Review of The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle by Haruki Murakami

Note: The Book Stop is on vacation!  This post was written in advance.  But please feel free to comment.

This was my second book by Haruki Murakami, and it blew me away.  There’s so much in this book, I don’t know where to start. Last year I read Norwegian Wood, which was very good.  I started there because bloggers said it was an “easier” Murakami read – more linear, less weird.

Wind-Up Bird was definitely weird.  Much of this book was like reading a dream – if I could put my dreams into writing, which I can’t.  But Murakami clearly can.

The story, briefly, is that Toru Okada is searching for his wife’s beloved cat, when his wife Kumiko goes missing as well.  It appears that she’s left him, but he’s not sure, and all he knows is that he has to figure out what went wrong to get her back.  Only figuring this out seems to involve some very strange women with psychic powers, the sixteen year old girl down the street, the dried-up old well down the street, and Kumiko’s strangely evil brother.  Oh, and two World War II veterans who fought in China.  Okada goes on a strange, mystical journey to figure out what happened to his cat and his wife.

I have to say I have no idea what a lot of the book meant, but I really like the way Murakami writes and the way he thinks.  There’s something really clear and honest about it.  I may not get the symbolism, and I certainly got lost in all the Japanese/Chinese war history, but Murakami’s writing about basic human emotions, like love, betrayal, abuse, people’s need to connect with others, and the ability to feel too much or too little.

For example:

What most moved me in his letter was the sense of frustration that permeated the lieutenant’s words: the frustration of never quite being able to depict or explain anything to his full satisfaction.

This person, this self, this me, finally, was made somewhere else.  Everything had come from somewhere else, and it would all go somewhere else.  I was nothing but a pathway for the person known as me.

And my favorite:

What happens in between the time when you push the switch and the microwave rings?  You can’t tell what’s going on under the cover.  Maybe the instant rice pudding first turns into macaroni gratin in the darkness when nobody’s looking and only then turns back into rice pudding.  We think it’s only natural to get rice pudding after we put rice pudding mix in the microwave and the bell rings, but for me that’s just a presumption… Maybe the world has two different kinds of people, and for one kind the world is this completely logical, rice pudding place, and for the other it’s all hit-or-miss macaroni gratin.

This was a huge book, something you really sink into.  And sometimes Murakami’s divergences were hard to get into (he likes his characters to tell long stories) but most of the time I was completely enthralled.  And “enthralled” is a word I rarely use about a book.

In the end, I can’t say enough about this book, nor can I adequately say anything meaningful.  I can say this: Wind-Up Bird was the rare book that I highlighted again and again (electronically, that is) because there are parts I want to experience again.

One thing about Murakami is he does seem to have strange views about sexuality, from both of the books I’ve read.  His female characters seem to be completely overwhelmed sexually, like it’s either something painful or horrific, or they can’t get enough of it.  I’m not sure if this is a weird distorted view of women’s sexuality or Murakami’s trying to make a more subtle point.  For the record, I do understand that defilement in this book isn’t generally about sex.  But I still think he portrays women’s sexuality very oddly.  Thoughts?

I really liked the main character – sometimes a character is so passive it’s annoying, but in this book, Okada isn’t really passive at all.  He’s following his instincts even when that means taking action by doing nothing (say, by climbing into an empty well to meditate).  He never stops searching, never gives up faith that he’s on the right track.

My favorite character was May Kasahara, the teenage girl down the street.  He writes her with such a unique voice, unlike the other characters who seem to blend into each other at times.  Most of the quotes I’ve used in this review come from her character.

I haven’t read a lot of Japanese writers, so at times the writing style seems very foreign – and at times not at all.  I know some of that comes from the translation, and some of it may just be cultural differences.  Regardless, I enjoyed this step outside my comfort zone, and I will definitely read more of Murakami’s books.  This may have been my favorite book of the year so far.

Review of The Hero and the Crown by Robin McKinley

Note: The Book Stop is on vacation!  This post was written in advance.  But please feel free to comment.

