Total Pages Read in April: 2,042
Wow, April was a great reading month! Not only was it my most successful reading month so far this year (most pages and books read), it featured some fantastic books. There was fiction, nonfiction, and poetry. There were classics and contemporaries.
I reread Virgina Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway, one of my favorite classic novels and one I highly recommend to anyone with an interest in literature. I also recommend Nathan Rabin's My Year of Flops, which is a very funny look at failed films. I found the first Loretta Chase romance I didn't like, but it's not going to stop me from reading her in the future. Best of all, I began the month with Walker Percy's The Moviegoer, which is one of the best novels I've read in a long time. If I had to give out my 2011 top ten list right at this moment, The Moviegoer would take the top spot. Hopefully, this means I'll read even better books as the year continues.
I didn't review this for my blog or include it on any of the records I keep about my book reading habits, but I also listened to a great audiobook this month: Tina Fey's memoir, Bossypants. I'm glad I listened to the audio version, as I'm not sure I would have liked Fey's style nearly as much on the page. But she reads it wonderfully, and it's great perspective on the world from a funny woman with opinions on both comedy and womanhood. This audiobook was a lot of fun.
April reminded me that there are some really kick-ass books out there and that I should read as much as I can in the next few months before graduate school kicks in and makes my reading options much more limited. I have quite a few books I hope to tackle in May, but it's also a pretty busy month in terms of social obligations, so it may not be quite as fruitful as April. You never know, though....
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Thursday, April 28, 2011
A Place of Memory
Book Reviewed: The Coast of Chicago, by Stuart Dybek
In every fiction writing class I've ever had, I've been assigned Stuart Dybek's short story, "Pet Milk." There's a reason this happens. It's one of those stories that's so perfect it hurts. Informed by memory and a strong sense of place, it's only a few pages long but packs a pretty profound punch. It's about first love and the excitment of youth and the experience of living in Chicago. If you care about the art of short stories in any way, you have to read "Pet Milk" at some point in your life.
Yet, despite reading and loving "Pet Milk," I had never read the critically-beloved collection it came from, The Coast of Chicago. I read Dybek's I Sailed with Magellan a few years ago, but I'm new to Coast.
It's a great collection, and it's all about memory and Chicago, two subjects I'm pretty fond of reading about. Not every story grabbed me equally, but the ones that did will probably stick with me for some time. There's "Blight," about a group of childhood friends as they grow up and apart. There's the strange and witty "Death of a Right Fielder." Then there's "Nighthawks," a kind of prose collage with multiple sections and stories. Some of the passages in "Nighthawks" really took my breath away. There's a part of this story called "Killing Time" that will ring painfully true for anyone who's ever been unemployed for a long period of time or who's ever spent significant time in the Art Institute. As someone who's done both, I absolutely loved these four pages. I think this book's worth reading just for this section's heartbreaker of a last line.
What makes this collection so special is Dybek's familiarity with its setting and characters. He's lived the lives of his characters; he's a genuine product of Chicago at its most raw and real. I like a writer who can use his past and hometown as fodder for his work, and Dybek is an excellent example of this. He's an expert, and as a reader, you're perfectly happy to follow him around the streets of Chicago's south side.
In every fiction writing class I've ever had, I've been assigned Stuart Dybek's short story, "Pet Milk." There's a reason this happens. It's one of those stories that's so perfect it hurts. Informed by memory and a strong sense of place, it's only a few pages long but packs a pretty profound punch. It's about first love and the excitment of youth and the experience of living in Chicago. If you care about the art of short stories in any way, you have to read "Pet Milk" at some point in your life.
Yet, despite reading and loving "Pet Milk," I had never read the critically-beloved collection it came from, The Coast of Chicago. I read Dybek's I Sailed with Magellan a few years ago, but I'm new to Coast.
It's a great collection, and it's all about memory and Chicago, two subjects I'm pretty fond of reading about. Not every story grabbed me equally, but the ones that did will probably stick with me for some time. There's "Blight," about a group of childhood friends as they grow up and apart. There's the strange and witty "Death of a Right Fielder." Then there's "Nighthawks," a kind of prose collage with multiple sections and stories. Some of the passages in "Nighthawks" really took my breath away. There's a part of this story called "Killing Time" that will ring painfully true for anyone who's ever been unemployed for a long period of time or who's ever spent significant time in the Art Institute. As someone who's done both, I absolutely loved these four pages. I think this book's worth reading just for this section's heartbreaker of a last line.
