Take a photo of a barcode or cover
thelizabeth's reviews
591 reviews
The White Darkness by Geraldine McCaughrean
4.0
On loan from Emily, hurray.
Wow, I loved this. Wow. These are some of the best characters I've read in a while. The characters are so crazy good it would be a great book even if it wasn't in Antarctica. But it is!
The narration and structure are so wonderful. Being in Sym's head is great. Exhorting herself, "marshal your facts". Talking constantly to "Titus," the long-dead explorer Lawrence Oates of the Scott expedition. Reflecting on her isolation.
Her backstory, with her deafness and her father's disturbing illness, is wrenching in every piece. It never really feels like flashbacks, everything we learn about her family and her school life, but since the book is mostly happening on this screwed up trip in Antartica, those things are about that too: "My father didn't like me, and now that he's dead, there's nothing I can do to make him like me. I thought I'd gotten over that. But wounds unheal here. It troubles me more and more, not less and less. You have to be pretty useless for even your own father not to like you." Ugh. Ouch. Ow.
And of course the whole situation is just so messed up. How did nothing prevent them from getting there? Uncle Victor flies right off the page with his freak flag immediately in the beginning, so it's clear you can't take him at face value as Sym does. (It was the paranoid cell phone contraption that did it for me. And when the woman in the shop asked Sym concernedly whether this man is her father, or if he's... something else.) He is defining the term "solo mission" here, because he's living a life and working an agenda that makes sense to no one else at all. Totally amazing to read, though.
So when their weird holiday escalates and makes these turns that take them to Antarctica and Sym is surprised by it all, you are too, but it's more like disbelief. And that disbelief hangs in there as stuff goes wronger and wronger once they're there. And it takes a long time before you and Sym catch up with what's really going on. Though honestly, I tend to like the mystery of YA conflicts a bit more than the inevitable telling.
So the story surprised me, the plot built and I really didn't know what was going to happen, and how bad it was going to get, and who was responsible for what disaster, and what would succeed and fail. It's frustrating and suspenseful. Sometimes Sym gets to impress herself and be resourceful and make a plan, but sometimes she just suffers.
You know. Because she is lost in Antarctica. Which would be pretty bad.
"'Unhappy people do the oddest, most terrible things, just trying to keep despair at bay. All you have to do is accept them... go around them... take evasive action.'"
4.5 stars, yay.
Wow, I loved this. Wow. These are some of the best characters I've read in a while. The characters are so crazy good it would be a great book even if it wasn't in Antarctica. But it is!
The narration and structure are so wonderful. Being in Sym's head is great. Exhorting herself, "marshal your facts". Talking constantly to "Titus," the long-dead explorer Lawrence Oates of the Scott expedition. Reflecting on her isolation.
Her backstory, with her deafness and her father's disturbing illness, is wrenching in every piece. It never really feels like flashbacks, everything we learn about her family and her school life, but since the book is mostly happening on this screwed up trip in Antartica, those things are about that too: "My father didn't like me, and now that he's dead, there's nothing I can do to make him like me. I thought I'd gotten over that. But wounds unheal here. It troubles me more and more, not less and less. You have to be pretty useless for even your own father not to like you." Ugh. Ouch. Ow.
And of course the whole situation is just so messed up. How did nothing prevent them from getting there? Uncle Victor flies right off the page with his freak flag immediately in the beginning, so it's clear you can't take him at face value as Sym does. (It was the paranoid cell phone contraption that did it for me. And when the woman in the shop asked Sym concernedly whether this man is her father, or if he's... something else.) He is defining the term "solo mission" here, because he's living a life and working an agenda that makes sense to no one else at all. Totally amazing to read, though.
So when their weird holiday escalates and makes these turns that take them to Antarctica and Sym is surprised by it all, you are too, but it's more like disbelief. And that disbelief hangs in there as stuff goes wronger and wronger once they're there. And it takes a long time before you and Sym catch up with what's really going on. Though honestly, I tend to like the mystery of YA conflicts a bit more than the inevitable telling.
So the story surprised me, the plot built and I really didn't know what was going to happen, and how bad it was going to get, and who was responsible for what disaster, and what would succeed and fail. It's frustrating and suspenseful. Sometimes Sym gets to impress herself and be resourceful and make a plan, but sometimes she just suffers.
You know. Because she is lost in Antarctica. Which would be pretty bad.
"'Unhappy people do the oddest, most terrible things, just trying to keep despair at bay. All you have to do is accept them... go around them... take evasive action.'"
4.5 stars, yay.
The Love of a Good Woman by Alice Munro
4.0
This book was a present from Meg, who told me she thought it was interesting to read short stories by an expert in the form. And it is, and I don't do it a lot.
Generally I really enjoyed this collection, and at times it felt revelatory. Then I began to wonder if I was hoodwinked, because sometimes I get hoodwinked, as the last clump of stories at the end is not that awesome, and I started to feel frowny-face.
But it's ok. I dog-eared a lot of pages that were so smart or lovely I knew I'd have to reread them. And the overall cool and sympathetic tone, the decades-old settings, it's a comfort to read.
The stuff:
"The Love of a Good Woman": Thumbs mostly up. I didn't like it in the beginning with the boys and the body and the Wobegon-ish small town. But once we're in the nurse's portion it's just wonderful. I didn't really like the little trick at the end, but a lot of great things are felt in the middle.
"Jakarta": Thumbs totally up. The portion in the past is so good, the women's friendship, and the long party scene when you know everything will change. I liked anticipating the present's resolution, finding out what happened. I thought of all kinds of possibilities, which says how much I liked the characters.
"Cortes Island": Thumbs mainly up. I liked the characterization and the conflict with the lonely, prideful landlady. The tone of portent and the dark revelation, eh. The mystery was too ambiguous, I didn't really understand. The ending, though, about the dreams, oh that's beautiful.
"Save the Reaper": Thumbs up. The perspective is affecting, and the situation they accidentally get into is well creepy. The little grandson's foreboding was good, that he knew they shouldn't go. The dangerous girl set up all the right kinds of questions to think about when it's over.
"The Children Stay": Thumbs real up. The affair is both distressing and romantic. It also was funny to see a play I read and really hated used well metaphorically.
"Rich as Stink": Thumbs down. The adults' characterization was really well cut, but the story didn't do much. Way, way, way too symbolism-laden. And then just, well now I have made something tragic happen, the end.
