of his work, his identity, and the impact the fatwa had on his life and his writing. It was a chore to finish it though: his impatience with the British government and world at large  came through in his writing towards the end which I don’t think is fair to fault him for, but at the same time, I didn’t really want to read the sustained frustration for hundreds of pages. Overall, it was a good and informative read. It made me laugh and it made me despair over the world’s politics and humanity in turns.

1/7: A New Turn in the South (by Hugh Acheson) This is a cookbook that I bought in hopeful preparation for moving north. Southern cuisine is still somewhat of an astonishing mystery to me since I do not particularly seek out fried food, sea food, or know much about their region-specific vegetables. Most okra I’ve had has been slimy, and being dairy-free, most homemade fried foods are off-limits to me. That aside, I’m hopeful that Acheson’s cookbook will help me explore this cuisine and learn to appreciate it more. If nothing else, it is very interesting and I look forward to trying the recipes (and maybe even going to one of his restaurants!) soon.

1/8: Lettered Bones (by Susan Finch Stevens) I am a big fan of poetry and book/literary festivals. A few years ago I was fortunate enough to hear Stevens do a reading at the South Carolina Book Festival and I enjoyed it so much that I picked up a copy of her chapbook, Lettered Bones. The poems are smart and delightful. I highly recommend picking up a copy and supporting the SC Poetry Initiative and a really talented poet.

1/9: Blackout (by Connie Willis) Time-traveling historians! Absolutely amazing, and I cannot get enough. See a full review here.

1/10: All Clear (by Connie Willis) This is the sequal to Blackout, and it is equally amazing. Again, see the full review here.

1/11: The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore (by William Joyce) This book was the inspiration for this Youtube video version of the story. Both the book and the video are amazing! I really love the art and the concept of the story. I highly recommend this book (and the video) to anyone who loves books.

1/12: Earthling (by Steve Healey) This is a book of poems by an author who attended the Clemson Literary Festival in 2012. I enjoyed his reading, and skimmed the book of poems before purchasing it and expected to like it well enough, and to be fair, I did just that. You have to like poetry to enjoy this book though; I wouldn’t classify his work as leisure-reading poetry.

1/13: Under Wildwood (by Colin Meloy) The Wildwood Chronicles, which began with Wildwood, has continued with a strong second book. I really believe (and hope!) that these books will become the newest generation’s Narnia equivalent. They contain all the charm and morality of coming-of-age stories, with the magic of talking animals and the beautiful, optimistic outlook of  children. I have been truly impressed by the skill of Meloy’s story crafting, and Carson Ellis’s illustrations are perfectly matched to the tone of the story. I highly recommend these for adults who loved the Narnia series, and allyoung-adult readers.

1/14: The End of the West (by Michael Dickman) Without wanting to diminish my appreciation and respect for Michael Dickman as a poet, I must say I picked up his book of poems because I was such a huge fan of his brother, Matthew Dickman. These are two seriously talented brothers. The End of the West is smart and emotive. I think a review in The Believer summed it up very well: “Elizabeth Bishop said that the three qualities she admired most in poetry were accuracy, spontaneity, and mystery. Michael Dickman’s first full-length collection of poems demonstrates each brilliantly.”

1/15: Glaciers (by Alexis M. Smith) This is a novel that I found utterly charming. The main character is so relatable, and the story offering such a brief window that it reads much like the vintage postcards she collects. A quote on the back of a postcard she finds read “You are all I see when I open or close a book” and has stuck in my mind. I think it is a beautiful idea that books could be so filled with a(n assumed) lover, and makes me wonder whether that is because of her picture being tucked inside and used as a bookmark, or perhaps it is something more abstract and related to the innumerable and unknown possibilities offered by a book and paralleled in their relationship. Regardless, I highly recommend the book and fully expect you to read it front to back in a single sitting! It is that good (and short).