What makes this collection so special is Dybek's familiarity with its setting and characters. He's lived the lives of his characters; he's a genuine product of Chicago at its most raw and real. I like a writer who can use his past and hometown as fodder for his work, and Dybek is an excellent example of this. He's an expert, and as a reader, you're perfectly happy to follow him around the streets of Chicago's south side.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
This Week in Trashy Reads 2011 #5
Trashy Read 2011 #5: The Last Hellion, by Loretta Chase
I went into The Last Hellion knowing that it is quite a divisive book among Loretta Chase fans. There are those who love it; some Chase fans would even say it's their favorite. Then there are those who hate it, easily calling it one of her worst books. I'm afraid I lean a bit more towards the latter camp. This book is kind of a mess.
This historical romance centers on a woman named Lydia Grenville who works as a journalist for one of London's tabloid papers. She writes stories about the struggles of the poor and unfortunate, particularly the sad lives of women born into crime and poverty. She comes from a desperate background herself (dead mother, criminal father, etc), so she has made it her life's work to make things better for others. Lydia's very tough and opinionated, loved and hated by Londoners in equal measure. One day while trying to protect a young woman, she runs into Vere Mallory, the Duke of Ainswood. Vere is a rake with low opinions of women and an even lower opinion of himself. He is one of the last remaining members of his family, and he spent many years doing little but going to funerals for his friends and relatives. He feels guilty about being alive.
For the first half of this book, Lydia and Vere have a love-hate relationship that I never quite bought. Their romance is much more believable in the book's faster-paced second half, but this is also when the book goes off the rails. There's just too much going on to fit into one mass-market paperback. There's romances and hidden wealthy backgrounds and revenge and thievery. There's carriage races and dogs and an admittedly cute secondary romance. That's a lot to cram in, and way too much of that cramming happens in the book's last 100 pages. By the time there's a final, big familial reveal at the end, I just rolled my eyes. I had a hard time caring a whole lot about Vere and Lydia, to be honest.
Granted, The Last Hellion does have its moments. As I've mentioned many times, Chase is an easy, charming writer of romance. There are a few cute scenes and funny lines, and the above-mentioned secondary romance is a very pleasant surprise. Best of all, Vere happens to be an old friend of Dain, the hero of Chase's best book, Lord of Scoundrels, which means we get to see the return of Dain and Jessica. Yay! Unfortunately, there's a downfall to having beloved characters from an old book show up again; it only reminds the reader of what they find lacking in the new book. Vere is a lot like Dain in his rakish, low-self-esteemed ways, but he lacks the interesting aspects and brutal magnetism of Dain's personality and story. Seeing Dain and Jessica again only reminded me that Vere and Lydia are no Dain and Jessica. But man, did I want to reread Lord of Scoundrels once I closed the pages of The Last Hellion. I expect this might happen soonish.
Next in Trashy Reads: I'm being a lot more judgmental about romance novels lately, probably because I've read such good literary fiction lately. I was super-excited about Erin McCarthy's new racing romance, The Chase, but I couldn't get past the second chapter. The heroine really rubbed me the wrong way in just a few pages, so I put it down. I have no tolerance for 28-year-olds with very high school bitterness towards old boyfriends. However, I do have an intriguing Laura Kinsale historical on my shelf that is rumored to be really angsty and emotionally satisfying, so I might try that sometime in the next month. I also might try to read some new stuff by my comfy blanket fave, Nora Roberts.
I went into The Last Hellion knowing that it is quite a divisive book among Loretta Chase fans. There are those who love it; some Chase fans would even say it's their favorite. Then there are those who hate it, easily calling it one of her worst books. I'm afraid I lean a bit more towards the latter camp. This book is kind of a mess.