"Before the Change": Thumbs down. A good musing on an intimidating adult father-child relationship, but I didn't like anything about the story. The fake epistolary thing, the overwrought maternity theme (and eh abortion controversy), the not entirely believable backstory. On the nose.
"My Mother's Dream": Thumbs sideways. I actually did like the story part of the story, but this one just isn't very beautiful or insightful as the others are. It's the only story that didn't compel me to turn down a page corner so I could reread something later. And the narration is a little odd. But I liked reading about what the mother thought and went through, and how the big event made her feel.
There are so many beautiful parts throughout that I'm happy to round this one up.
Generally I really enjoyed this collection, and at times it felt revelatory. Then I began to wonder if I was hoodwinked, because sometimes I get hoodwinked, as the last clump of stories at the end is not that awesome, and I started to feel frowny-face.
But it's ok. I dog-eared a lot of pages that were so smart or lovely I knew I'd have to reread them. And the overall cool and sympathetic tone, the decades-old settings, it's a comfort to read.
The stuff:
"The Love of a Good Woman": Thumbs mostly up. I didn't like it in the beginning with the boys and the body and the Wobegon-ish small town. But once we're in the nurse's portion it's just wonderful. I didn't really like the little trick at the end, but a lot of great things are felt in the middle.
"Jakarta": Thumbs totally up. The portion in the past is so good, the women's friendship, and the long party scene when you know everything will change. I liked anticipating the present's resolution, finding out what happened. I thought of all kinds of possibilities, which says how much I liked the characters.
"Cortes Island": Thumbs mainly up. I liked the characterization and the conflict with the lonely, prideful landlady. The tone of portent and the dark revelation, eh. The mystery was too ambiguous, I didn't really understand. The ending, though, about the dreams, oh that's beautiful.
"Save the Reaper": Thumbs up. The perspective is affecting, and the situation they accidentally get into is well creepy. The little grandson's foreboding was good, that he knew they shouldn't go. The dangerous girl set up all the right kinds of questions to think about when it's over.
"The Children Stay": Thumbs real up. The affair is both distressing and romantic. It also was funny to see a play I read and really hated used well metaphorically.
"Rich as Stink": Thumbs down. The adults' characterization was really well cut, but the story didn't do much. Way, way, way too symbolism-laden. And then just, well now I have made something tragic happen, the end.
"Before the Change": Thumbs down. A good musing on an intimidating adult father-child relationship, but I didn't like anything about the story. The fake epistolary thing, the overwrought maternity theme (and eh abortion controversy), the not entirely believable backstory. On the nose.
"My Mother's Dream": Thumbs sideways. I actually did like the story part of the story, but this one just isn't very beautiful or insightful as the others are. It's the only story that didn't compel me to turn down a page corner so I could reread something later. And the narration is a little odd. But I liked reading about what the mother thought and went through, and how the big event made her feel.
There are so many beautiful parts throughout that I'm happy to round this one up.
Lost Lustre: A New York Memoir by Joshua Karlen
2.0
Well, I do really like winning Early Reviewers books. Unfortunately, I really didn't like reading this one.
These essays are almost unbearably dry. Not like Hugh Laurie is dry, but like Prohibition was dry. It reads a little like someone writing a college paper. (How to fill up another half a page? Let me restate my themes.) Other times the level of detail is like reading someone's journal. You always think you want to read someone's journal, but really, it's boring.
Generally, there is a problem with artistry. He dumps in quoted dictionary definitions more than once, in order to state, this describes me perfectly. Which may be accurate, but the problem is that there's nothing at all literary about that. Why write it? Why mention it if you don't want to say anything about it yourself? He also block quotes extensively from friends' emails, which just seems weird, in order to sort of back up what he's been saying. It's like he's challenging us: See?
The central story about his friend who has died is the nicest one, and I did like reading it. It even had a line that struck me: "With an inner shudder of tenderness, I recognized the squalid surroundings framed in the snapshot." Not all of the writing makes so much sense, though. Sometimes, even when he's explaining something, he states the obvious to a stultifying degree. "Our sadness was for a lost friend, or boyfriend, whose memory also had become intertwined with nostalgia for our youth, who was frozen in our minds in our teenage years in New York in the seventies and eighties." What is this, SEO?
A lot of this book is about his troubles and fears in his very bad neighborhood growing up, when the East Village (around Avenue C) was in terrible shape and filled with drug crime. I confess, I was impressed by the photos of blocks of rubbled apartment buildings in the area. I didn't imagine it so drastically. As a kid, he was mugged there about once a year, though he makes it sound like it was every day. I'm sure it was really scary every day, but something about his approach to explaining his feelings about this just makes you want to nitpick. Somehow what he's written sounds ignorant and defensive, as if we won't believe him -- which, makes a reader want to doubt him.
Also? The perspective is a little bit racist. Not every reader may agree with that, but I wasn't super comfortable. I recognize it is sensitive to describe facts involving race, like the environment in which you live and the descriptions of people who attacked you. I don't think it's wrong to write about or specify, but I suppose I just don't like the way Karlen does so. At best, he mentions non-white people at an arms-length separation, and at worst makes it sound like really it would be nicer for him if their culture didn't exist at all, because it scares or alienates him. They're not all gangsters of course, but he would just be more comfortable if they weren't all speaking other languages, or playing music with horns in it. How do they think that makes him feel?
There are some other really unflattering stories, like the one about his first girlfriend -- which I liked, until it got all stalkery -- and the one about being a surly tourist in Peru. The thing is, he tells these stories with some perspective, such as saying he made a mistake or had a bad attitude. But there isn't much more framing than that. He isn't acknowledging how that impacted anything, and so I'm figuring he's not too interested. For such a self-described artist, punk, and bohemian, this man sounds so unenlightened. Why do I feel more enlightened than him? He's the author of this book. What's wrong here?
There is a funny element wherein he reminisces at length about Homer's diner (in the 1980s), which used to be across from my school (in the 2000s). Meg and I discovered it during our sophomore year, I think, and spent a lot of lunch breaks there, and then when we came back junior year, it had closed over the summer and we felt like we'd let it die while school was out. I think it was junior year. See: if I was the author, I would write now about, why don't I remember what year it was? How funny that so many years go by and all I remember are the cheese blintzes that were the bad kind you could get frozen at the grocery store, but I don't remember what we were saying or what we were wearing. How many other cheese blintzes have I forgotten? I left my office and stumbled out into the rain to Sixth Avenue, driven to revisit the block where the restaurant had stood, not knowing what I was seeking, finding only an upscale bistro where once I had sat in my thrifted clothing. Memory makes you remember.