Without wanting to give too much away, I must say that the book as a whole is delightful, but it is the opening chapter that moved this book into my top 10 favorites list. This chapter tells the story of a mother who has buried herself in books to hide from grief and who “enjoys every part of a book…[but] collected exquisite phrases and complicated rhythms, descriptions that undulated across a page like cake batter pouring in to a pan, [and] read aloud to put the words in the air.” I do not think this is the normal way of reading, but sometimes I truly do read this way. I am often bursting to share turns of phrase or searching through books that I read years ago trying to find a single paragraph that moved me so profoundly that I return to it time and again. The title character of this chapter, Lillian, is a young girl who learns to cook through trial and error, gains confidence from observation, and learns to cook based on instinct and to the needs of the person (or people) she is feeding, her mother. While I wouldn’t go so far as to say I am able to cook in the same way that Lillian learns to, I think most home cooks try very hard to make good food that people enjoy eating and that is certainly true of me.

To top off my thorough enjoyment of the story, the novel is filled with good ideas for cooking and the most wonderful non-recipes, such as “Take ingredients on the prep table, chop as need be. Butterfly turkey and flavor inside and out, as you like. Make a package. Send it,” which are the instructions given in the cooking class for stuffed turkey breast with rosemary, cranberries, and pancetta. This idea and function of recipes is so simple and well-aligned with my experiences in the kitchen that I was completely charmed by this novel beginning to end.

Even if you aren’t very interested in food, I think there is beauty and peace to be found within this novel; though of course, those who love the preparation and consumption of food will appreciate this story more fully.  Enjoy!

I don’t often come across books that I cannot appreciate for one reason or another, but this one takes the cake. I will say this: the novel is well written and quite emotional. However, in the same breath I feel obliged to say that being well written and emotional but offering nothing but sadness is a bad combination. There is no salvation for the young girl fleeing Nigerian civil war, the British family that the finds falls apart because of knowing her, and the end is violent in an ambiguous way that leaves the reader unsatisfied and in need of hugs and comfort food.

Cleave certainly has a way with words, and I still become sad thinking about the opening chapters of the novel in which a man commits suicide, leaving his wife and child to deal with Little Bee’s arrival and his death at the same time. The image of a toddler, dressed in a batman outfit, climbing in to his father’s grave, pleading with his mother to let his daddy out of the coffin is something that I found especially heart-wrenching. It reminds me of my niece, barely three years old, drawing a picture of a (self-described) “friendly monster” to put in to my uncle’s coffin in order to keep away the monsters and make sure he doesn’t get scared by the dark. Explaining death to a child is one of the most difficult parts of dealing with the loss of a loved one, and the fact that Cleave captured some of that difficulty impresses me.

To be honest, for all that his poignant and intelligent prose impresses me,I just cannot recommend the novel. I firmly believe that books should be written to teach, explain, discuss, explore, and/or inspire. While this book touches upon displacement/refugees from and violence in Nigeria, it does so in such a way that all only the very slightest ripples  of this  reverberate in the story and that bothers me immensely. If I read a book about international refugee laws, refugees, and/or families disintegrating under the burden of witnessing the violence creating the refugees, I want there to be a point, or a rally to action, but it must be something more than an ambiguous ending dominated by death and unknown victim(s).

If you are interested in these topics, this may be the book for you. However, I would not, under any circumstances, give it as a gift. Nor would I classify this as a “Beach Read” as so many bookstores seem to have done; especially if you do read the book, you’ll understand the why I find  this particular classification horrifically ironic.

The narrative is not necessarily chronological is it arcs from the first date all the way to the breaking point(s) of the relationship, and yet, David Levithan skillfully captured a wide spectrum of emotions without actually concluding the relationship, and without ever actually providing closure of any sort. It is so brief, and yet I could spend many hours pouring over the pages with the Oxford English Dictionary pulled up trying to research the root, history, past use, and current complexity of meanings with each word. Piecing together the many ways in which the word is rightfully assigned to each moment. In addition to that, however, what I found most compelling about this carefully crafted narrative is that it reads, in many ways, like a poem, yet it also reads like a conversation you might have over drinks with a friend who just needs to get some stuff off his chest about his relationship.

