Through a Glass, Darkly

Last night my book club discussed Sacred Hunger by Barry Unsworth, and it was one of those discussions that transcended the book. We talked about dogmatism and redemption and grace. I will admit, I have not yet finished Sacred Hunger (a book about the middle passage is not exactly light reading that I can pick up at any moment, unfortunately), though I have enjoyed what I have read so far. But now, after the discussion, I can’t wait to finish it.

This is a passage that was quoted last night, one that I haven’t gotten to yet.

Nothing a man suffers will prevent him from inflicting suffering on others. Indeed, it will teach him the way . . . Was it always wrong then to believe that the experience of suffering would soften the heart? Those who were fond of declaring that they understood human nature would no doubt conclude so. But as the light strengthened slowly, enabling him to make out the bare furnishings of his cabin, it came to [Matthew] Paris that he did not want to be numbered among these knowing ones, that such understanding was worse than error, worse than hope endlessly defeated. If that is what it means to be wise, I choose folly, he told himself, and slept again and woke to daylight and a sweat of pain and the sign of Sullivan’s face above him.

My Favorite English Professor declared that this was a book that could change your life, if you would let it. (And with passages like that, it’s easy to see why.) I have been thinking a little bit lately about my favorite books, and about how long it’s been since I read a book that I would add to my favorites list. And then today I ran across an article about that very thing.

Let me put it another way: When was the last time a book changed your life? I don’t mean offered you new insights or ideas or moved you–I mean profoundly changed the way you see the world or shaped the kind of person you are? If you’re like me, it’s been longer than you’d like to admit.

The article goes on to say:

It’s not that children’s books are pure entertainment, innocent of any didactic goal–what grownups enviously call “Reading for Fun.” On the contrary, the reading we do as children may be more serious than any reading we’ll ever do again. Books for children and young people are unashamedly prescriptive: They’re written, at least in part, to teach us what the world is like, how people are, and how we should behave–as my colleague Megan Kelso (The Squirrel Mother) puts it, “How to be a human being.”

There is a level of moral instruction in these books underneath the incidentals of plot, character, and setting that we’re constantly absorbing: How would a decent person act in this situation? What would a bad person do? What’s the right thing to say to a friend when something terrible happens? The Lord of the Rings books are no more concerned with martial virtues such as loyalty and courage than they are with elaborate codes of courtesy and honorable conduct. Bridge to Terebithia makes this function of literature explicit when Leslie gives Jess The Chronicles of Narnia to read so that he can learn how a prince should behave.

A lot of you are probably thinking about Kathleen Kelly: “When you read a book as a child, it becomes a part of your identity in a way that no other reading in your whole life does.” The older I get (I am not saying I’m old, but the older I get) the more I agree with that. And it’s part of why I take my job so seriously.

Speaking of which! Next week is Banned Books Week. There are a lot of things that seem oh so very broken in our country right now. Next week, celebrate one of the things that we can be proud of: intellectual freedom. Read a Harry Potter book, some Judy Blume, or some Steinbeck. Heck, you can even read Gossip Girl (though I don’t actually recommend it). Read something that has been considered so offensive that someone asked for it to be taken off bookstore and library shelves. You can even read something that you find offensive! But please celebrate our freedom to read, to let these books change our lives.

It took me for-ev-er to read this book. I kept putting it down, and also there were things like the Olympics and the DNC and being sick and being tired from going back to work that kept me from reading as much as I normally do. I am glad I stuck with it, though.

After moving from California to Hampden College in Vermont, Richard finds himself taken in by small, wealthy group of students who study Greek together. As Richard gets to know them better, he discovers that they have a secret. As he falls deeper and deeper into their confidence, their fear of discovery leads them to kill one of their own.

The first part of the book is setting up the things I just told you - Richard’s relationships with the five of them and how their friendship leads to murder. (This is all told on the inside jacket and in the first chapter, so I am not spoiling anything by telling you that.) The second half, which I liked better, was the fear of discovery. I liked how the walls were closing in around them, the sense of dread that permeated the pages. The question is, will they be discovered? And even if they aren’t discovered, will it have been worth it in the end?

The last hundred pages had twists and turns that had me actually gasping out loud, and because of that, I would say that this one is worth a shot. I think it would be a decent choice for a book club discussion because of the characters and their relationships alone. The first part is slow, but the payoff, for me at least, was worth it.

I have read several books while at the beach, including No Country for Old Men by Cormac McCarthy, which was as wonderful (well, wonderful doesn’t seem quite the right word about a Cormac McCarthy book . . . how about wonderfully written) as the movie had led me to expect. Speaking of the movie: It was very faithful to the book and, I think, an excellent adaptation. The book gave us a little bit more of the sheriff’s story, and I enjoyed the depth that it gave his character. I did hear all of the sheriff’s words in the voice of Tommy Lee Jones, but that didn’t take away from the book at all. When I saw the movie, I thought a lot about good and evil and chance and violence and hope, and the book fleshes out some of those questions even more. If you liked the movie and haven’t read the book, definitely give it a shot. (Though now that I have read two Cormac McCarthy books, I am probably not going to do any more. They are pretty brutal.)

Cormac McCarthy is considered by some (including Mike) to be the greatest living American author. I moved from his book to Saturday by Ian McEwan, who is considered one of the greatest living British authors. (And before that I read a work by the author who comes in tops on that list. Wow!) It’s not going to replace Atonement as my favorite of his novels, but I love how he takes one day and uses it as a microcosm of one man’s life. His writing is so controlled, no words out of place as the story builds and builds to the breaking point. It’s an exercise in writing just to read his novels. And both of those books, together? Well, I am thankful to have the time to read them like that, back to back, on consecutive days. Such riches indeed.

(I like reading young adult novels, but it sure is nice to take a break from them, too.)

A few years ago, long before we knew the end of Harry Potter’s story, I was involved in a discussion in which I stated that J.K. Rowling is an excellent writer. Someone in the discussion felt differently, claiming that the “previously in Harry Potter” recaps at the beginning of the earlier books proved that she wasn’t a good author. I am kind of afraid of arguing with this person, to be honest, so I conceded the point, and we were able to agree that Rowling is an excellent storyteller. I have wondered, in the past year, how she feels about Rowling’s writing now, whether the detail and care that she brought to her tale (not to mention the fact that, once she had a little more clout with the publishers, the recaps stopped pretty abruptly) has changed her feelings about Rowling’s gifts as an author.

This summer, as we have been painting, I have been listening to Harry Potter on CD as read by Jim Dale (which makes us even more excited about Pushing Daisies coming back in the fall). This is my first time reading it now that I know the end, and it’s been interesting to watch it all come together. The Twilight saga, as I am sure you are aware, has been heralded as the next Harry Potter. In an interview with Entertainment Weekly (the issue with the revolting Twilight cover), Stephenie Meyer talked about her storytelling, and how she may not be the most gifted writer, but she can tell a story. But the simple truth is that people liked Harry Potter for more than just an entertaining story. We liked the world she created, we liked the characters, and, as the story continued, we liked the increasing depth of a story that was putting forth important ideas about friendship, loyalty, life, death, and love. Nothing in Stephenie Meyer’s books approaches that kind of depth. The Twilight saga, though deeply entertaining, is, in the end, nothing more than a series of vampire romance novels.