There's just many weirdly elementary conclusions of this kind. The opening piece almost did me in. Did you know the 1960s can be defined in many ways, but particularly by the Beatles? It's... true. In another one, the comparison, "as though they were lining Times Square temples devoted not to Apollo or Bacchus, but to Mars or Ares." To... the...? MARS AND ARES ARE THE SAME ONE. OMG seriously. "Where were the heathen pageants and orgiastic fertility dances?" I... it hurts.
However. Another star, because some of this is genuinely thoughtful, and Karlen cares about what he's saying. And because I like New York so much, I like the Village, I like the period and what details Karlen can offer of it. I like people's struggles with memory in general and NYC's constant, unsettled changes in particular. They're rich conflicts for a book. And I will be very happy to read another, different book about them, by somebody else, also.
These essays are almost unbearably dry. Not like Hugh Laurie is dry, but like Prohibition was dry. It reads a little like someone writing a college paper. (How to fill up another half a page? Let me restate my themes.) Other times the level of detail is like reading someone's journal. You always think you want to read someone's journal, but really, it's boring.
Generally, there is a problem with artistry. He dumps in quoted dictionary definitions more than once, in order to state, this describes me perfectly. Which may be accurate, but the problem is that there's nothing at all literary about that. Why write it? Why mention it if you don't want to say anything about it yourself? He also block quotes extensively from friends' emails, which just seems weird, in order to sort of back up what he's been saying. It's like he's challenging us: See?
The central story about his friend who has died is the nicest one, and I did like reading it. It even had a line that struck me: "With an inner shudder of tenderness, I recognized the squalid surroundings framed in the snapshot." Not all of the writing makes so much sense, though. Sometimes, even when he's explaining something, he states the obvious to a stultifying degree. "Our sadness was for a lost friend, or boyfriend, whose memory also had become intertwined with nostalgia for our youth, who was frozen in our minds in our teenage years in New York in the seventies and eighties." What is this, SEO?
A lot of this book is about his troubles and fears in his very bad neighborhood growing up, when the East Village (around Avenue C) was in terrible shape and filled with drug crime. I confess, I was impressed by the photos of blocks of rubbled apartment buildings in the area. I didn't imagine it so drastically. As a kid, he was mugged there about once a year, though he makes it sound like it was every day. I'm sure it was really scary every day, but something about his approach to explaining his feelings about this just makes you want to nitpick. Somehow what he's written sounds ignorant and defensive, as if we won't believe him -- which, makes a reader want to doubt him.
Also? The perspective is a little bit racist. Not every reader may agree with that, but I wasn't super comfortable. I recognize it is sensitive to describe facts involving race, like the environment in which you live and the descriptions of people who attacked you. I don't think it's wrong to write about or specify, but I suppose I just don't like the way Karlen does so. At best, he mentions non-white people at an arms-length separation, and at worst makes it sound like really it would be nicer for him if their culture didn't exist at all, because it scares or alienates him. They're not all gangsters of course, but he would just be more comfortable if they weren't all speaking other languages, or playing music with horns in it. How do they think that makes him feel?
There are some other really unflattering stories, like the one about his first girlfriend -- which I liked, until it got all stalkery -- and the one about being a surly tourist in Peru. The thing is, he tells these stories with some perspective, such as saying he made a mistake or had a bad attitude. But there isn't much more framing than that. He isn't acknowledging how that impacted anything, and so I'm figuring he's not too interested. For such a self-described artist, punk, and bohemian, this man sounds so unenlightened. Why do I feel more enlightened than him? He's the author of this book. What's wrong here?
There is a funny element wherein he reminisces at length about Homer's diner (in the 1980s), which used to be across from my school (in the 2000s). Meg and I discovered it during our sophomore year, I think, and spent a lot of lunch breaks there, and then when we came back junior year, it had closed over the summer and we felt like we'd let it die while school was out. I think it was junior year. See: if I was the author, I would write now about, why don't I remember what year it was? How funny that so many years go by and all I remember are the cheese blintzes that were the bad kind you could get frozen at the grocery store, but I don't remember what we were saying or what we were wearing. How many other cheese blintzes have I forgotten? I left my office and stumbled out into the rain to Sixth Avenue, driven to revisit the block where the restaurant had stood, not knowing what I was seeking, finding only an upscale bistro where once I had sat in my thrifted clothing. Memory makes you remember.
There's just many weirdly elementary conclusions of this kind. The opening piece almost did me in. Did you know the 1960s can be defined in many ways, but particularly by the Beatles? It's... true. In another one, the comparison, "as though they were lining Times Square temples devoted not to Apollo or Bacchus, but to Mars or Ares." To... the...? MARS AND ARES ARE THE SAME ONE. OMG seriously. "Where were the heathen pageants and orgiastic fertility dances?" I... it hurts.
However. Another star, because some of this is genuinely thoughtful, and Karlen cares about what he's saying. And because I like New York so much, I like the Village, I like the period and what details Karlen can offer of it. I like people's struggles with memory in general and NYC's constant, unsettled changes in particular. They're rich conflicts for a book. And I will be very happy to read another, different book about them, by somebody else, also.
Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist by David Levithan, Rachel Cohn
2.0
BUH you've got to be kidding me.
This book has become pretty famous. I knew lots and lots of things about it going in. I thought I knew what it would be (and I thought I would like it). The surprise: this book is terrible! How did I miss that? Didn't anyone leave any clues? No warning? Well, it's terrible.
The writing on both halves is so immensely lazy, I was kinda shocked. The narration for each point of view is very, very internal monologue -- the kind you can write as fast as you can read, where you don't have to try too hard because literally anything can be justified. If you're Rachel Cohn, for instance, it justifies lots of "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"s and other things that look entirely ridiculous on a page and don't help and just take up space. NO INDEED. Anyway, I don't find this fun to read. Any style at all is preferred to zero style. Why bother, if you're not saying anything? It reads like they didn't want to write a book but a movie pitch. Hey what do you know.