A prime example of poetry/casual narrative is the building of  a moment splintered across several words: ‘lerry,’ ‘persevere,’ ‘quixotic,’ ‘serrated,’ ‘traverse.’  As I saw the word “leery” end with the line Finally, I said, “It’s over.” I thought the relationship actually did end, but then I continued reading and found the moment continuing under the label of different words. Under “persevere” that moment expanded: Finally, I said, “It’s over. You started to cry, and I quickly said, “No — I mean this part is over. We have to get to the next part.” Again it expands with “quixotic:” ‘Finally, I said, “It’s over.” You started to cry, and I quickly said, “No – I mean this part is over. We have to get to the next part.” And you said, “I’m not sure we can.”  And with “serrated:” And you said, “I’m not sure we can.” Then the moment concludes on the word “traverse” which leaves the moment rather ambiguous and that ambiguity is further emphasized by ending on a question: You started to cry, and I quickly said, “No — I mean this part is over. We have to get to the next part.” And you said “I’m not sure we can.” Without even having to think about it, I replied, “Of course we can.” “How can you be so sure?” you asked. And I said, “I’m sure. Isn’t that enough?” I really appreciate the way the words assigned to each portion of this moment relay so much emotion and, in some ways, clarity to what is being described; the words—leery, persevere, quixotic, serrated, traverse— capture the moment of wariness as you try to trudge through the difficult emotions of a fight, the willingness to keep trying to make it work, the simultaneous idealism and pessimism  conveyed within a moment of reflection on the relationship, the edge with which the reflection can be received when voiced, and finally that ambiguous question tied up with the many paths that  could be taken to reach a conclusion to an argument (or relationship).

Perhaps I’ve said too much about that one string of narrative within the book, but I assure you, there is very little revealed about the relationship itself within that sequence. Furthermore, the narrative is told in first person pronouns meaning the only two characters are “I/me” and “you” which allows the reader to impose a lot of his/her own experiences on the story which is oddly easy to relate to even if you’ve never been in that precise situation.

I truly enjoyed this foray in to defining words through experiences and the things left unsaid rather than the precise, often sterile definitions available in most dictionaries. My recent experiences have led me to question the validity of definitions that only take in to account the denotative meaning of a word without consideration of the connotative and modern usage of the word. My instinct is to choose the denotative meaning over the connotative meaning, often without question, but I have long enjoyed juxtaposing the denotative and connotative meanings of words (as they often disagree) within narratives. That enjoyment was taken to the next level as Levithan, himself, intentionally participated in the exploration of tensions between connotative and denotative meanings as he strove to condense each of these moments into a single word. The tension between these two sides of a word, are what, in my opinion, created the majority of the book’s emotion. In my opinion, it is a beautiful thing when words are given so much power to shape the way a brief moment is perceived.

I am really looking forward to revisiting this book and taking the time to go through it with several different dictionaries in hand and pull out all of the complexity entangled within this brief narrative of a relationship. I suspect I’ll come to respect this book even more as a result of that detailed study, but for now I will leave it at this: this is neither a happy nor a sad story of a relationship, but rather a middle of sorts with no ending in sight, but a threat clearly perceptible. Be capturing this middle and concluding with a word that epitomizes the highlight/brightness, it also conveys a clear sense that the apex has been reached and a decline is soon to follow. The tension between the words and the so-called definitions provided builds up to this apex and then, without letting the decline begin, the novel ends. To tell a full tale of a relationship in such a narrow swath of time within that relationship takes talent and immense creativity. I believe I may take this approach if ever I find myself at a point in a relationship that is too glum to see my way through. This book has caught my imagination, made me extra thankful for the relationship I’m in, and weighed my heart down with the unanswered questions and the quiet sadness carried by the silences.

Pick it up at a bookstore near you, or click here to buy it from Amazon. You’ll love it!