But, as I said, they are deeply entertaining. Exceptionally high on the unintentional comedy scale, no question, but the story itself was, for the most part, a page turner, even if the characters were not much more than empty shells that allowed readers to fill in the blanks with, well, themselves. (This does, after all, help explain much of the popularity of the books. What teenage girl would not want to fancy herself adored by two hot guys with special powers?) And so, on Saturday morning, Mike and I trekked to Wal-Mart so that I could purchase a copy of the final book in the saga, Breaking Dawn. Why did I buy it when I don’t have any of the others? Well, we were at the beach, and I thought, “Hey, I will just donate this book to my school when I am done.” I was a little ashamed to have it in my cart, but also a little excited to hear the end of the story. Six and a half hours later, I put the book down, a bit disappointed, relieved that it was finally over.

As Breaking Dawn begins, Bella’s wedding is in just a few days, and she continues to face the questions of whether sex with a vampire is going to be possible and also whether Edward will follow through with his promise to turn her into a vampire as well. I found the first half of the book to be as entertaining as the other parts of the series I had enjoyed, with twists and turns I hadn’t expected, not to mention the overly dramatic prose I have come to count on. (My family was quite entertained when I would read bits to them, things like Bella feeling that Edward is more angel than man.) By the second half, Stephenie Meyer herself seemed to lose interest in the story, and the climax toward which the story had been building sputtered out with a whimper rather than the bang of the Battle of Hogwarts. I think, in the end, maybe she should have kept the story to three books.

When I finished Breaking Dawn, I picked up Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, which I had gotten about halfway through. I finished it on Sunday morning, cried a little bit, and marveled at J.K. Rowling’s gifts, especially as compared to what I had just read in Breaking Dawn. If the Twilight stories are the new Harry Potter, you can keep them. I will stick with the old Harry Potter, thanks.

I am not exactly sure what this list is, but it has something to do with the National Endowment for the Arts’ Big Read program, though I couldn’t find this list on their website to verify that claim. I stole it from CJ. Apparently the NEA estimates that the average adult has only read six of these books. At least, that is the statistic that is bandied about the internet. So, basically, this is a random unverified list with a random unverified statistic attached to it. But let’s see how I do anyway, shall we? (Hint: more than six.)

Here’s how it works:

1) Look at the list and bold those you have read.
2) Italicize those you intend to read.
3) Mark in red the books you LOVE.
4) Reprint this list in your blog

Oh, yeah, I am not so much for making things red. So we are ignoring that rule. But feel free to use it if you’d like.

1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen - My favorite book.
2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien - In my top ten.
3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte - I don’t love the Brontes like I love my Jane.
4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling - You guys don’t need to hear me talk about this any more.
5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee - I want to read this again by the end of this year.
6 The Bible - I haven’t read all of it, I admit.
7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte - Hated it. Too overwrought.
8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman - I haven’t read all of them, but I have read The Golden Compass
10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens - I believe this was the first Dickens I read.

11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
12 Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy - A Prayer for Owen Meany makes me want to read this one
13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
14 Complete Works of Shakespeare - I have no plans to read the complete works, no.
15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks
18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger - I haven’t read it since high school.
19 The Time Traveller’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger -Why is this book on this list? The modern novels on this list are . . . interesting.
20 Middlemarch - George Eliot - Checked it out one time, never got around to reading it.

21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell - I read this in middle school, believe it or not.
22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald
23 Bleak House - Charles Dickens - I am happy with the Dickens I have read, and have no desire to read more.
24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy - I want to do all those big fat Russian novels someday.
25 The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams - I like this book, but, again, why?
26 Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh - A few years ago. Can’t wait to see the movie.
27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck - Haven’t read it, don’t plan on it.
29 Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame

31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy - But I want to reread it. I read it in 8th grade. NERD.
32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
34 Emma - Jane Austen
35 Persuasion - Jane Austen - I would like to revisit this one now that I am older.
36 The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis - Why is this on here if the Chronicles are also on here?
37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
38 Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40 Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne

41 Animal Farm - George Orwell
42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44 A Prayer for Owen Meany - John Irving
45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins - I went through a Wilkie Collins phase.
46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy - I have read some Hardy. The Mayor of Casterbridge. This guy I was dating loved that book, so I read it. Why isn’t that one on the list?
48 The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood
49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding - Somehow I never did this one in school.
50 Atonement - Ian McEwan - My favorite book from last year.

51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52 Dune - Frank Herbert
53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons - I am not sure if I have read this one. I might actually have read it.
54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck - I don’t know how I got through school without reading this. But I’m not going to do it now.
62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt - I will probably read this soon, actually. It’s been on my list for a while.
64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold - Seriously?
65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac - Started it, hated it.
67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68 Bridget Jones’s Diary - Helen Fielding
69 Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie
70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville

71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72 Dracula - Bram Stoker - Brian kept telling me to read this. I might someday.
73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75 Ulysses - James Joyce
76 The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath - This year, actually. I finally read it.
77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78 Germinal - Emile Zola
79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray - I have started it a few times. Maybe I should watch the movie first, to get me ready.
80 Possession - AS Byatt

81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87 Charlotte’s Web - EB White
88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90 The Faraway Tree Collection - I don’t even know what that IS.

91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94 Watership Down - Richard Adams
95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare
99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo - I tried one time. But maybe one day.

Looks like a total of 50. Not bad. (I love lists like this, because I love marking things off lists. hehehe.)

The whole church is organized in a cycle of seasons, liturgies, holy days, and Gospel readings that may be connected to how life unfolds. We need to revisit our experience over and over again; each time, each visit, another layer is peeled away, another piece or aspect is revealed. Our cells carry memories that rise on anniversaries, demand another look. Holy Week is a distillation of this repetition. Each Good Friday, every year, we look again. The result is a reordering of experience.

I hate to do book reviews where all I do is quote from the book, but there were so many beautiful passages in this book. In Things Seen and Unseen, Nora Gallagher chronicles a year of her life lived in the church calendar. I have written many times about how attending a church that follows the calendar gives meaning and shape to my own faith, so of course this book is right up my alley. My mom gave it to me for my birthday, and I read it eagerly while we were on vacation. I managed to keep from reading passages out loud to Mike only because I noted the page numbers. Now I will read them out loud to you.

As she is thinking about the evil in the world, she wonders what use faith is at all:

And thus I doubt. Doubt is to me the handmaiden of faith, its cop, the one that keeps faith straight. To doubt is an indication of freedom and a guard against fanaticism. But it is also so easy to doubt, so easy to be cynical hat the job appears to be to enlarge the part that believes, but only to enlarge it by taking the path made painful by the doubt and with the integrity born of the doubt rather than the inflation born of sentiment, heightened emotion, or the sometimes false camaraderie of a faith community.