And, well, F to every single thing about Norah. This is Rachel Cohn's fault and also Norah's. I don't even really want to waste my time going into detail with this one. She just sucks and is sorta Mary Suey. A totally ridiculous Cinderella complex, while also being rich and famous in all the coolest places. Is for some reason looked after and enjoyed in these venues instead of put in her place by bitchy people who had to work to get there, as would happen in real life. We're to believe she's going to "run" a Lower East Side rock club when she's 19. With all the emphasis on her great taste and opinionations -- it's realistic teenage bravado, sure, but there is literally nothing thrown against any of this in the book, no spaghetti sliding down the wall at all, so I have to conclude that the shortsightedness isn't author commentary but author thumbs-up. And, no thanks. "Being perfect" is not the type of fantasy that I fancy in my fiction.
(Sidebar: Can we please get a new word for Mary Sue? Oh I hate that word. Also a new word for "manic pixie dream girl," but I can submit a separate ticket for that issue.)
David Levithan doesn't come off so hot either. However, Nick's chapters are way, way severely more together, more evocative, more reflecting of what's supposedly around them. The only parts that work at all are Levithan's. Including the one bit of good, solid YA reflection in the whole thing, right in the middle when they're separated and Nick is bummed. I genuinely appreciated about two pages of that chapter. Way to go, chapter!
Both authors are guilty of magical side characters made out of slightly offensive stereotypes. Like the tranny with the heart of gold who wants nothing more than to be involved in the budding relationship of two bougie teenagers and give them advice. And the brusque first-generation cab driver who turns out to be a caring family man, also willing to go out of his way to make this belligerent girl feel better, without question or asking where her parents are, like would happen in real life.
There is also some "teenagers as gods" syndrome in this book. They have no rules from parents to obey, they drink, they swear, they rock, they have sex, and all with aplomb. And see. The thing. To me it's not that these things aren't experienced by teenagers at all, or a lot -- but um. For the most part, they are really not any good at them. They will do them and be so bad at them. That's part of the deal. That's part of their pathos and irritation. This is also pretty much the bedrock on which YA lit is built. And while there is some fumbling in this one (mainly as a stand-in for characterization) such that it isn't exactly Gossip Girl, still the experience levels are totally not believable and so I wanted to fight them instead of cheer for them, at every development. Since when is it so easy to do everything you want?
That said, the purportedly sexy parts are just off-putting instead of hot or comedic -- not sure which they're going for but it's neither. Also I don't object to the f word at all, but there are at least two per page here and jeez. I guess you gotta be in the mood.
But I'm rounding this up to 2 stars because, I don't know. I sort of got used to the damn thing by the end. Also, the only book I've ever 1-starred was one that deeply offended me, so I guess that's an imaginary threshold I set up. Annoyed is just not the same as offended. Try me though it might.
This book has become pretty famous. I knew lots and lots of things about it going in. I thought I knew what it would be (and I thought I would like it). The surprise: this book is terrible! How did I miss that? Didn't anyone leave any clues? No warning? Well, it's terrible.
The writing on both halves is so immensely lazy, I was kinda shocked. The narration for each point of view is very, very internal monologue -- the kind you can write as fast as you can read, where you don't have to try too hard because literally anything can be justified. If you're Rachel Cohn, for instance, it justifies lots of "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"s and other things that look entirely ridiculous on a page and don't help and just take up space. NO INDEED. Anyway, I don't find this fun to read. Any style at all is preferred to zero style. Why bother, if you're not saying anything? It reads like they didn't want to write a book but a movie pitch. Hey what do you know.
And, well, F to every single thing about Norah. This is Rachel Cohn's fault and also Norah's. I don't even really want to waste my time going into detail with this one. She just sucks and is sorta Mary Suey. A totally ridiculous Cinderella complex, while also being rich and famous in all the coolest places. Is for some reason looked after and enjoyed in these venues instead of put in her place by bitchy people who had to work to get there, as would happen in real life. We're to believe she's going to "run" a Lower East Side rock club when she's 19. With all the emphasis on her great taste and opinionations -- it's realistic teenage bravado, sure, but there is literally nothing thrown against any of this in the book, no spaghetti sliding down the wall at all, so I have to conclude that the shortsightedness isn't author commentary but author thumbs-up. And, no thanks. "Being perfect" is not the type of fantasy that I fancy in my fiction.
(Sidebar: Can we please get a new word for Mary Sue? Oh I hate that word. Also a new word for "manic pixie dream girl," but I can submit a separate ticket for that issue.)
David Levithan doesn't come off so hot either. However, Nick's chapters are way, way severely more together, more evocative, more reflecting of what's supposedly around them. The only parts that work at all are Levithan's. Including the one bit of good, solid YA reflection in the whole thing, right in the middle when they're separated and Nick is bummed. I genuinely appreciated about two pages of that chapter. Way to go, chapter!
Both authors are guilty of magical side characters made out of slightly offensive stereotypes. Like the tranny with the heart of gold who wants nothing more than to be involved in the budding relationship of two bougie teenagers and give them advice. And the brusque first-generation cab driver who turns out to be a caring family man, also willing to go out of his way to make this belligerent girl feel better, without question or asking where her parents are, like would happen in real life.
There is also some "teenagers as gods" syndrome in this book. They have no rules from parents to obey, they drink, they swear, they rock, they have sex, and all with aplomb. And see. The thing. To me it's not that these things aren't experienced by teenagers at all, or a lot -- but um. For the most part, they are really not any good at them. They will do them and be so bad at them. That's part of the deal. That's part of their pathos and irritation. This is also pretty much the bedrock on which YA lit is built. And while there is some fumbling in this one (mainly as a stand-in for characterization) such that it isn't exactly Gossip Girl, still the experience levels are totally not believable and so I wanted to fight them instead of cheer for them, at every development. Since when is it so easy to do everything you want?
That said, the purportedly sexy parts are just off-putting instead of hot or comedic -- not sure which they're going for but it's neither. Also I don't object to the f word at all, but there are at least two per page here and jeez. I guess you gotta be in the mood.
But I'm rounding this up to 2 stars because, I don't know. I sort of got used to the damn thing by the end. Also, the only book I've ever 1-starred was one that deeply offended me, so I guess that's an imaginary threshold I set up. Annoyed is just not the same as offended. Try me though it might.
No Place Like Home: A Memoir in 39 Apartments by Brooke Berman
4.0
Finally exactly the right time for this.
I'm really happy that this exists. Brooke was a teacher of mine in college, my last year of playwriting, and I still think about things she said. Or sometimes just the way she says them. I also really enjoy her plays and the way she tells stories on her blog. Her language is just good for me and when I got this I felt like I needed to save it.