If you like well-written fantasy with a strong female character, this is the book for you.  The Hero and the Crown won a Newbery Medal in 1985, which is awarded once a year to the best novel in children’s literature.  This may be a children’s book, but the writing is incredibly adult.  McKinley gives us a fantasy novel that doesn’t rely on the standard tropes and doesn’t take any easy ways out.

Aerin is the daughter of the king of Damar, but she’s never been accepted by the people because her dead mother was rumored to be a witch who enspelled the king into marrying her.  Even worse, royalty in Damar are expected to manifest some magical talents by adolescence and Aerin has failed on that front.  She’s not beautiful, not talented, and mistrusted by her peers.  Her only support comes from her father, her best friend Tor, who is the next in line to be king, and her maid Teka.

Her life becomes more interesting when she rehabilitates Talat, the old and lamed horse who rescued her father in battle but hasn’t been ridden since.  She also creates a new way of riding without stirrups or a bridle.  She and Talat heal each other.  Then, while reading a book about fighting dragons, she discovers an ancient recipe for an ointment that protects skin from dragonfire.

In the world McKinley has created, dragons are small but because of their fire, incredibly dangerous to kill.  They prey on crops and villages, and it usually takes a team of trained warriors to slay one.  And lately, the threat of dragons has been increasing.

This is an incredible fantasy novel, and a surprisingly challenging read.  McKinley writes in a complex, lyrical style, which is at times almost dreamlike.  Most fantasy isn’t “literary” but this one is.

The book mixes the expected (dragon battles) with the unexpected (her visit to Luthe and the Lake of Dreams).  As with most fantasy, Aerin is destined for more than she realizes.  But each battle is hard fought and nothing comes easy to this heroine.

This is the kind of book I would love for my nieces to read, because I know it will make them think, but also because Aerin beats most heroines for bravery and strength.  I think this is a book you could read a few times and get more out of each time.

Review of Gillespie and I by Jane Harris

I liked Gillespie and I, I just didn’t love it as much as I expected to.  It takes place in turn of the century Scotland and revolves around an artist, Ned Gillespie, and his family.  The story is told by Harriet Baxter, a single, well-off woman who meets the Gillespies and becomes their close friend.  She tells the story as an elderly woman in 1933, recounting the events of 1888, when she visits Glasgow to see the World’s Fair exhibition, and decides to stay for a while as her life becomes enmeshed in the complicated lives of the Gillespies.

This is a story with a lot of twists and turns, and I don’t want to tell you too much.  Gillespie is a talented artist but his family is struggling financially, and his wife Annie is overwhelmed by the needs of their two children, Rose and Sibyl.  Harriet has time on her hands, no family to speak of except an emotionally-distant stepfather, and income to spare, so she immediately looks for ways to further Gillespie’s career and help Annie with the family.

Harriet isn’t an easy character to warm to.  She throws her money around and seems to have no sense of boundaries.  Even though this is 1888, she doesn’t stop to consider whether spending time alone with a married man is appropriate.  She has the best of intentions and cares about her friends, and if she’s a little arrogant at times, it’s forgivable (mostly).

If you like stories told from the point of view of an unreliable narrator, you’ll enjoy this book.  Harris brings subtlety and complexity to the character of Harriet.  You know you’re not getting the entire picture, and that keeps you reading.

As historical fiction, I was a little disappointed that I didn’t get more turn-of-the-century art and life in Scotland.  I love that period and I especially love Scotland and the work of artists like Charles Rennie Mackintosh.  But his work, and the Art Nouveau movement, all come after 1988, which isn’t the fault of this book.  But I still wanted to learn more about the artists of that time.

I also didn’t get much feel for Scotland or Glasgow at the time, maybe because the book is told from the point of view of an English woman, whose only impression of the Scots is that they hate the English.  In general, I didn’t feel I was immersed in a specific time and place, which is why I read historical fiction.