I try to keep my obsession with historical fiction under wraps because, honestly, most of it isn’t that good…but I am consoled by telling myself that having a degree in English literature just gives me a more critical sense of high and low literature. Either way, now that the cats out of the bag, I am prepared to gush about these two books. They are phenomenal. It has been quite a while since I found myself so absorbed with a book that I forget to cook dinner and forego sleep just so I can keep reading. I read just about everything I can get my hands on, but this was quite a treat.

These books are well researched (though still very much fiction and sci-fi) and quite compelling despite the unusual mixing of time travel and historical fiction. I cannot, for the life of me, figure out why it took so long to find a genre like this. My bigger concern, however, is where can I find more? I finished these novels and instead of picking up the next book on top of the pile like usual, I actually held off on starting a new novel for a couple days just to savor the series a bit longer.

The characters are endearing, and having voluntarily put themselves in to the midst of the Blitz only to find themselves stuck and trying to survive the characters bring the terror of the Blitz to life like nothing else I have encountered. More than just bringing history of an almost unfathomable war to life, these novels challenge the idea that “hindsight is 20/20″ because history can only be documented in so many ways. The reality of that being documented often falls quite short of the true experience. Additionally, adding time-travel to the mix allows for not just the challenge to the truth of history, but also creates a discourse on how espionage techniques can drastically alter the historic record of events. The concept of these novels and the characters that populate this version of the future and the past are entirely captivating. These books read like Connie Willis loved writing them as much as I loved reading them. I have since found myself searching for some indication that she plans to write more books in this vein, but much to my chagrin, it doesn’t appear to be true; she seems to be sticking to it being a two-novel series.

As I told my mom the other day, I’m happy to lend these books, but I am pretty sure I’ll be itching to reread them within two or three months so she’ll have to mail them back to me as soon as she has finished them. You will definitely want to buy these books, but if you don’t want to spend the money now, run out and rent these from the library. Do be warned, though, you’ll not put these down easily so warn your family and friends not do interrupt you too much while you become absorbed in these incredible novels.

If you want to buy these for your Kindle, click here: Blackout (Oxford Time Travel) and All Clear (Oxford Time Travel). Enjoy!

I picked it up out of desperation, really, since I had created a wish list of books for my birthday and Christmas, and felt that all of the titles on that list were off-limits until after those had past. As usual, people like to get me one book, or maybe two if I’m lucky, but try to stick to presents not on my list because everyone thinks “everyone gets [me] books.” That is fine with me because if I had it my way, I would own a houseful of books and wear goofy old t-shirts instead of the professional clothing that I’m required to wear for work. Alas, my friends and family pretty much keep me looking nice with sweaters and scarves and I appreciate it beyond words, but it still means I spend around 6 weeks each year not buying the books that I most want and then kicking myself for not purchasing them regardless of the list when I only get one or two from the list. To get to the point, I was about three weeks in to the dreadful six to eight week no-book-buying part of the year and I had finished all of my new books…except for The Imperfectionists.

So it was that I curled up with Rachman’s debut novel and, despite my original hesitation, became quickly engrossed. The novel reads, in many ways, like a series of short stories that are only peripherally related to each other. The only thing holding it together is the dilapidated English-language international newspaper for which all of the characters work. I have always been fascinated by the inner workings of a newspaper, but even with this long-held interest I’ve never even considered working for one. If the novel’s description of a newspaper office is anything near accurate, my lack of interest seems fully justified.

Beyond that, however, the I found the novel quite compelling. Each chapter of the novel focuses on a single newspaper employee, and Rachman ingeniously used the newspaper’s headlines to title each chapter attaching the employee’s name and job title as an afterthought. The imperfections of the bunch run deep and are readily apparent, but between the plot of failing relationships and a failing newspaper, the editors are bitter, the journalists out of touch, and the editor-in-chief being in way over her head, there is a lot of (wry) humor and hilarious grammar jokes to be appreciated. The characters all seem lovable, even if some of them also seem rather easy to hate too.