The book is about New York, and the gimmick is the apartments (and/or the symbolism is the moving). But the real subject is piecing together what you are able to do, and it's no small thing that the book takes place over 20 years and these pieces are hard at work the entire time. The long, longness of the long-term work. It's a meaningful way to look at goals you've set. What else has lasted for 20 years? If you're lost for a handful of those can you turn back onto the road? Do you ever decide to give up? Is it really your decision? Brooke's work in the theater is a good glass for these questions because that's the nature of that work, but the feeling clearly affects lots of us.
Personality is part of it, and what prevents this story from being outright advice (for me) is that hers is really different from mine. Reading this we hear about a lot of personal solutions from spiritual and New Age sources, which probably for most readers is more about her telling us that it works for her, than understanding that it could work for us. But sometimes her translation itself works, and is cute in its foreignness, and made me wonder decent things myself. There's a lot of nostalgia in the book, but you can tell how much she still cares for those paths that brought her out of crises.
I guess for me the forms of those crises are what was most significant and relatable. It's often a crisis of choice, a lot of times when she needs to choose what she does, to try something and then choose to go back. Or choosing to say no to something, like her family. And of course, choosing places -- when your chosen homes supercede your given ones. We've all got to think about it. Her periods of transition are often articulated with a lot of grace and/or funniness that makes them just help. The most important to me was her extended problem in 2002, her Cordelia complex and deep sadness, shedding and change. "If only I could release more and judge the pain less." "The lie of isolation."
I started corner-folding pages like crazy in the middle.
In some parts there's a lot more recollection than reflection, and sometimes time moves too quickly and it wasn't super smooth. Maybe it was a problem of trying to skip through less important periods, but her memory and timeline is so prevalent she doesn't really let go of it. Also, Noah is clearly such a crappy dude that it's sort of hard to read about their long relationship. And I got a little uncomfortable the more upwardly mobile and dissatisfied she became, which is ironic in her story but present nonetheless. (Some people are really glad to get $20 an hour in 2010, let alone 2001.) And btw, whoever titled this book, come on for real.
An extra star for my sentiment, perhaps. But it just never hurts to think these things through. Especially when you need to hear them.
Sidebar on that*: One thing is that reading this inspired me to make a list of every address I've lived in. Because I was impressed that she can do that and I knew that one day if I couldn't remember someplace I would be upset about it. I made it up to 12. 7 in NYC. I can remember all the buildings except one or two from childhood, and I'm missing about three from infancy altogether. Also, I found that the house I lived in longest as a kid now seems to have a pool in the backyard. That backyard is sloped, how does that even work. And there were four trees back there.
I mean, what the heck.
* (Learned that from Brooke.)
I'm really happy that this exists. Brooke was a teacher of mine in college, my last year of playwriting, and I still think about things she said. Or sometimes just the way she says them. I also really enjoy her plays and the way she tells stories on her blog. Her language is just good for me and when I got this I felt like I needed to save it.
The book is about New York, and the gimmick is the apartments (and/or the symbolism is the moving). But the real subject is piecing together what you are able to do, and it's no small thing that the book takes place over 20 years and these pieces are hard at work the entire time. The long, longness of the long-term work. It's a meaningful way to look at goals you've set. What else has lasted for 20 years? If you're lost for a handful of those can you turn back onto the road? Do you ever decide to give up? Is it really your decision? Brooke's work in the theater is a good glass for these questions because that's the nature of that work, but the feeling clearly affects lots of us.
Personality is part of it, and what prevents this story from being outright advice (for me) is that hers is really different from mine. Reading this we hear about a lot of personal solutions from spiritual and New Age sources, which probably for most readers is more about her telling us that it works for her, than understanding that it could work for us. But sometimes her translation itself works, and is cute in its foreignness, and made me wonder decent things myself. There's a lot of nostalgia in the book, but you can tell how much she still cares for those paths that brought her out of crises.
I guess for me the forms of those crises are what was most significant and relatable. It's often a crisis of choice, a lot of times when she needs to choose what she does, to try something and then choose to go back. Or choosing to say no to something, like her family. And of course, choosing places -- when your chosen homes supercede your given ones. We've all got to think about it. Her periods of transition are often articulated with a lot of grace and/or funniness that makes them just help. The most important to me was her extended problem in 2002, her Cordelia complex and deep sadness, shedding and change. "If only I could release more and judge the pain less." "The lie of isolation."
I started corner-folding pages like crazy in the middle.
In some parts there's a lot more recollection than reflection, and sometimes time moves too quickly and it wasn't super smooth. Maybe it was a problem of trying to skip through less important periods, but her memory and timeline is so prevalent she doesn't really let go of it. Also, Noah is clearly such a crappy dude that it's sort of hard to read about their long relationship. And I got a little uncomfortable the more upwardly mobile and dissatisfied she became, which is ironic in her story but present nonetheless. (Some people are really glad to get $20 an hour in 2010, let alone 2001.) And btw, whoever titled this book, come on for real.
An extra star for my sentiment, perhaps. But it just never hurts to think these things through. Especially when you need to hear them.
Sidebar on that*: One thing is that reading this inspired me to make a list of every address I've lived in. Because I was impressed that she can do that and I knew that one day if I couldn't remember someplace I would be upset about it. I made it up to 12. 7 in NYC. I can remember all the buildings except one or two from childhood, and I'm missing about three from infancy altogether. Also, I found that the house I lived in longest as a kid now seems to have a pool in the backyard. That backyard is sloped, how does that even work. And there were four trees back there.
I mean, what the heck.
* (Learned that from Brooke.)
Dramarama by E. Lockhart
3.0
To be honest, 2.5 stars. I was disappointed in this one. I like E. Lockhart, especially her ability to understand the genuine and serious feelings behind the otherwise light experiences of teenagers. This book is about teens who are into musical theater, an inherently dorky and very charming subject, which seems like a great match for that style and YA in general. I think other readers have found some depth in the relatability of the subculture's portrayal here, but I expected to see more in it.
I mean, it's a book! And it's nice. Sadye has a few things to think about that are really good. Her observations about the friends she makes at camp (particularly about Candie, holder of desperate passion and bad taste) have some raw moments. Sadye takes in some truth about talent and belonging. And her lesson about "taking direction" was a largely interesting conflict. Though maybe also a little pat.