I have heard the idea that doubt is the handmaiden of faith before (perhaps someone was quoting this book, or perhaps she has borrowed it from somewhere else), but I love the idea that it enlarges faith because it challenges faith and makes it more sincere. I struggle quite a bit when I see sentimentality and emotionalism in faith, though I am sure I am sentimental and emotional in my own ways, too. But, like Gallagher, I believe that what we are striving for is something of a more genuine sort, something born not out of nice ideas and smiley faces but by facing challenges and suffering and choosing truth.

When speaking of her return to church, she talked about how, for a long time, she attended church without letting it actually invade her heart:

The trouble was, I didn’t believe that it was about anything real. I went to church as if it were a ballet. I went to the ballet on Sunday, felt many different kinds of feelings, couldn’t bring those feelings into line with my intellect or figure out how to integrate them into my own experience, and so gradually they faded as the week wore on. It didn’t connect. I suspect that many people who faithfully attend church remain in such a state and don’t know what to do about it (And those who watch us from the outside wonder, rightly, What’s the point of all this?) What I finally understood was that simply going to church doesn’t do it, but neither does not going to church.

I think almost all regular church attenders would say that they understand what she is saying here. I have treated church like a nice play, one that I attend and that I think about, but that loses its impact as time wears on. Part of her story is about actually engaging with the people around her, especially through a small Bible study and then through working in a soup kitchen at her church. I have learned a lot about community from the people around me, but I still struggle with knowing how to share what is important to me, which is why I appreciated that part of her story so much.

One imagines religion as making one “good,” and various ideal ways of behaving are often touted in pulpits. But the opposite of sin is not virtue but faith. And none of it works without the weight of experience, knowing something as an experience rather than as an event that passes over the skin. How this I experiences this event and folds it into flesh. How a soul, as Margaret Drabble said, weathers into identity.

Faith is not about belief in something irrational or about a blind connection to something unreal. It’s about a gathering, an accumulation of events and experiences of a different order. These experiences are gradually convincing enough, or you have paid them so much attention, they reach critical mass. The famous “leap” comes at the beginning, when there is not enough experience to justify the effort. Even then, something begins faith–a memory of a reality or of an experience that doesn’t quite fit with everything else, the longing a soul has to find its shape in the world.

I don’t think she’s saying here that experience is the most important thing, but that how we experience our faith is important, choosing to believe and to serve and to love and letting that shape our souls rather than following a list of rules.

If, instead of waiting for stones to be changed to bread, we share the food we have; if, rather than waiting for the fantasy job or lover, we take on the people and work of our lives; if, rather than waiting for rescue, we lay down our lives for our friends–then we depart the world of deadly illusion for a living reality in which “every day the real caress” as Anais Nin wrote “replaces the ghostly lover.”

As Nora Gallagher struggles with her brother’s cancer, prepares food for the needy, and experiences the grace of serving communion, she is learning to escape the world of deadly illusion. This was a good book for me to read in the summer, in Ordinary Time. I can choose to see this as a massive vacation, or I can see it as part of my real, regular life. I have come to believe that the time given us is anything but ordinary, but even in the most mundane of situations, we can remember that, as the back of the book jacket says, “The road to the sacred is paved with the ordinary.”

Amelia Atwater-Rhodes is an author of fantasy and young adult novels, and her books are popular with some of the students at my school, so when Random House asked me to be part of her blog tour, I happily agreed. She will be posting here on August 7th, but for now, you can read more about her on the rest of her blog tour, which started today!

July 22nd: Bildungsroman
July 24th: Cheryl Rainfield
July 25th: BookLoons
July 28th: Mrs. Magoo Reads
July 30th: Teen Book Review
July 31st: Making Stuff Up for a Living
August 4th: Bookwyrm Chrysalis
August 5th: The Reading Zone

Hot Mess: Summer in the City is one part Sex and the City, one part The Devil Wears Prada (minus the awesome fashion), and one part high school. Emma Freeman has broken up with her boyfriend and scored a summer internship in New York City. She and her best friend Rachel are ready to hit the city for the summer, experiencing their first taste of freedom. While the internship is less exciting than Emma had hoped, she still manages to find plenty of excitement in the form of a hot coworker and a socialite roommate. Will Emma and Rachel find the love and glamor they expect? Or will they simply max out their parents’ credit cards?

I have never lived in New York, but I liked the way this book captured the feel of being there, especially the feel of being there as a stranger and a teenager. I also liked Emma, who knew that there was more to life than her high school boyfriend, but who had to be pushed into doing something about it. She had flaws, but they were believable, and her thoughts and attitudes sounded like a high schooler rather than an adult’s version of what a high schooler sounds like. I thought the book ended on a high note, but with room for more of Emma’s story. The references in this book will date it pretty quickly, which is a major drawback. While there are some stretches in the plot (the awesome apartment and ultra-rich roommate, for one), it’s a more realistic portrait of teenage life than Gossip Girl, and Emma’s sense of humor about her adventures and herself made it a good beach book for teens who dream about life in New York City.

Earlier in the school year, some of the teachers and I were joking about needing to be more positive. One of the art teachers even purchased a book at Barnes and Noble with quotes about positivity, and we tried to read them at lunchtime, but . . . the quotes were too long! They often had no meaning! Instead of being uplifting, they often depressed us.

When this book came in the mail, I read it, and I was so excited. I took it to school and we had Storytime With Kari at lunch. And this book was declared to be a great hit and exactly what we needed during the last few weeks of school. In fact, we found it so delightful that other spontaneous storytimes took place during the last week of school. This book is now famous at my school, both for the fact that it is cute and makes people smile, and also for the fact that I made adults sit and listen to me as I read it to them. I am still kind of new at that job, and I should maybe not do things like that.

I don’t know how to talk about picture books without showing some of the pictures. Here are a few reasons that we enjoyed this book.

The art teachers liked this page:

Big Bunny liked this page (in case you cannot read it, it says “International Bunny Appreciation Day”

And also she liked the face of the bunny here. Check out this bunny attitude:

Mike liked the environmental message:

But this was my favorite:

(I checked the artist’s website, because I love that picture and would love to have a print or a poster of it, but I don’t see anything at this time.)

I will be honest with you - I don’t tend to like little books of silly platitudes. But this book is a lot more than that. The message is simple, but the funny and charming illustrations make it something special. It would be perfect for a gift basket for a friend in need of some cheering up. (But don’t be surprised if you find yourself dancing spontaneously and making funny faces in the mirror.)

Did you think maybe we would make it through this summer without any Harry Potter entries? Surely you are not quite that naive!

My plan was to reread the series this summer, but since they are packed, Mike and I have been listening to them instead. The other day, I paused the iPod and said, “A year ago we still did not know how it ended.” It took me back to those desperate feelings of needing to know how it was all going to end. To the night we saw J.K. Rowling at Carnegie Hall. To reading the book in our pajamas all day on July 21st. To the release party, complete with a fantastic setup of snacks, pizza, and my brother frantically reading in the corner, trying to finish Half-Blood Prince before midnight.

And it took me back to one of my favorite moments from the whole Deathly Hallows release experience, one that I didn’t mention at the time, but that I would like to talk about now: the day that the books came into the library.

