Tag: literature

RebL Books

Scaffolding Challenging Books As an Adult

Back in high school, teachers provided me with the skills that helped when a book challenged my ability to pay attention. Without that influence and as a slow reader, I fell into a pattern with comfort books (easy-to-read books read primarily for relaxation). Tackling a book like Wolf Hall, with its lack of antecedents, or The Good Death, with its dense factivism, diminishes my TBR consumption from slow plow to long slog. I’m not sure why I decided to read Wolf Hall and The Good Death concurrently, but I did. I’ve always had self-punitive reading tendencies. This post is for those of us who choose to go beyond comfort books and need a refresher on tips and tricks to tackle challenging books without returning to the demoralizing practice of gutting through it.

Scaffolding Challenging Books As an Adult: Wolf Hall
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RebL Books

Book Review: We That Are Left by Clare Clark

We That Are Left by Clare Clark

I fell in love with Clare Clark’s writing the moment I broke into We That Are Left in spite of the grammatically irritating title. I wondered what she had to say about appearances that deceive and those who are titled pretending at something while we who are not titled aspire to their falsehoods. I jotted down lines and page numbers of favorite descriptions and passages. Such great writing promises a great story. In the end, I felt cheated of that great story just as the wealthy cheat at status and the poor are cheated.

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Book Review: How Fiction Ruined My Family

How Fiction Ruined My Family by Jeanne Darst[Note: Due to a website migration at my day job, some content that I wrote for a local bookstore chain was unpublished, so I’m republishing it here. I wrote reviews to sell books, so I may have sugar coated some things, but my basic feelings are represented.]

In Fiction Ruined My Family, Jeanne Darst isn’t posing, bragging or begging. She fully experiences the life of an artist and plies her wares in private homes or working barns or legitimate theater. She tells her story without embellishment, though she admits that perhaps not all the details are entirely true either. She doesn’t need our approval, though she has it (or at least the book does).

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Book Review: The Island of Dr. Moreau

The Island of Dr. Moreau by H.G. WellsI wrote this review for Bookmans.com in the summer of 2012 after reading The Island of Doctor Moreau aloud with my then 12-year-old son. When Bookmans did a website redesign earlier this year and migrated their website database, we unpublished all but 30 posts. I tweaked this post to park it here for now.

According to The Literature Network, The Island of Doctor Moreau (1896) by H.G. Wells, deals with themes of eugenics, the ethics of scientific experimentation, Darwin’s theories and religion. But it’s summer and who cares about vivisecting literature? We care about enjoying a good book, so we’re providing our own guide to The Island of Doctor Moreau.

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Such Summer Reading

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If you were paying attention, I attempted to record in my widgets the books the kids and I read this summer. I didn’t do such a great job. The kids read at night when it was too dark for me to see them and it is such a PITA (pain in the ass – via a Solar Rock pal) for them to speak to me, much less tell me what they read. I didn’t do much better recording the books I read. For example, I read a book from the Dear Dumb Diary series and thought it was hi-LAR-ious. Still, I neglected to list it. Nor did I list The Tale of Despereaux. So, I pretty much suck at record keeping. In this case, not such a big deal. In the case of immunization records, such a big deal.

By far our favorite was Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events series. I must admit, the books aren’t without drawbacks. It’s highly predictable and repetitive, and is critical of the Water Cycle. On the other hand, I enjoyed the Dantesque undertones and the cameos of Melville, Voltaire, Congreve, Woolf, Flaubert, Beckett, and many, many others. Also, the kids and I have been discussing what makes a villain or volunteer. Are you a bad guy if you tell a lie, commit a tiny bit of manslaughter (or at least assault), or neglect to care for your fingernails?

We have yet to read the final book — The End. We don’t have to overly savor that book. In 2012, when my kids insist the world will end in spite of my years, YEARS, of experience with such bogus predictions, all of which I survived, Lemony Snicket is scheduled to present a new four-book series. Between The End and the end (2012), I’ll be attempting to read through all the Newbery Award winners. Care to join me?