A few things in the structure seemed kind of crumbly to me. I got confused over which character was in what show a couple of times, which I guess either ought to have been clearer or not been talked about as much. And I'm a fan, and I know 90% of the songs and titles used as shorthand to establish this information, and still I hit the brakes a few times trying to remember if we knew that someone was in the what now. I tried. I also wasn't too comfortable with the timing of everything, and started to get confused when I noticed we were lagging along, three weeks into the seven week camp, and the book was 90% over. And there's a reason for that, and in retrospect that seems way too obvious.
Mainly I wish that her lessons about her friendship with Demi were deeper. It's the main part of the book and it should be big, big. She makes some sacrifices and notices some conflicts for him, and I guess that is her journey, but nothing important to her really happens. (A lot of important things happen to Demi.)
This was sure a zippy read, though. Zippy zippy. I was home sick for a few days and slipped right through it and that was fun. So, ok little book. You go be you. And stuff. But I probably wouldn't read you again.
I mean, it's a book! And it's nice. Sadye has a few things to think about that are really good. Her observations about the friends she makes at camp (particularly about Candie, holder of desperate passion and bad taste) have some raw moments. Sadye takes in some truth about talent and belonging. And her lesson about "taking direction" was a largely interesting conflict. Though maybe also a little pat.
A few things in the structure seemed kind of crumbly to me. I got confused over which character was in what show a couple of times, which I guess either ought to have been clearer or not been talked about as much. And I'm a fan, and I know 90% of the songs and titles used as shorthand to establish this information, and still I hit the brakes a few times trying to remember if we knew that someone was in the what now. I tried. I also wasn't too comfortable with the timing of everything, and started to get confused when I noticed we were lagging along, three weeks into the seven week camp, and the book was 90% over. And there's a reason for that, and in retrospect that seems way too obvious.
Mainly I wish that her lessons about her friendship with Demi were deeper. It's the main part of the book and it should be big, big. She makes some sacrifices and notices some conflicts for him, and I guess that is her journey, but nothing important to her really happens. (A lot of important things happen to Demi.)
This was sure a zippy read, though. Zippy zippy. I was home sick for a few days and slipped right through it and that was fun. So, ok little book. You go be you. And stuff. But I probably wouldn't read you again.
Stones for My Father by Trilby Kent
3.0
Won this book in LibraryThing's Early Reviewers giveaway. I like when that happens!
For the most part, you get what you expect here, some straightforward children's historical fiction. (Technically: I suppose this is a middle-grade book.) As a kid myself I read lots and lots and lots of this genre, and though I loved it greatly, what I remember reading doesn't stand out in memory as very unique. Like anything I guess, it can be a pat genre, and I expected a lot of that from this book. Mostly due to the title, really, and the subject matter. I expected downtrodden victimhood in abundance, and lots of showy research about native African life, and wasn't sure there was required to be a lot more than that.
I also genuinely wanted to learn about the Boer War — my knowledge of it was pretty much at a children's-novel level already, and I expected to see a bit more information on the context of the war. Perhaps the problem is that it really was as simple as it sounds here, but I don't think that's necessarily true. There is some attempt to convey the nasty sides of the good guys and the noble sides of the bad guys, which is an excellent plan, but I found myself feeling confused by the lack of real information: What was really the situation in the camp? (Why did I find out the most from the epilogue and not the narrative?) And what did it mean when Corlie tossed off an explanation of the custom of having an African playmate "gifted" to "most Boer children"? That is a pretty huge concept to take in, actually! Hold on, give me more than two sentences! (Why can't I find more information about that anywhere? Particularly, in the book?)
So the first half of the book, a little eh. Everything is totally ok, but it didn't accomplish terribly much. But a lot of my reservations lifted late in the book. I didn't at all expect the turn that things take in the internment camp, which made things much darker and more interesting than the plain, bleak tragedy I anticipated. And in addition, Corlie ends the book in a much different situation than I imagined she would. That was pretty great.
I do kind of have an axe to grind with youth fiction that explains away the difficult behavior of adults with a simple 11:00 revelation of backstory. Very, very many books work this way, and I know it makes sense in many ways and most often isn't bad. But it usually disappoints me a little — I find it false. Sometimes I think the challenge should be met of bringing across the truth, that adults and parents just sometimes are difficult. And sometimes, you'll never know why.
So I was interested by this, watching Corlie deal with her mother's scorn throughout the book, contrasted with the intentional show of preference for her brothers. It stung, and sometimes this really happens in families, not just in historical fiction. So in some ways I was a bit deflated when this situation is circumscribed by some late backstory from Corlie's aunt. I do like where it led, but convenience isn't an attractive quality in a narrative. Even for children.
So. A bit of both here. But I'd be glad for the book to go out to many readers. It's extremely quick, illustrative of its setting, and ultimately the story is a good one.
For the most part, you get what you expect here, some straightforward children's historical fiction. (Technically: I suppose this is a middle-grade book.) As a kid myself I read lots and lots and lots of this genre, and though I loved it greatly, what I remember reading doesn't stand out in memory as very unique. Like anything I guess, it can be a pat genre, and I expected a lot of that from this book. Mostly due to the title, really, and the subject matter. I expected downtrodden victimhood in abundance, and lots of showy research about native African life, and wasn't sure there was required to be a lot more than that.
I also genuinely wanted to learn about the Boer War — my knowledge of it was pretty much at a children's-novel level already, and I expected to see a bit more information on the context of the war. Perhaps the problem is that it really was as simple as it sounds here, but I don't think that's necessarily true. There is some attempt to convey the nasty sides of the good guys and the noble sides of the bad guys, which is an excellent plan, but I found myself feeling confused by the lack of real information: What was really the situation in the camp? (Why did I find out the most from the epilogue and not the narrative?) And what did it mean when Corlie tossed off an explanation of the custom of having an African playmate "gifted" to "most Boer children"? That is a pretty huge concept to take in, actually! Hold on, give me more than two sentences! (Why can't I find more information about that anywhere? Particularly, in the book?)
So the first half of the book, a little eh. Everything is totally ok, but it didn't accomplish terribly much. But a lot of my reservations lifted late in the book. I didn't at all expect the turn that things take in the internment camp, which made things much darker and more interesting than the plain, bleak tragedy I anticipated. And in addition, Corlie ends the book in a much different situation than I imagined she would. That was pretty great.
I do kind of have an axe to grind with youth fiction that explains away the difficult behavior of adults with a simple 11:00 revelation of backstory. Very, very many books work this way, and I know it makes sense in many ways and most often isn't bad. But it usually disappoints me a little — I find it false. Sometimes I think the challenge should be met of bringing across the truth, that adults and parents just sometimes are difficult. And sometimes, you'll never know why.