It was just after lunch on July 11. My coworker stepped into my office, saying, “There’s a box that has Harry Potter written all over it. Should you come look at it?” I nearly tripped as I rushed over to the boxes, and, indeed, sitting right on top, there it was. Do not open before July 21.

The night before, I had dreamed that it was Harry Potter Day, and I was so happy. We hadn’t been spoiled. We were going to make it. I woke up, and, no, it wasn’t Harry Potter Day. It was just a regular old Wednesday. It technically was Harry Potter Movie Day, but Harry Potter Movie Day didn’t really mean all that much to me.

We opened the invoice and I reiterated to my coworker the importance of keeping and processing them in a secure environment, not opening the box before absolutely necessary, not reading it, not posting on the internet. All the things we’d promised in order to get the books. This was it. This was the last book. It was Right. There. It would not be an exaggeration to say that I kind of hugged the box. I was so excited. Finally, the book was within my reach. Finally, it was almost time to read it. First I hid it behind my trashcan. Then I hid it under my desk. Go ahead and imagine all of that. I’ll wait.

You back? Have you stopped laughing? All right then. I tried frantically to call Mike, who was actually watching the movie (which I did not know at the time), and therefore did not answer his phone. I debated telling some of my friends. There was the gloating factor “guess what is under my desk” aspect vs. the pressure I knew they’d give me. “Why don’t you just open it?” they’d say. “Why don’t you take it home and read it? I’d never be able to do that.” I did not need any encouragement to be weak. I was feeling very weak. I just wanted to know what was going to happen. I just wanted to know. I had so many questions. But I had given my word, I had signed all the papers, so I kept my mouth shut and the box under my desk. I tried to call Mike again. I sent him emails with LARGE CAPITAL LETTERS. I sat at my desk for a while, and I realized that I did not want to spend the next ten days with it that close to me.

I’ll be honest with you — it surprised me how hard it was to have them so close. When Half-Blood Prince came in, I had no problem being strong. I had no problem waiting to get and read it at midnight like everyone else. I didn’t even look at the back cover. With Deathly Hallows, though, my fear of spoilers made me really anxious, and it was hard to have the “solution” to that anxiety right under my desk. In my mind, the spoiler situation was elevated to a “severe threat” level, which made it much easier to think about cheating. To protect myself. Ah, justification. Let me wrap myself in your arms.

And so I locked them in a closet, both for the safety of the books and for my own sanity. I locked them in a closet as if I was trying to make a bargain with God. “If I do the right thing, could you please work it out so I don’t get spoiled? Could you please make other people do the right thing, too?” Life doesn’t work like that, I know. And bargaining with God is always a bad idea. But instead of taking the book home, breaking the law, breaking my word, I did the right thing. The other 20 copies came in on July 17th. Again, I locked them immediately in a closet. I did hold one in my hand this time, but I didn’t even crack it open to look at the title page. It felt good, to hold it in my hand. I let that be enough.

There was some discussion that week of what kind of person would intentionally spoil a book for other people. I put forth the theory that it was a power trip. I felt uniquely situated in the discussion, because, as my boss said, “I am not keeping you from the book. Your own conscience is keeping you from it.” (I told him he’d better put that in my performance evaluation: “Shows integrity even under extreme pressure.”) While I never would have spoiled it for anyone, I understood the draw of letting other people know that I had it, even if I wasn’t going to read it. As I said before, at first I couldn’t handle the pressure of people knowing, but later in the week, after the spoilers were out, I started to see things differently. When Half-Blood Prince came into my office four days before the release date, I gloated. I didn’t read it early, but I wanted them to know I had it. Since then, I have come to see that as somewhat sad. I don’t need to get my identity from having the book before other people, as if I am part of some special group and they aren’t. What would be the point of that? And so, for the most part, I managed not to tell people. I discussed the paperwork I had to sign, and perhaps people inferred that we had it, but all in all, I think I was much better behaved than when Half-Blood Prince came out. I hope it meant that I had grown a little in the two years between the two books, behaving like a reasonable adult rather than being tacky and immature.

And in the end, it worked out. I got to work on the morning of the 20th, I processed the books and got them ready for checkout the next day. (Actually processing the books was HARD. I had to TOUCH THEM and put JACKETS ON THEM and NOT READ THEM.) We had our party and there were no spoilers and Mike and I spent a frantic 21 hours reading it out loud. And all of that was wonderful, and I won’t forget it. But, for me, the moment when I saw the box was one of the most exciting experiences of the whole crazy ride, and I am incredibly proud to say that I had it and I locked it away.

(I saved one of the boxes, because I thought it was awesome. But this picture is from July 20th, the day we opened the boxes to process them. And, yes, my hands did shake a little bit. Stop laughing at me! I was kind of excited!)

I finished Gaudy Night last night . . . my summer class has made reading somewhat difficult, but it will be over in a week and a half, so I expect my books read to skyrocket in July.

A few weeks ago, I mentioned that one of our fellow concert-goers did not have what I thought to be proper concert etiquette. At the time, I considered quoting from Gaudy Night, but was too lazy to get the book off of the shelf. So I will quote from it now, as it is still on the couch here beside me (I don’t know where to put it . . . the rest of our books are packed. I miss you, books). I will go ahead and confess that this paragraph shapes quite a lot of what I consider to be proper concert etiquette.

He was wrapt in the motionless austerity with which all genuine musicians listen to genuine music. Harriet was musician enough to respect this aloofness; she knew well enough that the ecstatic rapture on the face of the man opposite meant only that he was hoping to be thought musical, and that the elderly lady over the way, waving her fingers to the beat, was a musical moron. She knew enough, herself, to read the sounds a little with her brains, laboriously unwinding the twined chains of melody link by link. Peter, she felt sure, could hear the whole intricate pattern, every part separately and simultaneously, each independent and equal, separate but inseparable, moving over and under and through, ravishing heart and mind together.

You guys, I just love Dorothy Sayers. Maybe she is being too judgy in this passage, but . . . “unwinding the chains of melody link by link?” That is some gorgeous stuff right there. Gaudy Night is a book that has meant a lot to me as a woman, a scholar, and a feminist, and this is one of the paragraphs that has left its mark on me. I know that I am no genuine musician, but I try to be respectful of those around me who can appreciate the intricacies of music when I am attending a live concert. And that was what I was trying to say - the woman who annoyed me with her exuberance was, according to Dorothy sayers at least, probably not even really enjoying the music, but wanted to be seen enjoying it, to be thought of as musical.

I find something different every time I read the book, and while I remember this section, it stood out to me this time. Harriet is discussing her relationship with Peter, how Peter has watched her wrestle with her demons and been respectful enough not to interfere or force himself into the situation, despite the fact that he loves her.

“Yes. I almost wish he had interfered, instead of being so horribly intelligent. It would be quite a relief to be ridden over rough-shod for a change.”

“He will never do that. That’s his weakness. He’ll never make up your mind for you. You’ll have to make your own decisions. You needn’t be afraid of losing your independence; he will always force it back on you. If you ever find any kind of repose with him, it can only be the repose of very delicate balance.”