I also found this book a little slow moving, especially in the beginning.  It tells a good story, but ultimately I didn’t love it.  This is a book most readers have raved about, so use your own judgment.

Review of The Silver Linings Playbook by Matthew Quick

I liked the movie but not as much as I expected to.  I loved the book.

The movie was well-cast, well-acted, and rose way above the typical rom-com.  And yet… it was, in the end, a “dance movie”.  Why do movies insist on acting like dancing will heal everyone’s problems?

Without going into a lot of detail about how the book differed from the movie, I’ll just say this: the dance part happens in the middle, not the end.  Pat and Tiffany have issues that can’t just be danced away.

What I loved about this book: Pat Peoples is an amazing character.  He’s not perfect, and he’s not terribly smart, but he’s someone you’ll care about.  I love the way he thinks about literature.  I love that he cries.  And that he loves his wife.  And that he cares about his mother.  And that he’s working towards “being kind, not being right”.  I like that he thinks about what it means to be mentally ill, and how people with problems are treated by society.  And what it means to be a friend.

The movie does a nice job of conveying those things, but the book does it better.

Somehow the book did a better job of not only helping me understand Pat, but also making Tiffany likeable.  She’s not the main character, so you don’t have to love her, and you don’t even have to understand her.  You just have to sympathize.  I found that easier to do in the book than the movie, mainly because the book doesn’t revolve around the dancing quite so much.  Mom is also a more interesting character in the book.

There’s a lot of football in this book, which was a good thing — except while I love football, I hate the Eagles.  Both the book and the movie made me dislike them even more.  Eagles fans seem just fine with beating non-Eagles fans to a pulp.  No, they celebrate it.  Yes, my Redskins have a racist name that bothers the hell out of me – but in general I like our fans.  It’s not easy being a Redskins fan, but at least my life doesn’t revolve around whether they win or lose (although some Sundays it seems to).

This book is funny, smart, romantic and thought-provoking, all in the guise of a rom-com type read.  It never takes itself too seriously even while dealing with serious subjects.  One of my favorite parts is where Pat gives us his version of the dance movie montage (he has to learn the word first from his therapist).

So except for confirming my perception that Eagles fans are basically thugs (the only one that isn’t is the guy who spent years in a mental institution), I liked everything about this book.

In fact, if I wanted to compare this book to something I’ve read recently, I couldn’t.  It’s just different.  You have to like a book where a “dumb jock” reads The Bell Jar and appreciates it.

Pat says he’s living the movie of his life, and he expects it will come out happy.  Only everyone around him says that life doesn’t work that way.  It’s this back and forth about what it means to live in the real world and be a good person, that makes this book so worth the read.

Review of Cat’s Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut

I read Slaughterhouse Five last year and loved it.  I think Vonnegut’s a genius, and I was super excited about this one.  But somehow it never came together for me.  Although I feel like I missed a lot, which I’m going to blame squarely on myself rather than the author.  I would love to study Vonnegut in a literature class so  I feel like I’m getting more out of his books (although I suspect Vonnegut would laugh at me for that).

Here’s the basic plot, as well as I can describe it: narrator John is researching the father of the atomic bomb right after World War II, Felix Hoenikker (who is fictional but based on actual scientists).  His fate becomes intertwined with that of Hoenikker’s children, Newton, Frank, and Angela, when he travels to San Lorenzo, a fictional small island in the Caribbean.  Frank, who disappeared from home years ago, is now the assistant to the dictator of San Lorenzo, who threatens to impale anyone who misbehaves on a giant hook.

Oh, and one more thing: Dr. Hoenikker’s three children are carrying around their father’s greatest invention, ice-nine, which increases the freezing point of water and could turn the entire planet into ice.

If you’re a Vonnegut fan, the oddness of this story won’t surprise you.  You also won’t be surprised that this book is really about the conflicts between science and religion.  Dr. Hoenikker lives an unhappy life even though his bomb won the war and made him a hero.  His children hate science and what their father represents.  The title of the book refers to a Cat’s Cradle that Dr. Hoenikker makes with string for his young son Newton on the day the bomb was dropped.  Newton sees his father as scary and spends his life wondering how some criss-crossed string can be described as a cat or a cradle, when clearly it looks like neither.