Basically, I laughed out loud while reading this book and was sad to hear about the sorrows of the characters’ lives. Tom Rachman pulled me in to this crazy world of journalism and spit me back out at the end of the novel…much like I imagine a real-world journalism job might. I truly enjoyed parts of it more than I have enjoyed most novels over the years, but at times it was a lot to bear. If nothing other than an emotional roller coaster, I would say it was a roller coaster worth riding again. Maybe don’t run out to the nearest bookstore to pick it up, but if you’re not feeling the stuff on your reading list, check it out at the library. It’s a quick, enjoyable, and unusual read.

Zoli

Let the Great World Spin

With an entirely new time period, cast of characters, and tone, Let the Great World Spin ultimately tells the tale of an unnamed thrill seeker who, on a quest for bigger and greater challenges, finds himself walking, running, dancing, and laying on a tightrope suspended over 100 stories in the air between the twin towers. The novel strives to reveal the slowly spreading reactions of the audience as it spreads from street corner to street corner, then to the news reports on tv,  into the court house, and then into the minds and narratives of the bustling city of NYC. The slowness of people to recognize what was happening above their heads reminded me of just how ingrained it is for us to view the world in view limited to people and shaped by our expectations/definitions of normal. The thrill seeker, by placing himself in an unexpected space, is arguably challenging the confines of the human view and also challenging the assumption that what he is doing is actually a performance. If it is out of the scope of view of his audience, I find myself re-thinking his motives and, yet again, who this adrenaline junkie is and why he has worked so hard for this single stunt.

What I found so compelling about McCann’s storytelling is that rather than offering insight into this determined daredevil as I so much desired, he wove an incredible cast of people together that have all been pushed to a breaking point in their own, separate lives, and yet who all find a way to pass over the breaking point by sharing in the experience of the tightrope walker. While witnessing or failing to witness the stunt brings the characters in to focus, it is the grief and aloneness that unites them in this story. The novel is populated with outsiders who are, in reality, normal people who just feel that they cannot fit in and/or get their lives back on track.

It is simultaneously heart-wrenching and powerfully hopeful, provocative and startlingly quiet. There is no part of the narrative that impedes on the quietness and transcendent-like experience that the tightrope walker has miles above the city coming to life with morning traffic, but the narrative often feels quite the opposite. The care and detail with which McCann crafted these characters is immediately clear and that, in and of itself, was enough to grab and hold on to my attention throughout the novel. If you are interested in the cannon of contemporary New York-centric literature from an immigrant’s (i.e. an outsider, like his cast of characters!) perspective, this is a must read novel. I was deeply moved by McCann’s writing, and as I said earlier, I  am excited to read other works by him.

Wildwood is a coming of age story that reminded me of the best aspects of C.S. Lewis’s Chronicles of Narnia series, Phillip Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy, and Madeleine L’Engle’s the Wrinkle in Time quintet, and still manages to be a lovely and unique story. In addition to this fantastic combination of some of the books I remember most fondly from my childhood, Wildwood charmed me with the beautiful illustrations scattered on pages throughout the book. I don’t often seek out illustrated stories, but the craftsmanship that went in to these illustrations really impressed me from the beginning. The inside cover has a detailed map of the story’s world, but Meloy’s storytelling is good enough that it isn’t necessary to see the map to be familiar with the area. The style of the illustrations and map is demonstrated nicely on the sleeve of the book, but as interesting and nicely done as it is, I find the smaller illustrations embedded within the story much more appealing.

As for the story itself, the main character, Prue, must venture in to the Impassable Wilderness (aka the I.W.) in order to rescue her younger brother who has been abducted by birds. Similar to Narnia, the Impassable Wilderness is inhabited by speaking animals that have organized themselves in to governments/fractions, but there is conflict brewing and Prue finds herself in the middle of it. The Impassable Wilderness is a place that is enchanted in such a way that humans are not supposed to be able to wander in, but Prue’s journey teaches her about family, responsibility, and something new about herself along the way.