Perhaps this paragraph left its mark, too, without me knowing it, because those are things I would say about Mike, as well. I wouldn’t say that Mike reminds me of Lord Peter in any way except this: when I have tried to abdicate certain decisions or decision-making processes, he makes it clear that he expects me to act as an equal partner. He always encourages me to think for myself and to work out my problems without trying to fix them for me. It is a delicate balance, and one that I appreciate about our relationship. He has, esentially, asked me to grow up and expected a lot from me over the past few years, and his faith in me has helped me live up to his expectations.

There are so many new and unread books on my list that sometimes I don’t have time to squeeze in the old favorites. But this was the right decision for me, to pick up this book. I am always sad when it is over. Usually I move straight on through to Busman’s Honeymoon. And I would have this time, too. Except it’s already packed up.

I am not a horse girl. I grew up in a farming community, and many of my classmates had horses and enjoyed riding. My mom’s cousin kept horses in the field next to our house (doesn’t my childhood sound lovely?). I enjoyed taking them apples and sugar cubes, but I was kind of afraid of them. The one time I rode a horse (thank you Pioneer Girls, for giving me new and different experiences – they can also have the credit for the only time I have been ice skating), I was terrified. The horse was so big and powerful and I was too scared to stay on it just to ride around in a ring. One of my aunts gave me Misty of Chincoteague one summer, and I would have loyally said that I enjoyed it, but . . . it just didn’t do much for me. I read Black Beauty a few years later, and felt pretty much the same. I have never seen Seabiscuit. I did enjoy Wild Hearts Can’t Be Broken, that movie about horse diving, but I think that was because part of it was filmed in my uncle’s house in Myrtle Beach. And also because I thought the main guy was dreamy. (Whatever happened to him, anyway?)

And so, it should not surprise you to hear that I would never have picked up this book if I hadn’t had a personal connection to it. My cousin’s wife, Annie Wedekind, is the author. My shiny new copy was delivered from Amazon last week, and I was excited to read it, but also a little apprehensive. What if the horsey stuff just didn’t do it for me? Well, let me tell you - last night I stayed up past my bedtime to finish the book. And you know how I like my sleep.

A Horse of Her Own is about Jane Ryan, who is spending the summer at Sunny Acres farm where she can ride her favorite horse, Beau, take the advanced riding class, and spend time with her best friend Robin. When things don’t go exactly as she had imagined, she struggles with training a different horse, Lancelot, with her feelings for Ben, who works in the stable, and with the question of how much she wants to fit in with the cliquish group of wealthy girls in her class.

For me, the best part of the story was Jane’s dealings with the clique she can’t be a part of. I related to her desire to be included, even as she wrestled with the question of why she would want to spend time with people who didn’t want to spend time with her. Jane’s relationship with her friend Robin was also great – they alternated between being serious about their horse riding and being silly teenage girls, which made them both likeable and believable.

As far as the horse stuff goes . . . I am not sure how it would read to someone who is a big horse person, but I thought Annie did a great job of explaining what needed to be explained and just expecting the reader to keep up with the rest. I still don’t know exactly what all of the terms mean, but I got a sense of why horses are so important to Jane and could visualize most of what was happening. I think that girls who love horse books will love this book and will relate to Jane and her desire to have a horse of her own. And I think that the rest of us can relate to Jane’s struggle to define who she is, her crush on Ben, and her fantastic relationship with her sister. Whether we love horses or not. (It did make me wish I knew how to ride just a little bit, which is probably the strongest possible praise that I can give a horse book.)

I recommend this for the teenagers and horse-lovers in your life. It’s sweet and funny and I enjoyed every minute.

When we did the great magazine cleanout of 2008, I pulled out every single EW book review that was of interest to me and wrote the titles and authors down on my To Be Read List. I noticed that EW listed as its top fiction book for the year a book called The Post-Birthday World by Lionel Shriver. It might be true that most people haven’t heard of it, but I did remember ordering it back when I worked for the public library, so I put it on hold, and over the past week, I finally got around to reading it.

The setup is this: Two couples (Lawrence and Irina; Ramsey and Jude) regularly get together on Ramsey’s birthday, July 6th. After Ramsey and Jude divorce, Lawrence and Irina continue to spend his birthday with him, mostly because of their feelings of duty and pity. One year, Ramsey’s birthday rolls around and Lawrence happens to be out of town, but encourages Irina not to neglect Ramsey. And so, Irina and Ramsey have a boozy dinner that ends at his house. As he teaches her to play snooker, she feels a powerful urge to kiss him.

And here the book diverges . . . in alternating chapters, we find out what her life would be like if she did kiss him and if she didn’t. The stories parallel in a clever manner, with opposite things taking place in each version of her life. I told Andrea about this book, and she said, “Well, that sounds like something that is right up your alley.” And I would agree, except for one thing: I kind of hate Irina. Which is a pretty big problem. Irina seems content to let things happen around her, to be treated badly by both of these two men, to refuse to make decisions for herself. Over the course of the story, I grew to like her a little bit more, but there was definitely a point at which I just wanted her to forget about both of these guys and make a new and different life for herself somewhere (anywhere) else. I chose at that point to keep reading, and I am glad I did, but this was not an easy or comfortable book to read at any point. By the end, even the characters I did like managed to do things to make me despise them.

And so, I don’t recommend this book, exactly. If you think it sounds like something you might enjoy, please do read it, because I would love to have someone with whom I could discuss it. It kept my interest, and I learned a lot about snooker, but it was kind of a downer. It was well-crafted, though, and I would be interested to read other books by Lionel Shriver. (Has anyone read We Need to Talk About Kevin?)

I just finished The Off Season by Catherine Gilbert Murdock, and while I didn’t like it quite as much as I liked Dairy Queen (I never wrote about that book, but I thought it was pretty fantastic), the ending really got me. Now, those of you who think that you might be interested should probably stop here, because I’m going to be quoting from the last paragraph of the book.

All gone? Okay then.

But the thing is, Dad’s not too fond of easy lives. Probably jealous, for one thing. But he’s also seen how a tough life can make you stronger. It got Win and Bill all the way to college because they worked so hard at football. It got Win fighting for his survival. That’s why Dad agreed to take Brian on last summer, because Jimmy Ott wanted Brian to get a work ethic and Schwenk Farm grows that better than anything. And Brian did learn how to work hard, and all season he started as QB thanks to us. But I guess he never learned those other kinds of toughness, like how to stand up to your so-called friends, and how to defend those people who really are your friends even if they’re unpopular or poor or the wrong size. I think what Dad was saying that night–although I’m not sure because I’m never going to ask him–is that Brian’s life has been too easy, and that maybe, just maybe, I deserve someone better. Someone else who’s strong enough to take on a whole herd of trouble when it comes their way.