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Summer reads that I managed to compile in a list-y, link-y format (will someone please return them to the bookshelf?):
The Invention of Hugo Cabret – 9 YO & Mom
A Series of Unfortunate Events, Books 1-12 – ALL
Extraordinary Adventures of Ordinary Basil – 7 & 9 YOs
The Trumpet of the Swan – ALL
Is That A Sick Cat In Your Backpack? – 9 YO
Sound Off! #1 (DANIEL BOOM AKA LOUD BOY) – 9 YO
Howtoons: The Possibilities Are Endless! – 9 YO
Coraline: The Graphic Novel – 7 YO
A.L.I.E.E.E.N. – 7 & 9 YOs
Fashion Kitty and the Unlikely Hero – 7 YO
Sardine in Outer Space 2 – 9 YO
Babymouse #3: Beach Babe – 7 YO
Little Vampire – 9 YO
Babymouse #4: Rock Star – 7 YO Warriors Super Edition: Firestar’s Quest – 9 YO & Mom
Rapunzel’s Revenge – 7 YO
Animorphs #37: The Weakness – 9 YO
In FAIRYLAND. With the Text of The Princess Nobody. Edited & with a Foreword by Cary Wilkins. – 7 YO
Stink: Book 1 – 9 YO
The Twelve Dancing Princesses – 7 YO
Nasty Nature (Horrible Science) – 9 YO
Flat Stanley – 7 YO
Star Wars, Episode III – Revenge of the Sith – 9 YO
Transformers: Beast Wars: The Gathering – 9 YO

decorative

Dayna is a Few of My Favorite Things

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Last Friday, I got my panties tied in a knot. If this has ever happened to you, you’ll agree that it ain’t pleasant. It’s about eleventy million degrees in the desert and any business who has a customer come in the door in this weather (and economy) should fall to their knees in gratitude. Okay. Maybe my attitude was skewed, but honestly the Universe should have been on my side.

Have you ever been into an Apple store? There is a culture there that I just cannot crack. I went to one such den of iniquity to purchase iPods for the kiddos at Christmas and, did you know you can’t just go there and buy some? Nope. You cannot. You can go there and order them online. Of course you can do that at your own damn house too and get them monogramed for free. Also, you might foolishly wait in line to buy those only to discover BUZZ wrong line. Also, there is a sign-in sheet, but you gotta know it’s there, where to find it, and what to do once you’ve approached it. I feel incompetent every time I darken their doorstep.

For these reasons, I’ve been delaying the trip to get my laptop fixed. Friday, I decided to bite the bullet, head to the hills, and get a new battery. If you think I could just go in and buy one, then you weren’t paying attention when I told you about the iPods. Nor was I.

So, it’s eleventy million degrees outside and I pack the kids up for a 16-mile trip to RichMan’s Land to get a new battery at the Apple store. I ridiculously wait in line with my MacBook before realizing that this line is a fantasy. I remember that you have to catch as catch can a, uh, what do you call them? They have a name, those applets walking around. They always send me straight home. Let’s make this long, agonizing story short to say, the kids and I embarked on our next errand – me still lugging the dead MacBook.

Next stop, the dry cleaners to retrieve the on-loan dresses belonging to my Fairy God Sister (I changed her designation as she is decades too young to be my mother). You’ll remember there were two borrowed dresses. Additionally, I dropped off a kid’s dress and a kid’s tie. The kid’s dress went in without stains and came home with rust stains. The kid’s tie went in with a chocolate stain, which I pointed out, and was returned with the same said stain. I didn’t have the guts to check my friend’s dresses. The bill for these four items? $47! I should have known to stay home. Nothing good happens in Hell.

I gave up on errands and retreated to sanctuary where I know loveliness awaits me. Handsome Hubster’s great grandmother Inez was a quilt maker. I washed and set out to dry four of her quilts. I thought they were in fairly good condition, but I was wrong.
Even raggedy, I love these fans both traditional and electric. That’s what I’m calling the designs. If you are a purist and want to correct me on the names, then I will require you to send me a handmade quilt, you quilt snob. I may just fill my house with handmade quilts. I’m not sure if you can see in this photo, but Inez cared enough for these beauties that she repaired them. I will find a way to honor her work.
Alas, the dry lines are near the alley by the car port. Once out of the car and en route to the back door, I ran into my pathetic garden. The death sentence of any living thing with the unfortunate luck to be planted here is why, Denveater, you haven’t had an update on my garden. The basil looks great, the hens ate the pepper pant’s leaves, the tomatoes died one at a time with this one croaking while I was in Oklahoma. Sad.
Through the house and to the street out front where we keep the mailbox. Inside, I found something that took away the sting of the Apple shunning, being taken to/at the cleaners, quilts in sad repair, and triple black-thumb death.
Dayna. Dayna. Isn’t that a lovely name? Dayna sent me a gift. It was completely unsolicited. I didn’t even pay her. Frankly, I’ve never even met her, but I love her. I love you, Dayna. Thank you for Going to Seed: Finding, Identifying, and Preparing Edible Plants of the Southwest and for the encouragement as well. I think I will keep writing, even if I suspect you and my dad are in cahoots.