Here’s how it starts:

When I was a much younger man, I began to collect material for a book to be called The Day the World Ended.

The book was to be factual.

The book was to be an account of what important Americans had done on the day when the first atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, Japan.

It was to be a Christian book.  I was a Christian then.

I am a Bokononist now.

I would have been a Bokononist then, if there had been anyone to teach me the bittersweet lies of Bokonon.

No one points out the ridiculous quite like Vonnegut.  He also makes up (and makes fun of) an entire religion, Bokonon.  John finds a book in San Lorenzo that describes Bokononism, which says that everything, including the religion itself, is a lie, we are bound together by fate, and the greatest intimacy is achieved by two people touching the soles of their feet together.  John tells us this about a woman who thinks she has God all figured out: “She was a fool, and so am I, and so is anyone who thinks he sees what God is Doing [writes Bokonon].”

The book was nominated for a Hugo Award in 1964, and of course, its ideas about nuclear weapons and biological destruction would have been very relevant at the time.  Although as I think about it, those views are just as relevant today.

I have to admire Vonnegut’s amazing creativity and satire, and yet this book wore thin pretty quickly.  I can’t really explain why – I know I haven’t been on my best reading game lately.  If you’re a Vonnegut fan, what did you think of this one?

This book counts towards my Classics Club and To Be Read Pile Challenges.

Review of Charlotte Street by Danny Wallace

I picked up a complimentary copy of this book from NetGalley, but really the suggestion came from Bethany at Subtle Melodrama, who said it was nice to read something a little light when most books are so heavy.  And having recently read books about World War II spies, Sudanese civil war, and the blood and gore that is George R.R. Martin, something light sounded pretty damn good.

In some ways, Charlotte Street is the London version of Attachments, by Rainbow Rowell.  By that I mean it’s sort of a rom-com, or at least it’s what you wish passed for a rom-com these days.  In a direct comparison, I think Attachments has a leg up on Charlotte Street but both were fun reads.  I’ll explain.

Jason Priestley (not the actor, as he has to constantly tell people) is a near-30 freelance reviewer for a local free paper in London.  Despite having a very cool job, he’s floundering, professionally and personally.  He finds out from Facebook that his ex is engaged and that sends him into a tailspin.  Until he helps a girl into a cab one night on Charlotte Street and becomes obsessed with finding her again.

The mystery girl drops a disposable camera with 12 photos as she gets into the cab.  Priestley tries to find her to give it back, until his friend Dev talks him into developing the photos instead.

I’m going to start with what I didn’t love about this book.  The main character is kind of an ass.  Not in a stalkerish way like it suggests on the cover; that didn’t bother me.  No, he’s just selfish and annoyingly passive most of the time.  And here’s where my comparison to Attachments ends.  Attachments had Lincoln, one of the most endearing male characters I’ve read in a modern rom-com type story.  Jason is insensitive to his friends and co-workers, and completely unethical at work.  For example, he posts reviews that are overly negative because that gets him more attention as a writer — but those reviews actually hurt people’s businesses.  It doesn’t bother him, but as a reviewer, it bothered me.

One more thing: I think I was supposed to like the ex, but I hated her.  If there’s one person in this book that’s stalkerish, it’s her.  On the other hand I loved Jason’s friends Dev and Matthew.

What I liked about the book: Wallace keeps the plot interesting and fairly original.  It’s cleverly written and the side characters (most of them) are really the entertaining ones.  There’s also a level of detail in the writing that brought this book to life.  For example, Dev owns a used game shop and he’s a gaming expert.  Jason writes reviews and we get to see the ups and downs of the life of a reviewer, and we also learn a lot about his life as a teacher.  And I love all things British, so to be honest, just reading about the guys going to get a pint or kebabs after work makes me happy (even though we have those in the U.S. too).