Now, of course, in most ways Mike and I have easy lives. We have all the benefits of people who live in this country, and we have a home and we never have to worry about food and we get to go to the movies and see Indiana Jones just because we want to. But at the same time, we have faced a herd of trouble here and there, and it has had his challenges. And as I finished this book the day before he graduated, I thought about the man I married, the man who stood up for me against his family, who reinvented himself in order to better provide for us, who was strong for me when my daddy was sick. I wish things had been easier for him, and I wish some of those things hadn’t happened to us. But I am proud to be married to a man who can take on a whole herd of trouble and come out stronger for it.

On a lighter note, how about some pictures?

I like to call this picture, “Spent four years prostrate to the higher mind, got my paper and I was free.” Special thanks to my brother for taking pictures that day. Also, it explains the veritable cornucopia of pictures of pretty girls. (Just kidding. I mean, there were lots of pictures of pretty girls. But that’s because the education department is pretty much all female.)

Would you like to see what Mike’s cake looked like?

Yes, that is a sea turtle with a graduation cap on. Our friend Deb is awesome. She came up with that idea and executed it awesomely.

I came home today to find The Joys of Love by Madeleine L’Engle on my front step. Well, it was in a box. But you know what I mean. I don’t know what exactly was wrong with me today, but there was crying and a near panic attack and bad news and my day was not nearly as bad as all of that sounds, but it was not an excellent day, either.

But now! Now I have in my hands a new Madeleine L’Engle book, one that I have never read before. One that was never published before. Internet! I can hardly stand it! I will be back when I have had time to finish it.

Life is full of little miracles: Rainbows after a good, long rain; kind words instead of animosity; friendship instead of loneliness. These are the kinds of miracles that Mma Ramotswe and Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni believe in. They would like to believe that their foster daughter will one day be able to get up out of her wheelchair and walk, and though it seems unlikely, he, especially, continue to hope. As Mma Ramotswe solves the mystery of who is sending her angry letters and helps a young woman find her true family, she and Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni face their life together with the humor and insight that makes these books so wonderful. As they continue to open their hearts and share their lives, they find that, truly, miracles are all around us all.

I didn’t always cry when I read Alexander McCall Smith’s books, but they are so full of truth about people and hope for a better world that, these days, I cannot help it. The love that the characters show for one another rings so true to life that it touches my heart. This book was no exception, and it managed to portray some difficult scenes between Mma Ramotswe and her foster children without being trite, precocious, or cloying. I admire McCall Smith’s ability to fill his books with such heart without having it overwhelm the story or the humor. I cannot say enough about this series and how delightful it is. Always, always a pleasure.

I read (but did not really care for) Rachel Cohn and David Levithan’s newer book, Naomi and Ely’s No Kiss List. I read Boy Meets Boy by David Levithan, and I thought it was cute, though not necessarily my thing. But, for some reason, I keep thinking that maybe I am going to like David Levithan, so I thought I’d try Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist. Also, it is being made into a movie. And my husband really likes music, so the idea of an infinite playlist was pretty appealing to me.

Alternating between Nick and Norah’s perspective, this is the story of the first night of their relationship, the night that Nick asked Norah to be his five minute girlfriend, that they saw their favorite band and began to get over their exes and stayed up until dawn. And I liked it better than the others, no question. But I think I liked the idea of it more than the actual execution.

What I did like was their infinite playlist, their relationship beginning, as they were experiencing that first spark, bantering back and forth, reciting lyrics at each other. It made me think about how that’s a pretty great description of relationships, how I can chart our relationship from “Mansions” by Burlap to Cashmere and “Testify to Love” by Avalon to “The Story” by Brandi Carlile and “Falling Slowly” by Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova. And in between, there’s a lot of Counting Crows and Simon and Garfunkel and The Beatles and Waterdeep and Kelly Clarkson and M. Ward and The Decemberists and Bob Dylan and Andrew Peterson and hours and hours of Christmas music. Music is one of those things that helps me chart the passage of time, one of those things that causes a visceral reaction as it takes me back to certain memories, places, tastes, or smells. I have said before that relationships are one long conversation. But, as Nick and Norah are discovering, they are also an infinite playlist. As we build memories, we build our soundtrack.

When I was reading this, Mike said, “Why isn’t the book just called Hate?” Funny guy. But, you know, we had a good discussion about what the opposite of love might be. I suggested fear and selfishness. Mike quoted Elie Wiesel, saying that it’s indifference.

The Opposite of Love is about Emily, a lawyer who seems to enjoy breaking her own heart. She broke up with her boyfriend Andrew because he was about to propose. She can’t find the courage to stand up to her lecherous boss. She and her father continue to drift apart. She can’t face the idea that her beloved grandfather is sick. Though, of course, Emily has a big turning point, this book is more about the breaking and the new beginning as Emily turns from fear and selfishness (see, I was right!), which is why I liked it so much.

I will say that I thought the book went off the rails a bit about a quarter of the way in, so much that I got a little bit of anxiety reading it. But that can be common for me with chick lit, and the plot was, in many ways, straightforward chick lit. What saved it for me were the secondary characters, especially her grandfather’s friend Ruth. I also felt that Emily’s neuroses were realistic and understandable, and that she was truly trying to change and make a difference. There was a depth to the story that I appreciated. I don’t give this a wholehearted recommendation, but I did stay up late reading it. And you know how I like my sleep.

Random House is re-releasing the Sweet Valley High series, with updated references (this means cell phones and Elizabeth writes for the website instead of the newspaper) and character descriptions (this means “perfect size four” rather than “perfect size six”). In honor of this glorious event, I would like to share a treasured photo with you. I had the Sweet Valley High board game, you see, and it was a point of contention between me and my dad. I am not completely sure about the details, but I am pretty sure that he did not approve of Sweet Valley High in general (though he did let me read them), and he wasn’t really a board game kind of guy. Card games, yes. Board games, not so much. And, finally, the game required that you steal other players’ boyfriends as you collected all the things you needed for your big date. There was no way he was going to play a game like that.

But. We had a habit of betting things for the Carolina/Duke game. At some point, we made a wager that, if Duke lost, he had to play Sweet Valley High: The Board Game with me. Duke did, in fact, lose that game. He had to play Sweet Valley High with me, complete with boyfriend stealing. And I took a picture of it. With my polaroid camera. Which I now share with all of you.

Stealing boyfriends from other players gave him physical pain. But I made him do it anyway.

Obviously, I was quite excited to read the updated version, if only to revisit good old Sweet Valley High. The Dairi Burger, a site that is rereading and reviewing old Sweet Valley High books, thinks that maybe the 80s yuppie culture won’t translate to today’s audiences. The site specifically talks about the obsession with the rich and how that won’t really translate to today’s youth . . . to which I say, “Have you SEEN how popular Gossip Girl is?” What is Gossip Girl about other than class issues and spying on the lives of rich people? And there’s the Clique series (rich private school girls) and the It Girl series (I don’t know what that one’s about, but I am going to guess people who are rich and/or famous), and . . . you get the idea.