This historical romance centers on a woman named Lydia Grenville who works as a journalist for one of London's tabloid papers. She writes stories about the struggles of the poor and unfortunate, particularly the sad lives of women born into crime and poverty. She comes from a desperate background herself (dead mother, criminal father, etc), so she has made it her life's work to make things better for others. Lydia's very tough and opinionated, loved and hated by Londoners in equal measure. One day while trying to protect a young woman, she runs into Vere Mallory, the Duke of Ainswood. Vere is a rake with low opinions of women and an even lower opinion of himself. He is one of the last remaining members of his family, and he spent many years doing little but going to funerals for his friends and relatives. He feels guilty about being alive.
For the first half of this book, Lydia and Vere have a love-hate relationship that I never quite bought. Their romance is much more believable in the book's faster-paced second half, but this is also when the book goes off the rails. There's just too much going on to fit into one mass-market paperback. There's romances and hidden wealthy backgrounds and revenge and thievery. There's carriage races and dogs and an admittedly cute secondary romance. That's a lot to cram in, and way too much of that cramming happens in the book's last 100 pages. By the time there's a final, big familial reveal at the end, I just rolled my eyes. I had a hard time caring a whole lot about Vere and Lydia, to be honest.
Granted, The Last Hellion does have its moments. As I've mentioned many times, Chase is an easy, charming writer of romance. There are a few cute scenes and funny lines, and the above-mentioned secondary romance is a very pleasant surprise. Best of all, Vere happens to be an old friend of Dain, the hero of Chase's best book, Lord of Scoundrels, which means we get to see the return of Dain and Jessica. Yay! Unfortunately, there's a downfall to having beloved characters from an old book show up again; it only reminds the reader of what they find lacking in the new book. Vere is a lot like Dain in his rakish, low-self-esteemed ways, but he lacks the interesting aspects and brutal magnetism of Dain's personality and story. Seeing Dain and Jessica again only reminded me that Vere and Lydia are no Dain and Jessica. But man, did I want to reread Lord of Scoundrels once I closed the pages of The Last Hellion. I expect this might happen soonish.
Next in Trashy Reads: I'm being a lot more judgmental about romance novels lately, probably because I've read such good literary fiction lately. I was super-excited about Erin McCarthy's new racing romance, The Chase, but I couldn't get past the second chapter. The heroine really rubbed me the wrong way in just a few pages, so I put it down. I have no tolerance for 28-year-olds with very high school bitterness towards old boyfriends. However, I do have an intriguing Laura Kinsale historical on my shelf that is rumored to be really angsty and emotionally satisfying, so I might try that sometime in the next month. I also might try to read some new stuff by my comfy blanket fave, Nora Roberts.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
444 Pages Deep into American Poetry
Book Reviewed: Good Poems, American Places, selected by Garrison Keillor
Once or twice a week, I'm lucky enough to be the person who unloads the new books at my library branch. Library employees are not allowed to be the first people to check out new DVDs, but CDs and books are free game. Sometimes, I find a book I have to have, and I just sit around nervously until my break when I can finally check it out (I should also add that I am a holds-placing fanatic; nothing is better to me than when I get to be the first person to have something at the branch). That happened a couple weeks ago when we received a copy of the latest Garrison Keillor-edited collection from his Good Poems series. I am avid follower of Keillor's online Writer's Almanac, and even though Keillor's tastes are a little dull, it's a great place to find new poems. Good Poems, American Places is a long and fun anthology that introduced me to a lot of new stuff.
I read this collection in a week, which is no small task for a book of poetry of this size. It's not always easy to read a poetry collection straight through; I often just read a little bit here and there so as not to get overloaded. I read this one from cover to cover in long stretches of time. It has a good momentum as it goes on, which makes it an easy book to digest. Not everything in here is particularly exciting, and the same poets tend to get showcased over and over. Occasionally, though, you get something new and interesting. For example, there's a poem in this anthology by the poet son of my beloved college advisor. What a pleasant surprise!