An example of what makes this book engaging comes when Jason takes out an “I Saw You” ad in his paper.  Those are the personal ads (in big city papers, at least) where people hope to contact someone they ran into and liked but didn’t have the nerve to actually say something.    When I first moved to DC, I was semi-obsessed with the “I Saw You” ads.  It’s a fantasy – we want to think that momentary bump into someone cute on the Metro actually meant something.  We want to think that somewhere, someone made eye contact with us for a minute and really liked what they saw.  Of course the bigger fantasy is thinking that person might actually read your ad among the thousands of other ads, recognize themselves in it, and actually want to contact you.  Still, it could happen, right?

No eyes meet across a crowded room, no two people think precisely the same thing, and if only one person actually has that moment, is it even really a moment at all?

We know this, so we say nothing.  We avert our eyes, or pretend to be looking for change, we hope the other person will take the initiative, because we don’t want to risk losing this feeling of excitement and possibilities and lust.  It’s too perfect.  That little second of hope is worth something, possibly forever, as we lie on our deathbeds, surrounded by our children, and our grandchildren, and our great-grandchildren, and we can’t help but quickly give one last selfish, dying thought to what could have happened if we’d actually said hello to that girl in the Uggs selling CDs outside Nando’s seventy-four years earlier.

In my opinion Wallace hits this dead on.  The “I Saw You” ad is like a microcosm of all our hopes, insecurities and desires, all wrapped up in 28-words.  And this is the kind of detail I appreciated in this book.

So in the end I have to give this a mixed review.  Points given for cleverness, creativity and a fun story, and points taken for an annoying main character and some fairly obvious lessons (like valuing the friends around you more than some girl you saw in the street one day).

Review of Life After Life by Kate Atkinson

Life After Life is one of those books that’s hard to review.  It’s a challenging read and it’s got glowing critical reviews.  I’m a big fan of Kate Atkinson, so I expected to like it, and I did.  Be warned though, it’s quite a departure from her other books.  This is a book that combines historical fiction with alternate reality and a good dose of philosophy.  It’s been called science fiction although it definitely blurs a lot of genre lines.

As its title suggests, this is a book about Ursula, a girl born in 1910 England to Sylvie and Hugh Todd.  She’s a middle child of five, a serious, introspective child favored by her father but not so much by her mother.  They live at Fox Corner, a fairly idyllic life in a bustling, well-to-do household. Her story would be an average one of anyone who lives through this turbulent time period, except that for some reason, when she dies, she gets to start again.  Not in a new life but the same one – only she gets to do things a little differently each time and that leads her life down many different directions.  She’s an abused wife in one life, and a bomb warden in another.  She dies at birth in one life, and lives into her fifties in another.

To give you a sense of Atkinson’s writing, here’s Ursula’s perspective as a baby:

Bare branches, buds, leaves – the world as she knew it came and went before Ursula’s eyes.  She observed the turn of the seasons for the first time.  She was born with winter already in her bones, but then came the sharp promise of spring, the fattening of the buds, the indolent heat of summer, the mold and mushroom of autumn.  From within the limited frame of the pram hood she saw it all.  To say nothing of the somewhat random embellishments the seasons brought with them – sun, clouds, birds, a stray cricket ball arcing silently overhead, a rainbow once or twice rain more often than she would have liked.

What makes this book so thoughtful and entertaining is that 1) we get to see how many paths one person’s life might take, given slightly different actions in each one; and 2) we get to experience the years of 1910 through WWII through a lot of different perspectives.  Instead of giving us multiple characters experiencing different parts of the war, Atkinson gives us the same character, just with different knowledge and experience.

The challenge is making sense of what this all means.  Is Ursula special or are we all living parallel lives?  This book plays on déjà vu and those uneasy feelings you get that you can’t pin a cause to.  I certainly get those.  You ever get the feeling you shouldn’t get on the road one day, or a gnawing at your stomach but you can’t say why? Or a feeling you know someone when you’ve never met?  In Ursula’s world, all of those feelings have meaning in another life.  The difference is that Ursula occasionally feels strongly enough about those feelings to act on them, and those actions send her life spiraling in a new direction.