In case you don’t know, the Sweet Valley High series features beautiful twins Jessica and Elizabeth Wakefield, who are 16 and attend Sweet Valley High with their beautiful friends. Jessica is the “bad twin,” who is inconsiderate and selfish and boy-crazy, while Elizabeth, the “good twin,” works on the newspaper (excuse me, website) and is responsible and considerate. (I always liked Elizabeth better.) They like boys and go to parties and there are hints of sex but nothing ever really happens. Well, this one time, Bruce Patman untied the top of Jessica’s bathing suit, which I found racy at the time. But now I look at the things going on in Gossip Girl, and the bikini top seems kind of tame. Because of that, I think it’s a good choice for middle school - it has the high school drama without some of the material that makes Gossip Girl and its ilk inappropriate for that age.

Because the girls at my school love the Clique series, I have read some of them myself, and I was bothered by the way the girls in that series treat each other. When girls ask for it, if it’s not checked in, I have been known to say, “Wouldn’t you rather read a series where the girls are nice to each other?” and give them The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants instead. Because of my discomfort with some of that, I wondered how Sweet Valley High would measure up now that I am a little bit older. After reading Double Love and Secrets, I have to say that they are pretty much just as I remember them. Though Jessica is catty and selfish and conniving, she often gets her comeuppance. Additionally, the presence of Elizabeth balances out the story a little bit more, and I would be much more comfortable giving these to my middle schoolers than the Clique series, where everyone is just mean to each other all the time.

I hope, as they are updating Sweet Valley High, that they give the series more diversity. The Dairi Burger was right in that one of the major themes was class, which was a little bit more applicable in the 80s . . . I hope that can be expanded so that the series also deals with race and ethnicity as well. Overall, though, I enjoyed this trip down memory lane. I enjoyed it so much that I got out the old board game.

Much to Mike’s chagrin. Well, that’s what he said at first, but then he got into the spirit of it. He played as Jessica, the “bad twin,” and he really embodied the character. He took what used to be a simple game and added some serious scheming.

OMG! He stole my boyfriend!

And, uh, then he won. I am filled with shame. I will distract you by posting that picture of my dad again, just because I can.

The rest of the Sweet Valley High pictures are here!

I have sometimes dreamt, at least, that when the Day of Judgment dawns and the great conquerors and lawyers and statesmen come to receive their rewards … the Almighty will turn to Peter and say, not without a certain envy when He sees us coming with our books under our arms, “Look, these need no reward. We have nothing to give them here. They have loved reading.” -Virginia Woolf (1882-1941)

I am not sure whether Anne Rice’s books on the life of Christ are considered heretical or unorthodox . . . since they are from the point of view of Jesus, I am sure that some people find that offensive. I liked what she did with Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt, though. It made for a good discussion in my book club, and I liked the (obviously deeply researched) information she put in on the political climate of the time. When the second in the trilogy came out, I was definitely interested to give it a try. And, though I liked Out of Egypt, I loved The Road to Cana.

Christ the Lord: The Road to Cana is about Jesus’ life just before his ministry begins, as he works as a carpenter in Nazareth. The premise of the series overall is that, as Jesus grew as a man, his understanding of his ministry grew as well. When we discussed the first one in my book club, that concept caused some people some problems, because many of them felt that Jesus fully understood what he was doing all along. I don’t think Anne Rice is trying to discount the divinity of Christ in any way . . . I think that this is her way of acknowledging that the question of Christ’s divinity and his humanity is a great mystery. And this is how it might have played out.

I have never read any of Anne Rice’s vampire books, so I don’t know much about her writing, but I thought that passages in this book were beautiful. In my favorite passage, one of the characters asked Jesus why, when he was 12, he didn’t stay at the Temple, why he has been simply swallowed up by the world instead of studying Torah and making a difference. Here is part of his response:

“It’s where I live, my lord,” I said. “Not in the Temple, but in the world. And in the world, I learn what the world is and what the world will teach, and I am of the world. The world’s made of wood and stone and iron, and I work in it. No, not in the Temple. In the world. And I study Torah; and I pray with the assembly; and on the feasts I go to Jerusalem to stand before the Lord–in the Temple–but this is in the world, all this. In the world. And when it is time for me to do what the Lord has sent me to do in this world, this world which belongs to Him, this world of wood and stone and iron and grass and air, He will reveal it to me. And what this carpenter shall yet build in this world on that day, the Lord knows, and the Lord shall reveal it.”

I cried when I read that, because, whether that’s how it really was for Jesus, I think that’s what God requires of us. Not to hole up in our churches and our seminaries, but to live and work in the world and to make a difference there, to use our gifts to do what he asks of us, to take the next step as he reveals it.

I will agree with those who said that the book was better when Rice was filling in the areas where we don’t have a lot of information: What was it like for Jesus to live in Nazareth as a carpenter before his baptism? What did his family think of how he spent his time? But the baptism and his time in the desert also had some beautiful passages, even if the tone was a little bit more stilted than some of the other sections. And it all came together in the end, as Jesus changed water into wine at a wedding that had special significance for him, setting into motion a series of events that would end, not with an army of devoted followers, but, as we celebrated on Sunday, with him riding into Jerusalem on the back of a donkey, facing his own death. I look forward to the third book, to see how Anne Rice interprets the rest of Jesus’ ministry and his crucifixion. It was nice to reflect on the ministry of Jesus just before Easter, especially with a book as powerful as this one.

This post by Roger Sutton, the editor of The Horn Book, seems to have upset quite a few people involved with children’s literature and YA literature. People are most worked up about the last sentence: “Whatever whoever chooses to read is their business, of course, but adults whose taste in recreational reading ends with the YA novel need to grow up.” Maybe I am a bad person, but I think I tend to agree with him (especially with his clarifications in the comments of that post).

I read a fair amount of YA literature, because I like how linear it often is, and I like that it’s not afraid to deal with big questions like death and God and the purpose of our lives. I think about those questions a lot myself, and I like to read books that deal with those things. I also like to read to escape, and, since YA fiction often reads so quickly, it can be easier to jump into a YA book and escape than it can be to tackle one of the tomes on my adult reading list. I seriously doubt that Roger Sutton would begrudge me any of those reasons. No, I think that he is pointing out, rightly, that YA literature doesn’t offer the full perspective of life, and if we intentionally reject that other, more developed perspective, we are, in a way, stunting our own growth. I feel that way myself if I haven’t had time for an adult book . . . that I need to get a different perspective. That it shouldn’t be the only thing I read. For all that there is to love about teen literature, it is often very narcissistic, because that’s how teens think. And it’s not good for me to only read books from one perspective, be that age group or gender or race. In fact, I try to go out of my way to choose books that challenge me in all kinds of ways, in addition to reading simply for pleasure and to escape.

I don’t think it’s wrong in the least to read a lot of YA or to enjoy reading YA. But I can’t say that I disagree with the perspective that it’s good to challenge our minds with other reading, too, where the characters have had a little bit more time to grow up. I used to balance my own personal reading with books that might possibly be good for my book club. These days, my not-entirely-for-pleasure reading is for my school library, so I can make good recommendations. I don’t begrudge anyone reading what he or she likes, not by any means. But, in my own experience, it’s not good to read just one thing, whether that’s YA literature or romance novels or theology.