So I was interested by this, watching Corlie deal with her mother's scorn throughout the book, contrasted with the intentional show of preference for her brothers. It stung, and sometimes this really happens in families, not just in historical fiction. So in some ways I was a bit deflated when this situation is circumscribed by some late backstory from Corlie's aunt. I do like where it led, but convenience isn't an attractive quality in a narrative. Even for children.
So. A bit of both here. But I'd be glad for the book to go out to many readers. It's extremely quick, illustrative of its setting, and ultimately the story is a good one.
A Tree Grows In Brooklyn by Betty Smith
4.0
Speaking of the right text for the moment. You got it, Brooklyn.
I recently moved to Brooklyn (again), and I figured reading this was a good way to welcome myself. I'm glad I did that. I never read it as a child, though I couldn't say why.
And I don't know what happened, but I found myself feeling so sad whenever I started reading that I stopped and took a break for a while, which I have never done ever before with a book. I read other serious books all the time. So it was strange.
Essentially the problem went away the older Francie got, therefore the better bolstered she grew to the world and her sharp observations of it. She is rather wonderfully sentimental her whole life, but as a really little kid her highs and lows are just crushing. When no one wants to play with her; when she sees the free piano in their house AND HUGS IT and can't HUG IT ENOUGH; when she has to take the pretty doll, she just can't stand it, she can't stand it. I about died.
It's not even a very sad book, is the thing. It's an impeccably classic coming-of-age book, with everything that goes inside one, but it isn't deeply tragic. Francie's life is difficult (and hungry), and she absorbs a lot of grief, but she gets a lot of triumphs by overcoming it. She learns to be a really, really good person, in a world that's usually too cold for her. And half the novel's purpose seems to be the detailing of its setting (1910's Williamsburg), and filling it with shops and people and realness, not just the experiences of one girl. My expectation was always that this book is an idyllic time capsule about the good old days, but it's actually about being poor, and being surrounded by realistically iffy people.
Interestingly, for a book about a girl, almost all the people in it are adults. I really loved that. Instead of keeping her feelings about Francie's growing up to herself, the author put them all in a wide range of grown-ups who are watching her for different reasons. We learn so much about her family history, her aunts' lives, her parents' relationship. There's a lot of frankness about sex and death and birth. Altogether the scope goes far beyond the small distractions of childhood, unlike a lot of books of this kind. Her mother Katie is the second strongest character here, and is so complex she's sometimes difficult to love. ("She exchanged her tenderness for capability.") My very favorite was Aunt Sissy, and her naive way of standing up for things. I think her lucky, cunning intimidation of Francie's mean teacher was my favorite.
Francie's pursuits when she gets older are so lovely. She becomes interested in playwriting, which was almost too much for me, it's so sweet. There's a little conflict while she's learning about writing stories that are darker and truer than adults generally encourage little girls to write. At one point she finds she's writing fantasy to mask these themes, while still writing about hunger, and she gives up and feels she's failed. But I actually really like what she did, and I wished the lesson was that she could have victory this way.
When she's older, she gets in a complicated situation being stuck between work and high school, and throws herself into full-time jobs. These make her grow up, but instead of giving up her other ambitions she basically hacks her way into college, and any other kind of classes she can find and pay for. And it's awesome. I wished this part of the book were even longer, because it brought out so many interesting experiences and changes for her. Instead it kind of breaks down into chapters of paragraph-long vignettes for a while, and I'm not sure why. At some point the book shows that it kind of lacks unity, and that's a little disappointing. It's so close to having it all.
I also totally hated Lee right from the start. But I wasn't sure if I was supposed to. I was happy that the ending didn't involve a direct tie to a boy.
Francie's emotional relationship with Brooklyn through the book is completely great. There's a lot of exalting its gruff openness and crumbly nature. I like when she defends New Yorkese linguistically to her brother ("'Here in Brooklyn stood is like the past tense of stay'") because I feel totally the same way. There's a lot of sweet comments about the borough's universality (which is more true than ever, where I live). I love when her dad takes her up to have a view of the neighborhood and city and she tells him, "'It's pretty the same way pictures of in-the-country are pretty.'" Perfect.
.
Side note that this edition is kind of disappointing. The afterword is full of inaccuracies quite irritating to someone just having finished the book, and the illustrations are weird and... uh, bad. With the exception of the iconic little fire escape design on all the chapter numbers. I like that. But that dude cannot draw people, I'm sorry.
I picked up this copy at Half Price Books in Marion, IA for $2 last year. Good place.
I recently moved to Brooklyn (again), and I figured reading this was a good way to welcome myself. I'm glad I did that. I never read it as a child, though I couldn't say why.
And I don't know what happened, but I found myself feeling so sad whenever I started reading that I stopped and took a break for a while, which I have never done ever before with a book. I read other serious books all the time. So it was strange.
Essentially the problem went away the older Francie got, therefore the better bolstered she grew to the world and her sharp observations of it. She is rather wonderfully sentimental her whole life, but as a really little kid her highs and lows are just crushing. When no one wants to play with her; when she sees the free piano in their house AND HUGS IT and can't HUG IT ENOUGH; when she has to take the pretty doll, she just can't stand it, she can't stand it. I about died.
It's not even a very sad book, is the thing. It's an impeccably classic coming-of-age book, with everything that goes inside one, but it isn't deeply tragic. Francie's life is difficult (and hungry), and she absorbs a lot of grief, but she gets a lot of triumphs by overcoming it. She learns to be a really, really good person, in a world that's usually too cold for her. And half the novel's purpose seems to be the detailing of its setting (1910's Williamsburg), and filling it with shops and people and realness, not just the experiences of one girl. My expectation was always that this book is an idyllic time capsule about the good old days, but it's actually about being poor, and being surrounded by realistically iffy people.
Interestingly, for a book about a girl, almost all the people in it are adults. I really loved that. Instead of keeping her feelings about Francie's growing up to herself, the author put them all in a wide range of grown-ups who are watching her for different reasons. We learn so much about her family history, her aunts' lives, her parents' relationship. There's a lot of frankness about sex and death and birth. Altogether the scope goes far beyond the small distractions of childhood, unlike a lot of books of this kind. Her mother Katie is the second strongest character here, and is so complex she's sometimes difficult to love. ("She exchanged her tenderness for capability.") My very favorite was Aunt Sissy, and her naive way of standing up for things. I think her lucky, cunning intimidation of Francie's mean teacher was my favorite.