Another question the book raises is, are Ursula’s lives building in a way where she’s improving each time?  Or is she saving herself from drowning only to become a lonely alcoholic in another life.  Atkinson seems to be suggesting we can exert some control over our lives (but only some).  She brings in notions of karma, fate, and consciousness.  Philosophy isn’t my strong point, and I have to admit I’m not sure if this is the kitchen sink approach to the subject or if there is one clear meaning Atkinson is trying to convey.

But that’s one of the things that makes this book a worthwhile read.  It’s not an easy read though.  Ursula’s life stops and starts abruptly, and keeping track of the many different characters and timelines is an effort.  Sometimes the book is written chronologically, and sometimes it seems to hop around to different times.

Ursula herself is a fairly stoic character, and at times, like in Nazi Germany, I really wanted to see more emotion from her.  She seems to understand what the Nazis are doing yet has no reaction to it.   Other times, her quiet strength is admirable and when she’s at her lowest points, it can be devastating.

As usual, I’m trying so hard not to say too much, I’m not sure I’m making sense.  This is powerful historical fiction, that plunks you down in the middle of World War I and World War II in a very unique way.  Her description of London during the bombings is particularly vivid.  It’s always fascinating to see these years through the eyes of women, because women’s lives changed in so many ways during this time.  And Kate Atkinson is such a skilled writer, she really takes you there.

I can’t help but compare Atkinson to Kate Morton, having recently read The Secret Keeper.  Both are skilled writers, but where Morton writes everything in high melodrama, Atkinson writes with a depth and subtlety that I much prefer.  You could make any of Morton’s books into a great movie, and her books are certainly enjoyable.  I’d hate to see anyone try to make Life After Life into a movie.

If you like Atkinson, World War II historical fiction, or philosophy, there’s something for you in this book.  Don’t pick up this book expecting a Jackson Brodie-like mystery novel, or straight-up historical fiction.  This is a book you’ll work at, and think about, and appreciate for its complexity.

Note: I received a complimentary copy of this book from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

Review of On the Road by Jack Kerouac

When I put On the Road on my Classics Club list, I knew little or nothing about the Beat Generation, except what I picked up living in San Francisco for a few years.  Still, Kerouac is one of those literary icons I don’t feel complete without reading.  This book came up as my Classic Spin book for March-April, which means it was picked randomly from my list as the next book I read.  Which is good, because I had to force myself to read this book.

I heard from a number of bloggers that this was a disappointing and difficult read, and it was.  Kerouac’s telling of a life of aimless travel, drug use and casual sex may be historically or culturally important, but it’s got no plot direction and few likeable characters.  Kerouac’s message seems to be that rules and responsibilities get in the way of really living – freedom is having no responsibility at all and just doing everything by impulse. At least, until you run out of money.

On the Road is a novel but it’s closer to a memoir.  Its protagonist is Sal Paradise, who is torn between his desire to have a relationship and get a degree, and his admiration for his crazier friend Dean Moriarty (who is described again and again as having something really wrong with him, yet Sal does whatever he says).  It’s really the story of Kerouac’s experiences with Neal Cassady, Allen Ginsberg, and William S. Burroughs.

The book is interesting from a historical perspective, occurring several years after World War II.  You can see how those events would give these young men a sense that they have to live life as fully as they can, regardless of the consequences.  Unfortunately, that kind of life also seems to mean treating your friends horribly, lying to women so you can get them in bed, and mooching money from your family.  I kept wanting Sal to do something real for someone, but he disappointed me over and over again, just as his friends do to him.  He has ideals but he doesn’t stick to anything.

The writing is mostly a drug and alcohol-addled muddle of “we did this” and “then we did this” but occasionally Kerouac would describe something in such a brilliant, poetic way I had to flag it.  And that’s what makes this book worth reading.