The book is separated into categories based on theme or place. There's sections titled "City Life" and "On the Road." As I mentioned earlier, Keillor's tastes can run a little bland at times. He hand-picks a lot of new poets but only ones with a certain kind of traditional style (not that I should complain, being a traditionalist writer myself). You won't find anyone like Richard Siken or Jay Hopler here, unfortunately. I also found a lot of glaring omissions. There's a whole section on the West, but not a single poem by Richard Hugo, who writes some of the best place poems out there, particularly about the West. There's a lot of Midwestern poets, but no James Wright (from Ohio) or Maurice Manning (from Kentucky). Now, obviously, some of this is due to rights attainment and whatnot. But I couldn't help but miss what wasn't here.
Those complaints being registered, I can't say I didn't enjoy this anthology. I spent years only reading American literature, followed by years where I read everything but. Good Poems, American Places brings back to mind my former love for American lit. This book is a nice introduction to the world of American poetry, to its breadth and obsessions. If you are a fan of place poems (which, I should add, is my personal favorite kind of poetry), then this book should be on your must-read list. It also works as a great starter book for anyone who is tackling poetry for the first time. All the poems are easy to read and in plain language, making it a great book for beginning poetry readers.
To finish, here's a few of my favorites from this collection: Reid Bush's "Campbellsburg" (see Sunday's Poem of the Week), Wesley McNair's "Small Towns Are Passing," Davis Wagoner's "Bums at Breakfast," Stephen Dunn's "Midwest," Marie Howe's "The Game," Faith Shearin's "Fields," Linda Pastan's "25th High School Reunion," and William Carlos Williams's "Dedication for a Plot of Ground." I'm too lazy to post links to all these poems, but you can easily find them by using the search tool on the Writer's Almanac link posted above. Enjoy!
Once or twice a week, I'm lucky enough to be the person who unloads the new books at my library branch. Library employees are not allowed to be the first people to check out new DVDs, but CDs and books are free game. Sometimes, I find a book I have to have, and I just sit around nervously until my break when I can finally check it out (I should also add that I am a holds-placing fanatic; nothing is better to me than when I get to be the first person to have something at the branch). That happened a couple weeks ago when we received a copy of the latest Garrison Keillor-edited collection from his Good Poems series. I am avid follower of Keillor's online Writer's Almanac, and even though Keillor's tastes are a little dull, it's a great place to find new poems. Good Poems, American Places is a long and fun anthology that introduced me to a lot of new stuff.
I read this collection in a week, which is no small task for a book of poetry of this size. It's not always easy to read a poetry collection straight through; I often just read a little bit here and there so as not to get overloaded. I read this one from cover to cover in long stretches of time. It has a good momentum as it goes on, which makes it an easy book to digest. Not everything in here is particularly exciting, and the same poets tend to get showcased over and over. Occasionally, though, you get something new and interesting. For example, there's a poem in this anthology by the poet son of my beloved college advisor. What a pleasant surprise!
The book is separated into categories based on theme or place. There's sections titled "City Life" and "On the Road." As I mentioned earlier, Keillor's tastes can run a little bland at times. He hand-picks a lot of new poets but only ones with a certain kind of traditional style (not that I should complain, being a traditionalist writer myself). You won't find anyone like Richard Siken or Jay Hopler here, unfortunately. I also found a lot of glaring omissions. There's a whole section on the West, but not a single poem by Richard Hugo, who writes some of the best place poems out there, particularly about the West. There's a lot of Midwestern poets, but no James Wright (from Ohio) or Maurice Manning (from Kentucky). Now, obviously, some of this is due to rights attainment and whatnot. But I couldn't help but miss what wasn't here.
Those complaints being registered, I can't say I didn't enjoy this anthology. I spent years only reading American literature, followed by years where I read everything but. Good Poems, American Places brings back to mind my former love for American lit. This book is a nice introduction to the world of American poetry, to its breadth and obsessions. If you are a fan of place poems (which, I should add, is my personal favorite kind of poetry), then this book should be on your must-read list. It also works as a great starter book for anyone who is tackling poetry for the first time. All the poems are easy to read and in plain language, making it a great book for beginning poetry readers.
To finish, here's a few of my favorites from this collection: Reid Bush's "Campbellsburg" (see Sunday's Poem of the Week), Wesley McNair's "Small Towns Are Passing," Davis Wagoner's "Bums at Breakfast," Stephen Dunn's "Midwest," Marie Howe's "The Game," Faith Shearin's "Fields," Linda Pastan's "25th High School Reunion," and William Carlos Williams's "Dedication for a Plot of Ground." I'm too lazy to post links to all these poems, but you can easily find them by using the search tool on the Writer's Almanac link posted above. Enjoy!