Francie's pursuits when she gets older are so lovely. She becomes interested in playwriting, which was almost too much for me, it's so sweet. There's a little conflict while she's learning about writing stories that are darker and truer than adults generally encourage little girls to write. At one point she finds she's writing fantasy to mask these themes, while still writing about hunger, and she gives up and feels she's failed. But I actually really like what she did, and I wished the lesson was that she could have victory this way.
When she's older, she gets in a complicated situation being stuck between work and high school, and throws herself into full-time jobs. These make her grow up, but instead of giving up her other ambitions she basically hacks her way into college, and any other kind of classes she can find and pay for. And it's awesome. I wished this part of the book were even longer, because it brought out so many interesting experiences and changes for her. Instead it kind of breaks down into chapters of paragraph-long vignettes for a while, and I'm not sure why. At some point the book shows that it kind of lacks unity, and that's a little disappointing. It's so close to having it all.
I also totally hated Lee right from the start. But I wasn't sure if I was supposed to. I was happy that the ending didn't involve a direct tie to a boy.
Francie's emotional relationship with Brooklyn through the book is completely great. There's a lot of exalting its gruff openness and crumbly nature. I like when she defends New Yorkese linguistically to her brother ("'Here in Brooklyn stood is like the past tense of stay'") because I feel totally the same way. There's a lot of sweet comments about the borough's universality (which is more true than ever, where I live). I love when her dad takes her up to have a view of the neighborhood and city and she tells him, "'It's pretty the same way pictures of in-the-country are pretty.'" Perfect.
.
Side note that this edition is kind of disappointing. The afterword is full of inaccuracies quite irritating to someone just having finished the book, and the illustrations are weird and... uh, bad. With the exception of the iconic little fire escape design on all the chapter numbers. I like that. But that dude cannot draw people, I'm sorry.
I picked up this copy at Half Price Books in Marion, IA for $2 last year. Good place.
Scarcity by Lucy Thurber
3.0
Finally used an ancient Drama Book Store gift that Shannon gave me. Good.
Hm. I expected more from this one. The play uses so many ingredients I love, which is probably why it was disappointing that it feels like a normal play and not an awesome play. The material is capable of a lot, but here it mainly didn't surprise me. The first time you see everybody, you see the reasons they're made the way they are and how they'll affect each other. The elements kind of stand in their spots, doing their jobs. Move into position, create a contrast here or there. Then back.
The one surprising scene of major weirdness between Billy and Miss Roberts at least was unpredictable. But I guess I just didn't like it. I'm not sure why we had to see them do that, or what was different after.
I liked little moments, like when their mom looks at a FAFSA for the first time and makes herself do it. And 11-year-old Rachel also made me want to finally get around to reading the neglected Persuasion: "Because it's about waiting and then being rewarded for waiting." All her lines are the best, and she has pretty much the clearest presence.
The strongest theme is Billy's violent impulses. It's sad and frustrating. He's desperate to avoid being dangerous, but not really stopping himself either. He's got a little sadism, a lot of self-interest. And it's particularly good in retrospect, knowing that this came second to the play Stay, where the children are adults. I read them in "canon" order, but I can see the benefit of following the author's line of thought in creating these people, in sowing seeds.
And I'd totally, totally, totally be excited if there was more for them to be in.
Hm. I expected more from this one. The play uses so many ingredients I love, which is probably why it was disappointing that it feels like a normal play and not an awesome play. The material is capable of a lot, but here it mainly didn't surprise me. The first time you see everybody, you see the reasons they're made the way they are and how they'll affect each other. The elements kind of stand in their spots, doing their jobs. Move into position, create a contrast here or there. Then back.
The one surprising scene of major weirdness between Billy and Miss Roberts at least was unpredictable. But I guess I just didn't like it. I'm not sure why we had to see them do that, or what was different after.
I liked little moments, like when their mom looks at a FAFSA for the first time and makes herself do it. And 11-year-old Rachel also made me want to finally get around to reading the neglected Persuasion: "Because it's about waiting and then being rewarded for waiting." All her lines are the best, and she has pretty much the clearest presence.
The strongest theme is Billy's violent impulses. It's sad and frustrating. He's desperate to avoid being dangerous, but not really stopping himself either. He's got a little sadism, a lot of self-interest. And it's particularly good in retrospect, knowing that this came second to the play Stay, where the children are adults. I read them in "canon" order, but I can see the benefit of following the author's line of thought in creating these people, in sowing seeds.
And I'd totally, totally, totally be excited if there was more for them to be in.
The Treasure Map of Boys: Noel, Jackson, Finn, Hutch, Gideon—and me, Ruby Oliver by E. Lockhart
5.0
Oh this one you guys. Everyone.
How bad does it hurt seeing Ruby have trouble. She is so mad and so trying. She's learned how to stick up for herself but that sometimes makes things worse. The fight at the zoo, and Nora still judging her, and every single time she dissolves into another panic attack, which get so much worse in this book I lost count.
I love the Tate Boys Bake campaign. And the fight with the older girl, and the scene there at the bake sale. With Jackson, when she says what she thinks. I cried on the subway.
The chapter titles are particularly good. And the emulsions. Am not super excited I caught the misspelling in Hilary Duff's name. (Not Hillary.) YA is a little perilous, I guess.
In addition, I am tempted to try this "my therapist says you have to get me a really big dog" thing at home.
.
Edit 7/21/11: Whenever I think about how much I loved the things that happened in this book, I totally feel like I five-starred it, so. Up we go.
How bad does it hurt seeing Ruby have trouble. She is so mad and so trying. She's learned how to stick up for herself but that sometimes makes things worse. The fight at the zoo, and Nora still judging her, and every single time she dissolves into another panic attack, which get so much worse in this book I lost count.
I love the Tate Boys Bake campaign. And the fight with the older girl, and the scene there at the bake sale. With Jackson, when she says what she thinks. I cried on the subway.
The chapter titles are particularly good. And the emulsions. Am not super excited I caught the misspelling in Hilary Duff's name. (Not Hillary.) YA is a little perilous, I guess.
In addition, I am tempted to try this "my therapist says you have to get me a really big dog" thing at home.
.
Edit 7/21/11: Whenever I think about how much I loved the things that happened in this book, I totally feel like I five-starred it, so. Up we go.