And before me was the great raw bulge and bulk of my American continent; somewhere far across, gloomy, crazy New York was throwing up its cloud of dust and brown steam.  There is something brown and holy about the East; and California is white like washlines and empty headed – at least that’s what I thought then.

Maybe the best parts of this book describe Kerouac’s feelings about music.  It’s hard for me to get too into his drug and alcohol binges, but I can admire his passion for jazz.

They writhed and twisted and blew.  Every now and then a clear harmonic cry gave new suggestions of a tune that would someday be the only tune in the world and would raise men’s souls to joy.  They found it, they lost, they wrestled for it, they found it again, they laughed, they moaned – and Dean sweated at the table and told them to go, go, go.

In another scene, Dean is explaining jazz and what IT means:

“Here’s a guy and everybody’s there, right?  Up to him to put down what’s on everybody’s mind.  He starts the first chorus, then lines up his ideas, people, yeah, yeah, but get it, then he rises to his fate and has to blow equal to it.  All of a sudden somewhere in the chorus he gets it – everybody looks up and knows; they listen; he picks it up and carries.  Time stops. He’s filling empty space with the substance of our lives, confessions of his bellybottom strain, remembrance of ideas, rehashes of old blowing.  He has to blow across bridges and come back and do it with such infinite feeling soul-exploratory for the tune of the moment that everybody knows it’s not the tune that counts but IT.”

The other powerful thing about this book is that Kerouac and his characters really do experience America in a way that most of us don’t, from New York to California to Mexico. I wish I could say I’d gotten into a car, driven across America, and just experienced whatever came along.  I wish I could say I’d seen and felt the land in the way Kerouac does, but I know I never will.

In the whole eastern dark wall of the Divide this night there was silence and the whisper of the wind, except in the ravine where we roared; and on the other side of the Divide was the great Western Slpe, and the big plateau that went to Steamboat Springs, and dropped, and led you to the Eastern Colorado desert and the Utah desert; all in darkness now as we fumed and screamed in our mountain nook, mad drunken Americans in the mighty land.  We were on the roof of America and all we could do was yell, I guess – across the night, eastward over the Plains, where somewhere an old man with white hair was probably walking toward us with the Word, and would arrive any minute and make us silent.

I could have put this book down many times, but I really wanted to finish it.  I wanted to see if there’s some lesson in Kerouac’s free-wheeling treks across the country.  It’s interesting to see the push and pull between living impulsively and having responsibilities to family and children.  It’s either freedom or love, with no options in-between.

It’s true that most of us could benefit from living more “in the moment”.  I’m a pretty compulsive planner, so in a lot of ways I found myself admiring that lifestyle.  But ultimately the life Kerouac recounts in On the Road isn’t one I want to experience.

Review of Over Sea, Under Stone by Susan Cooper

Over Sea, Under Stone is the first of five books in Susan Cooper’s classic children’s series, The Dark is Rising.  She won a Newbery award for the fourth book, The Grey King.  It’s on my Classics Club list and also counts towards the Around the World in 12 Books Challenge.  March’s country is Wales, and even though this book takes place in England, it’s based on Welsh folklore.

I’m not sure how I missed this series as a child, but this book was a fun read, if a little traditional.  It’s based on Arthurian legend – and according to Wikipedia, is a mix of Celtic and Norse mythology as well.  It’s classic English fantasy – a little lighter than C.S. Lewis and darker than E. Nesbit, and Edward Eager.  Three children, Jane, Barney and Simon, come to Cornwall for a holiday.  Their parents, as in all great children’s fantasy, are absent for most of the book.  And then there’s mysterious Uncle Merry.  Of course they’re staying in a mysterious old house, and on the first rainy day, they decide to explore and they discover a very old, very cryptic map.  This sets them on a quest to find King Arthur’s Holy Grail, before the forces of darkness can find it.

