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!

Suzanne Collins has said repeatedly in interviews that the concept for these novels was born out of flipping channels between reality shows and news reports of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Add in a dash of mythology (Theseus) and viola, we have a spark that rekindled my ability to and love of getting completely absorbed in a series. I think the idea of merging and/or juxtaposing reality tv and war reports, two very socially complicated things, would create an interesting and challenging discussion in and of itself, but Collins takes it to a new level. She has created this dystopian future in which there are, essentially, twelve towns (districts) completely isolated from each other and one all-powerful capitol that create the country of Panem. Once a year, during the harvest festivals, the capitol unites the country by collecting two “tributes” from each town to compete in the Hunger Games which are televised and required viewing for every citizen. I will not explain the many questions that the above sentence probably raises, because to say more is to detract from the phenomenal, moving experience of reading the novels.

That said, however, be prepared for a far-from-perfect, old-for-her-age yet still growing up teenage, female narrator/lead character that is frustrating and indecisive, but compassionate and inspiring at the same time. I know, it sounds like an impossible accomplishment of writing, especially in such short novels, but I take my hat off to Suzanne Collins for having such tremendous talent as to accomplish this feat and more. I have recently had some down time at work, and I started reading the first book and had such a hard time putting it down when I had to go to work, that I purchased the entire collection as audiobooks. I wanted to stay late at work just to keep listening to them and found it impossible to pick up other books to read in the evenings because they simply couldn’t compare to the compelling story of Katniss Everdeen and her struggle to become a morally sound surviver in the midst of corruption and misinformation.

The true beauty of the series lies in Collins complete dedication to following through with the implications of the plot even when they result in unhappy and occasionally unsatisfying ends. In the Hunger Games’ world of competition, greed, destruction, and retribution, as in reality television and war, there is rarely a satisfying and/or happy ending. Do not let this deter you from picking up the books though; believe me, they end in the way that they needed to end. As one of my friends recently said, “it was strangely satisfying that there wasn’t the happy ending [she had] predicted.” I had more faith in Collins though, that she would end it in a way that was provocative, thoughtful, and balanced with the rest of the plot, and she definitely did this.

All in all, I recommend that you move these books to the very top of your “must read” and “must buy asap” list if you have not already had the delight of reading them. Also, seriously consider them as excellent holiday/birthday gifts!

Even days after I’ve finished the series, my head is still swimming with the characters and the plot twists. I truly applaud Suzanne Collins and I hope that beyond enjoying these books you will find yourself thinking about the story as well as the things that inspired the story.

The book is hilariously outspoken and treads a line between conversational and a series of stories thoughtfully strung together. I loved that so much value was placed on the sanctity of a chef’s personal organization of his station/workspace. When I was in college one of my biggest pet peeves was roommates changing the way the kitchen was organized. The ability to cook efficiently is certainly not as important at home, but on a tight schedule it certainly helps; even more than that, however, knowing where things are without needing to search through drawers and cabinets to find what ingredient or utensil that you need makes cooking a much more enjoyable experience!

Bourdain clearly hates vegetarians and customers that order meat well done. I happen to happen to be guilty of both of those offenses, but after learning that placing such an order could very well result in a piece of meat being pulled from the bottom of the barrel made me realize that I’d be better off sucking it up and ordering less-well-done (and therefore higher quality) meat. According to Bourdain, anyway,  if I order it the way chefs think it should be cooked I’ll be far better off. Also on the topic of things I learned about meat, is that adding a dab of butter to the top of a fresh out of the oven/out of the pan/off the grill piece of meat (or anything from the sounds of it) makes a very nice final touch. I guess I could have figured that out, but it’s reassuring to know that pros do it too.

When I finished this book, my first thought was: “Well, I’m glad I finally read this and I should have expected the book to be what it was, but I don’t think I’ll pick it up again.” But just a few days ago I was out grabbing a bite to eat with my boyfriend and realized that I had referenced some tip from Kitchen Confidential; I guess I didn’t dismiss the book as much as I thought I had. In all seriousness though, be prepared for a level of crassness that I do not normally expect nor tolerate in the books that I read. It’s an eye opener, and I don’t want to believe a lot of what I read. However, that being said, if it truly shines a light on the functionality of the food industry I think there is some good stuff to remember the next time you trust a restaurant chef to prepare a meal for you.

I know a lot of people who loved this book and who recommend and re-read it often. I am not one of those people, but it was an interesting (if ultimately disturbing) read. Check it out from the library and decide for yourself, but I would not necessarily suggest running out and purchasing 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!