An entirely satisfactory book about Joan of Arc, who every little girl who grew up Catholic like me thinks they know, and Yolande of Aragon, who I must admit I hadn't heard of before reading this book. It's simple enough to say that without Yolande, there would be no Joan, or rather that we wouldn't know of Joan and she may never have been able to attempt her rather incredible exploits. But it's also that women were, and always have been, doing far more than history has shared with us, until the current crop of women scholars like Goldstone plucked their lives out of obscurity, much as Yolande plucked Joan (there were many potential Joans). I learned much about Yolande, and learned more than I'd previously known about Joan, and had my heart broken, and got to have a little chuckle here and there at the expense of some of the men in this tale, and walked away with a satisfied sigh. No real oomph here, perhaps, but much to think about.
This is is the most fun you will ever have with a bunch of characters you would never in a million years want to meet as living, breathing people. It's a joyride of atrocious behavior, snarky wit, and self-centered posturing, all wrapped up with a great big bow of suspended disbelief. No, I don't buy the conceit that an 8th grader, no matter how precocious, cobbled together so many primary sources into "her book" but it was so easy for me to ignore this detail that it almost didn't matter. This is a clever, fast-paced romp of awfulness and impossibility, and I enjoyed nearly every minute.
We've all heard that the personal is political; the political is also personal. This is a stunning accounting of both family legacy and racism across the medical field. Even if you consider yourself progressive, if you're white (as I am) you're going find this book challenging to read. You need to sit with that and really consider not only your own privilege, but how much more challenging it is to deal with systemic racism in your lived experience, not just in your reading. I'm left with a lot to think about, and then to apply that in action.
A lesser-known story of the fight for a free Ireland. While their brothers remained largely apolitical, the six sisters of the unionist, mixed Catholic/Protestant Gifford family became involved with the nationalist cause, both in Ireland and abroad in America, with two married to leaders of the Easter Rising. While the book focuses more on the sisters who left the most in writing, Nellie and "John", the book touches on the contributions, personalities, lives, and works of all six. There was a lilting, meandering quality to the writing, leading me to be lost in time a bit at times, and there was some mundane repetition that didn't always work for me. Note that it helps to have a good knowledge of late 19th/early 20th century Irish history, but it's not essential. I'd love to see more about the Gifford sisters.
A gritty, down-to-earth poetry collection about the Jersey Shore. But then again what else could an honest book about the Shore be? I didn't connect with the poems in the first section, to the point I considered a DNF, and think perhaps they'd have worked better as prose, but the collection bloomed from there, with the third section ("Underwater Horse" and "Empathy" were favorite poems) a fine achievement of magic and reality, and the fourth, our requisite encounter with Bruuuuuuuuuuuuce, as smooth a ride as you'll get on the backroads of Jersey. Additionally, the endnotes are as interesting as the poems and worth reading, despite some surprising errors (Monmouth Park is in Oceanport, not Eatontown, and WHOI is Massachusetts not Maine). You want a trip to the dirty Jerz, you want this book, not your MTV, and if you go to WindMill, you get hot dogs not burgers.
This fast-paced jaunt through 1938 New York's creme de la creme features almost impossibly witty characters who speak with a tinge of noir, and who exist on the fringes of a Wharton novel, had she come along a generation later. I found it fun, escapist fiction, requiring the reader to apply a dash of good ol' suspension of disbelief. The exploits of our intrepid heroine, the preposterously named Katey Kontent, are exhausting - just how does one balance the heavy work schedule with the heavy social schedule? - but I was 25 once, with that sort of bounding boundless energy. While it's good for a first novel, it's still a first novel: did it need the preface and epilogue; do we believe a bold broad like Katey would be such a Dickens fan (and was it only because she was named a bit like a Dickens character); could it have done without some of the dated racisms and still felt genuine? I'm not sure, but overall, I wouldn't kick this book out of bed.
Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
3.5
I think where this book is most fascinating is its premise: 24 hours in the life of a heart and those affected by it. I liked how it meandered among the lives and perspectives of its ordinary, extraordinary characters. I sometimes liked those characters, I sometimes found them tedious. I liked how it moved in time, past and the present twisting together in what often felt like infinite strings and knots, or layering like mortar and large bricks (like the long paragraphs) building to... what? I'm not entirely sure. Everyone you know has a full and complicated life of which you know little. I think that's a lot of it. There is an ethereal quality yet it was also very mundane (in the literal sense of being of the world). In a sense it's a slice of life novel... or slices of lives maybe? Certainly a book writers should read, I think.
Skimming some online user reviews, I found that many's biggest issue with this book is that it's preaching to the choir, and folks, I am part of this choir, and felt this reading this book, at least at first. As I kept reading, I realized that that's the point - it is meant to preach to the choir, to (yes I'm gonna do this about a book directed to our witch choir) light a fire under us. It's unapologetic, shouty at times, ribald at others, and occasionally there's the calm eye of a storm. Ultimately, I distilled the book to this line (from the essay "Anger Is a Weapon"): "Men suppress our anger for a reason. Let's prove them right."
An utterly charming tale told with the seemingly effortless grace of a born storyteller. Of course, we all know that what feels effortless often takes some of the most effort. The story weaves legend with solid characters, realistic details, and the hard repetition of survival. This book is suitable for so many ages and levels of readers, with always relevant lessons never too earnest nor to heavy-handed. I won't soon forget this book or those who inhabited it.
I finished this book a few hours ago and I still feel lost in it. Part of me wanted to go back and read it from the start, even though I'm not much of a re-reader, to catch things I know I missed. The world of the woods is lush, filled with beautiful imagery of birdsong, trees, with love and lust, and peopled (although not solely by people) with a cast of fascinating and maddening characters. I found the format, of 12 essentially interlinked chapter-stories, interspersed with various intermissions (blurred images, music, lyrics, almanac pages, &etc.), a nice variation on more traditional novel composition, adding layers to an epic that is about more than the words on the page. I couldn't shake the feeling that it was more evocative than imaginative, which isn't a bad thing necessarily, but left a slight desire for a little more...of something. I'll likely be coming back to this one at some time in the future.