RebL Books

Killing Time & a Review

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The poll closes in five days and it appears as though my multitude of five imaginary readers (thanks Dad, Volpone, Shylock, Rover, and Mrs. Pinchwife) want to know where I refuse to live. Then again, yesterday I received six of the cutest photographic gifties, so perhaps the pulse of the people will change.

In the meantime, a certain 7-YO is getting a jump start on the summer promises she made to her teacher. Of course I’ve obscured their identities so no one will ever know of whom they read. I’m certainly not implying it’s these jokers. Clearly these two straight laces couldn’t be carried away to story worlds.

Dear Tree Teacher, I finished reading Extraordinary Adventures of Ordinary Basil, by Wiley Miller and I thought it was a touching story because there was a friendship between a boy and a girl. One day at school, there were a few girls going to the playground and a boy asked if he could play with them. They said “No, you are a boy.” I wish more people were like the characters in The Extraordinary Adventures of Ordinary Basil. I also liked the part in the book where it said what makes music magic. I do think music brings joy. Love, the 7-YO girl

A Breath of Fresh Air

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Those who know and love me understand that I am going to let them down at the holidays. It’s just not my thing – not that I haven’t tried. Not that I haven’t tried to do it up, that is, not not that I haven’t tried to let folks down. It’s inevitable that I let you down, because even though I try, I’m not that good at doing it up. Huh?

Point is, I suck at holidays regardless of my intention, but I’m a spectacular holiday voyeur. If I were to do Valentine’s Day for all ya’ll, I’d give you the gift of clean, fresh air. TreeHugger just posted a list of the plants I would consider for you. How cute is this Philodendron oxycardium (in lay terms, heartleaf philodendron)? It’s perfect for Valentine’s Day and a good air filterer to boot (whatever “to boot” means). Incidentally, you can buy a whole book, How to Grow Fresh Air: 50 House Plants that Purify Your Home or Office, on this subject. Maybe you could even pair the plant and book.*

I’m sure that I’m breaking some bloggy rule by reposting for a third year in a row an excerpt from a Valentine’s Day past post, but no one is paying attention anyway. This year, I think I might rather like some Garbage Soup.

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February 12, 2007

Please don’t go out on Valentine’s Day and drop a chunk of change on flowers that were coated in pesticides, kept in a green house, and shipped across the country. What is that supposed to say? “I love you so muchly that I’m giving you something unnaturally begotten. Also, in its making a part of the world was poisoned. Lastly, even with the aspirin dissolving in the water, it’s doomed to die leaving nothing to show for the cash. THIS is the symbol of my love for you.” Please. Save your money.**

…

I am compelled to request that you forget the expensive roses! Instead, share this recipe for Garbage Soup, from Dining with the Desert Museum* (with editorial). It would be good for your wallet, the environment, and an honest statement about the longevity of love.

INGREDIENTS:
water (the elixir of life)
vegetable waste (eggplant sounds like elegant fare for a Valentine dinner, but gack!)
coffee grounds (from the pot you shared over morning breath)
eggshells (you already walked on them so they are nicely crushed)
other similar kitchen waste (so not the shit you sling at each other like monkeys after the kids are in bed)
not grease (this is about living plants not the yummy goodness of slaughtered lambs)

DIRECTIONS: Chop waste in food processor or blender with equal parts water. Mix it up until it’s as convoluted as your fights. Bury soup around outer edges of plants along side the hatchet.

Commercial fertilizers can kill beneficial microorganisms in the soil. This recipe for plants can be used in lieu of those fertilizers. Can you feel the love?

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* Did I mention I am a sell-out, er, Amazon Associate?