Since Book One is clearly a set-up for the rest of the series, it’s difficult to review.  I’ll just say it was a quick and entertaining read, although a little far-fetched a few times, as the children escape their evil pursuers just a little too easily.  On the other hand, their escapes may be part of their enemy’s evil design.  The children know that by searching for the Grail, they run the huge risk of leading the enemy right to it – but they go ahead anyway.  There were a few times I wanted to slap them – but then this is a book written for kids, not for me.  This felt like a “starter” book – written for younger kids but wanting to be a lot darker.

Still, I enjoyed the Arthurian background and who doesn’t like a good treasure hunt?  It’s Narnia without the religion, which I appreciated.  Character development was good for this kind of book and I expect will grow a lot in the future books.  I hope to see Jane’s character developed further as the boys had a lot of the adventures in this book.

If you’ve read the series, I’d love to hear whether I should keep reading.  The other fantasy series I need to read is the one by Lloyd Alexander.  Which would you recommend?

Review of How Angels Die by David-Michael Harding

I received a complimentary copy of this book from the author in exchange for a review.  Historical fiction, French Resistance, female spies.  What’s not to like?

In a word, WOW.  This was a Made-Me-Miss-My-Metro-Stop kind of book.  Literally – and I can’t remember the last time that happened.

Honestly, I went into this book with a little skepticism.  I read the first chapter and thought the relationship between the sisters felt a little forced.  One’s a sexy seductress, one’s a tough-as-nails soldier. They seem to have had the same argument for years – is it better to kill people in the name of war or is it better to sleep with them for their secrets?

It’s the story of two sisters in France during the Nazi occupation.  The McCleash family hates the Nazis, they just hate in different ways – Dad rants into his pipes, Mom quietly sews Nazi uniforms, and the two daughters, Claire and Monique, work for the French Resistance.  Monique steals the secrets of Nazi officers by dancing and drinking — and other things when necessary.  Her family hates what she’s doing, but it does have results.  Claire, on the other hand, is a gun-wielding soldier in the Resistance Army who can’t get enough of killing Nazis.  Monique’s weakness is that she longs for love and passion based on honesty.  Claire’s weakness is that she hates so much it threatens to consume her.

The surprise is that Harding brings some subtlety into this story of extremes.  Whose activities are worth more to the Resistance?  Who has the most to lose?  Claire puts her life at risk every day but so does Monique — only Claire earns respect from her father and conspirators while Monique is labeled a whore (the implication being that she really enjoys what she’s doing).  Where are the moral lines, and who is most likely to lose herself in the part that she’s playing?

The appearance of the sisters triggered a soft hum of recognition.  As various members of the movement passed within arm’s reach they stopped to hug Claire or grip her arm in silent acknowledgement.  Of the many who passed, few said a word outside of a soft hello and fewer still acknowledged Monique beyond a negligible nod.

Be warned: this book opens up with a vicious rape.  Harding pulls no punches, which is fine; I don’t want the war sugar-coated.   It’s page-turning historical fiction — brutal but also sad and even beautiful.  Is it over-dramatic at times?  Yes.  This book would be a perfect movie.  And yes, it’s blatantly emotional and even sappy.  But I forgive Harding for that.

If the book goes over the top a few too many times (the idea of Monique as whore/saint gets a little overplayed) it’s got a story that will keep you riveted.  I won’t say more.  Harding introduces a cast of fascinating, at times disturbing characters that you don’t know whether to love or hate, but you won’t forget them.   It starts out a little slow, but at some point in this book I felt like I walked right into Monique and Claire’s lives, it felt that real to me.

That’s when I missed my Metro Stop.  When you look up from a book and don’t know where you are, you know it’s good.

I will say I wish there had been a Jewish character or two in the story.  Harding makes it clear that the Jews are all gone by this time, and maybe that’s historically accurate.  I like to think the French Resistance had a lot of Jewish fighters in it, but maybe that’s only the case earlier in the Occupation.

I can’t tell you whether the book is historically accurate, but I can tell you I couldn’t put it down.

So if French Resistance and sister spies sounds good to you, I highly recommend this book.