So, go ahead, read what you like. But . . . think about expanding what you like, giving other things a chance. I think that’s what Mr. Sutton meant by “growing up.”

I didn’t say very much about it at the time, but Once was my favorite movie of last year, hands down. We went and saw it one Saturday in August, and Mike went and saw it again the next day. And we spent the rest of the fall and winter listening to the soundtrack (actually, I am still listening to it) and counting the days until it came out on DVD. “Falling Slowly” was my favorite movie scene from last year, too - one of those scenes where you know something magical is happening and you are suddenly mesmerized. I was ecstatic when they won the Oscar, because I like to have my opinions validated by others. And because it was such a moving song in such a moving scene that it deserved to be recognized. And I have been sharing my copy of the movie with teachers at my school. I would compare it to a drug, like crack, but drug references are frowned upon.

One of our friends has fallen very ill in the past few weeks, which has been incredibly sad. Even having been through this sort of thing, I am not very good with knowing how to help people who are very sick. So I made pumpkin chocolate chip muffins tonight, his favorite. I want to fix things, or at least to be useful. We took his favorite flowers on Sunday, and Mike worked on his computer yesterday, and he’ll get some muffins tomorrow. I guess that’s not so bad. I just wish that I could put some magical healing mojo into the muffins along with the chocolate chips.

I have been reading a whole lot lately, but I haven’t really written anything up. I even read a graphic novel for my class: American Born Chinese. Overall, I have to say that graphic novels are not really my thing, but it was very good, and had a great message. I also enjoyed Monster by Walter Dean Myers. I ended up liking it a lot more than I thought I would. I have read about the same amount of books as last year, but I have to confess that more of them are young adult books than last year. However, I am also reading articles for my classes. And Entertainment Weekly. Which I seem to mention in every post.

Did you know that Mike is almost done with his student teaching? It’s true. Can you believe that?

Mike has been playing some of the Counting Crows’ new songs, and I have to say, they are not bad. I put a moratorium on the Counting Crows a few years ago and refused to listen to any of their songs. Because they only had four albums. And Mike played those four albums constantly. And I had to put a stop to it. He’s been sneaking them back into our playlist, though. He thinks I haven’t noticed, but I have. And, actually, it’s nice to hear those songs again. I was even singing some Counting Crows last week to myself. I just needed a break. A nice, long break. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and all that.

Tomorrow is a very long day, so I am going to head to bed very soon.

Cookie Monster interviewed on NPR. It’s as delightful as you would hope.

The “In Character” feature on NPR got me thinking . . . who is my favorite fictional character? Though it can be from literature, film, television, or song, they specifically want it to be American, so my first thought, Anne Shirley, isn’t an option. I mulled it over. Lord Peter Wimsey, for his humor and the way he uses it to deflect his true feelings, also isn’t an option. Neither is Elizabeth Bennet, though I always think she is just a little too clever to be my friend. In fact, most of my childhood favorites aren’t eligible: Bilbo Baggins (though I think he’s more admirable than affecting), Lucy Pevensie (now I think she’s kind of annoying, to be honest), Neville Longbottom (I didn’t read him when I was a kid, but I would take him over Harry Potter any day of the week). I admire Laura Ingalls and Jo March, but there’s also a distance between us in how tomboyish they are. I love a lot of TV shows, but none of the women I can think of seem quite well-rounded enough: Rory and Lorelai Gilmore, Monica Geller, Veronica Mars, Lindsay Weir, Angela Chase. Now, Claire Huxtable, maybe, for the way that she works, parents, and can kick your butt at the same time. A lot of my favorite movie characters seem a little too old and cosmopolitan: Kathleen Kelly, Sabrina Fairchild. Maybe I could go the obvious route and choose Atticus or Scout Finch, but though I admire that book more than I can say, I wouldn’t choose those characters (though I plan to reread it this year, so maybe I will change my mind). I can’t decide if Mary Russell is American enough. She’s anther who’s probably a little too smart to be my friend.

In the end, I think my favorite fictional character is Vicky Austin. Perhaps since Madeleine L’Engle felt so close to Vicky, there’s something more real and fallible about her than other characters. I know what it’s like to need time alone, to lose yourself in a book. I know what it’s like to feel as if you don’t measure up, to feel awkward and unsure. And I know what it’s like to have big questions about life and death and suffering. Madeleine L’Engle, through Vicky, taught me that those questions are okay, that they aren’t incompatible with a life of faith. It’s because of Vicky that my favorite Psalm is 121. I still, like Vicky, am learning what it means to be me.

I do really like cookies, though. So maybe I should have just gone with Cookie Monster.

I have never actually read any of the other “Gospel According to” books, so I don’t know exactly what they are like. My impression is that they tend to be about the messages put forth in, say, Peanuts or Harry Potter, showing how those messages reflect the truth of God. I think there is a place for that, but I was honestly not sure that it was going to work with Beatles songs.

Imagine my surprise, then, to find that this book didn’t take that approach at all. Instead, it focused on explaining The Beatles’ spiritual backgrounds and using that plus their experiences as The Beatles to explain the messages they were putting forth in their songs and how that message changed from the early 1960s to 1970 (and beyond). This was an intelligent analysis of how the Beatles’ philosophies evolved over the years and how that evolving affected their music. Most of them were raised with some form of Christianity, which faded to agnosticism, which then gave way to their drug use and involvement with the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. The book also points out how they generally agreed on spiritual things at one point, but, spiritually, their paths diverged as they began to explore different things.

Two complaints:
1. There were some typos, which kind of bugged me.
2. The author clearly favors John over some of the other Beatles, and while there was enough of George (my favorite Beatle) to keep me satisfied, I thought Ringo and Paul weren’t focused on nearly enough. It could be argued that George and John thought more about spiritual things, and the book did certainly make that point. But it did make the book feel somewhat unbalanced.

I would recommend this book more to people who are simply interested in The Beatles rather than people who are intrigued by “The Gospel According to” part of the title. Regardless, it was an interesting and engaging book. Thanks, Alisa! (She gave it to me for Christmas.)

I’m sick, can you tell? I’m catching up on the pile of books next to my bed.

Alice is best friends with a boy named Jewel. They spend all their time together, know (almost) everything about each other, and insulate each other from high school life. The only thing Jewel doesn’t know about Alice is that she has a crush on Simon, a football player at their school. She couldn’t possibly talk about having a crush on someone so popular. When Simon and Jewel kiss Alice on consecutive days, she is forced to choose between them. Choosing Simon forces her out of her cocoon and helps her make new friends. But she wasn’t prepared for how much she would miss Jewel.

What I liked best about this book was how her friendship with Jewel was both good for her (she could depend on him) and bad for her (she never branched out because she spent all her time with Jewel). The same could be said about her relationship with Simon - his attention gave Alice more confidence, though she also felt unable to connect with him on a deeper level. This felt very realistic to me. I remember how it felt to be unable to express yourself because of your friends, and that was the part of Alice’s story that I liked best. She took glass blowing classes, she bought new clothes, she gave new people a chance. I liked watching Alice figure out who she was and what she liked without Jewel, even though I was rooting for them to get back together the