** Populist, perhaps you could illuminate for us the reasons why guys buy temporary tokens of their love as you told me outright last year, “Your understanding about why men give Valentine’s gifts is obviously different from mine.” I’m willing to wager dollar to dime even in this recession that you know a damn sight more on the subject than I do. What would Grace think?

Warm and Creepy Fuzzies

Warm Fuzzies

So I strong armed Populist Pugilist into posting a new poem – AND HE SURE DID! (Price is Right jumpin’ ya’ll!)

Listen in:

Make room. Make room.
Do not discard the runts of the litter.
Do not leave behind the slow, the old or
the blind. Find a place at the table for
them beside the better able and give
them an extra forkful of food.
Make room. Make room.

Alright, I like this poem and it reminds me of the present with a presence story he posted in under Grateful Jew. I’m not saying the two are connected, but I am saying tables are cool. If you are a poetry liker, go read the whole poem.

Creepy Fuzzies

I strong armed my good ol’ buddy Todd-o into a tête-à-tête today during which he expressed dismay that I haven’t posted a photo that’s been making me giggle for DAYZ! Well, it sorta sounded like approval.

You could go in multiple directions with this photo, but if you know ANYTHING about Todd-o, you know that hair is ALL WRONG. He’s had a haircut since then so all is back to Normal. After this photo, the driver side door of that beautiful Jeep got crunched. Sad memories for Todd-o and HI-larious photo for me.

Journalisticy Caption-like Explanation: After repeated requests for something useful to use as a wedge, Todd-o grabbed a bone. Something told me a photo opp was in the making.

I obviously have the best friends of any one ever in the whole history of time.

Cool Buddies Doing Cool Things

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Populist Pugilist just started a poetry blog. He promises an entry a week with his first being a partial glimpse at a collection titled Grace Poems. Here’s what he has to say about it:

Grace Poems is a cycle of individual pieces unified by the character of Grace. Hopefully each poem can stand on its own, but they also hopefully all compliment one another and form a whole greater than the sum.

Grace herself is partly inspired by certain real people and is my tribute to them and to what (in my mind) they stand for. I also model Grace on poetic figures that may be a bit obvious (Dante’s Beatrice and Yeats’s Cathleen, Crazy Jane, etc.). My intent was to create in Grace a symbol of ideas, values, beliefs, emotions and myths. But I also wanted to give Grace a certain reality and personality.

I’m not saying that these poems have anything to do with me, but let’s face it, I’m nothing if not graceful. Irregardlessivity, this is my blog where everything is about me and therefore I’m telling you I am “certain real people” and also the woman Dante had in mind for Beatrice. What? We were close. Ask Shirley McClain.

Populist knows I am not smart enough for poetry. I hate that because I don’t wish to lend my idiocy to the built-in snobbery of the literary world where novels are marginalized for spelling things out for the women who read them. I do offer my mother and mother-in-law (Yeats is one of her faves) as women who can appreciate and interpret poetry. For my part, I will continue to presume I’m Grace. In fact, I will presume all Populist’s good poetry is about me and all the bad poetry is about my antagonists because they are the way most evil.

Guess what else is also about me? Tracy’s cool new stuff. She’s shared with me her current inspiration. Anyone would be privileged to own one of her fans. Perhaps she won’t hate me forever if I let you in on her current work. I’m very excited about it.

Don’t you just ADORE that pop of teal (blue, turquoise – as with poetry, so am I with color). These here feathers are causing Tracy quite some tortured artist feelings in terms of involuntary bodily tingles, urges, and so forth. I think she enjoys the physical symptoms of longing and waiting while mulling over the possibilities. On the other hand, so much of her is in her craft that she says, “I feel like I am putting children on the orphan train headed west every time I mail a fan off.”

Tracy is just good with words like that. Here’s what Tracy says about this photo, “These are the sticks I use to violate the quills for my fans.” Hee hee. Sometimes I’m overly in touch with my inner 8 YO boy. That may be another reason for my stunted poetic understandings and also why Tracy is the artist and I am the friend.

My cool buddies are doing cool things that the world views as “art” while I muddle away with shrinkey dinks and kids’ paint and this blog. I’ll update you when Tracy’s next fan comes up for sale (if she manages to convince herself to orphan another), but you should really sign up to follow Populist.