I think this novel is something than could be appreciated by young readers and adults alike, especially is you’re looking for an engaging, imaginative, and indisputably well-written story. For people interested in artistic illustrations and a flashback to the books of a bygone era, this is a book to add to the shelves. I have no doubt that this will be a book to share with friends and families for many years to come. I hope you enjoy it!

I anxiously awaited the paperback release of Great House: A Novel by Nicole Krauss and the instant I bought it the instant I found it on store shelves. I absolutely loved The History of Love and was sure that I would feel the same about Krauss’ other works too. For the most part, this was an accurate guess on my part, except that I might not have fallen in love with The History of Love during my first reading of that novel; despite a memory that indicates otherwise, I find it likely that it was probably the second or third time through that I really learned to appreciate the incomplete/withheld, multi-narrator, often childishly naive story telling.

Great House: A Novel plays with similar narrative techniques. Where The History of Love unites children and their widowed mother’s translation work with an elderly Jewish refugee fled to America in the 40′s and with a friend entrusted with the elderly man’s manuscript of a novel which the friend published later under his own name, Great House brings together a lonely, divorcée American writer, an antiques dealer in Jerusalem obsessed with obtaining the original furniture from his father’s room destroyed by the Nazis, and a man desperate to know more about his wife who was a powerfully silent writer. Joining these three very different story lines is an immense desk, towering over every room it resides in and filled with drawers of all sizes, some of which have been locked since it’s original owner entrusted his son with a key to a single drawer. Rather than being continuously bought and sold, this desk is given away, loaned, and stolen; all of which echo the ongoing exploration of the inheritance and haunting of loss passed down from parents to child. The inheritance is made larger than life in this desk and is not limited to a single family or part of the world, but rather disperses across the globe with every writer adding their own confessions of doubt, tears for the lost, and news of destruction.

I am fascinated by the way Krauss manages to weave Judaism through this novel as more of a pulse while casting generational gaps and the act of writing, of simultaneously documenting, imagining, and concealing truths, as the primary themes and motivators of the story. The way that history and fiction merge in memory and literature and books are singled out, despite this, as some of the most valuable tools for glimpsing pieces of the past (by what is mentioned and what is prominently absent) is strange and yet so appealing to me. I really like that Nicole Krauss continued to explicate the functions of literature and, with this novel, add to this on-going explication the functions of writing. Add to this, the impossibly complicated merger of three isolated narratives that seem constantly on the verge of coalescing and disperse repeatedly and this book is incredibly interesting; however, be ready to work for those moments of clarity and to continue thinking about the novel days after you’ve finished reading it. To be honest, I was less than pleased when I read the parting sentences and set down the book. After further reflection, however, the beauty and brevity of this novel is impressive because of the skill required to craft such a story/stories, and because of the scope of the loss and political legacy of violence that is visible all over the world and often associated with abuse of the Jews.

Nicole Krauss writes novels that are somewhat challenging to read, but they are increasingly rewarding with every return to them. I am already excited about re-reading Great House: A Novel moths or years from now. Even if you don’t pick up this novel, check out her other novels:The History of Love and/or Man Walks Into a Room. Although these novels differ greatly from Jonathon Saffran Foer’s novels (Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close: A Novel and Everything Is Illuminated: A Novel), I tend to draw comparisons between to the casting of a childish narrator who tells, views, or participates in the stories of adults as legacies of loss, violence, destruction, and silence are conceived, inherited, and spread pervasively through a generation, demographic, and/or a culture. Loss, memory, madness, silence, and inheritance (genetic and social) are themes that I am constantly drawn to, but I would say that Nicole Krauss is one of the most talented contemporary novelists addressing these themes and, more than that, adding to the discourse on the way these themes function in literature and social perception (and reception?) of literature about wars and religious/political violence. Read Great House, but also check out these others.

P.S. – Expect a list about these themes (with slight variations) soon!