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Poem of the Week: "Campbellsburg," by Reid Bush
I've been reading the latest Garrison Keillor-helmed Good Poems anthology, and as soon as I encountered this poem, I knew it needed to be Poem of the Week. It's a short and sweet read with a wonderful last thought that rings true to anyone who's ever "toured" some place special with someone else. No one ever cares about our origin stories as much as we do, which is one of the reasons poetry and fiction exist in the first place. Writers come up with all sorts of reasons for why they write, but they rarely talk about one of the most essential - that writing is a way to make other people care about your stories. Anyway, I think this is a wonderful poem, and I hope you enjoy it.
Campbellsburg, by Reid Bush
Campbellsburg, by Reid Bush
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Great Interview
Today the AV Club posted an interview with the poetry critic David Orr. I love this interview. Orr may be the most reasonable lover of poetry I've encountered in a long time. Like him, I have made poetry my life's work, but I also don't think it's going to save the world. It's not even particularly important. It's just lovely and wonderful for those who like it. Enjoy!
http://www.avclub.com/articles/david-orr,54791/
http://www.avclub.com/articles/david-orr,54791/
Awesome Flops
Book Reviewed: My Year of Flops: One Man's Journey Deep into the Heart of Cinematic Failure, by Nathan Rabin
I spent the first half of April doing some "serious" reading, so I figured I needed to start the back end of the month with something a little more fun. I returned to the well that so often brings me such joy: the AV Club. Specifically, I went to my favorite AV Club writer, Nathan Rabin (though Noel Murray is a close second). Rabin is hysterically funny, particularly in his regular "My Year of Flops" column, which started as a bi-weekly experiment four years ago and continues to this day. Last fall, Scribner released the book version of My Year of Flops, but I haven't gotten my hands on it until now. As usual, I am at least six months late to anything that's awesome.
Flops features some of the highlights from Rabin's column, which is about movies that notoriously failed at the box office. Rabin loves movies, and he rates these flops based on a judgment system that consists of "fiasco, failure, or secret success." I have never heard of some of these movies, and I've only seen a couple with my own eyes. But that doesn't matter. These essays are so funny and informative that you don't need to know anything about the subject to appreciate the book. Rabin has a real soft spot for these bombs, and he writes about them in a way that mixes awe with disdain, horror with joy. This book is a lot of fun.
Obviously, I loved My Year of Flops and laughed all the way through it. But then something happened at the end that I didn't expect. I got a little teared up. Rabin starts the book with his very first MYOF column about the movie Elizabethtown (which, I should add, is one of the few movies that I can honestly say I hate). He finds the sentimentality and cuteness of it to be toxic, and he rates the movie as a "fiasco." Then, at the end of the book, he writes about the movie again. Three years later and a hundred-and-some flops later, he decides to re-assess Elizabethtown. This time, he rates it a "secret success." Anyone who has read Rabin's great memoir, The Big Rewind, knows this guy has had some majorly crummy years. But by the time he sees Elizabethtown this second time, he has to admit he's a happy person, with a job he loves, a girlfriend who makes him ridiculously happy, and an interesting life he enjoys. Suddenly, seen through these more content eyes, he finds the movie charming.
I still think Elizabethtown is a shitty film, but it's hard not to be moved by Rabin's conclusion. Who hasn't readjusted their tastes after finding some sort of happiness or calm? It's happened to me a lot over the last two years, and you can see it happen if you go back in time on this blog. I spent many years being a sober book snob, and now that I have let go of a lot of my personal hang-ups, I now enjoy reading lots of stuff I never would have even looked at before. My Year of Flops isn't just a book for pop culture nerds or film buffs or Nathan Rabin fans. It's a book for anyone who loves what they love and is willing to change their minds.
I spent the first half of April doing some "serious" reading, so I figured I needed to start the back end of the month with something a little more fun. I returned to the well that so often brings me such joy: the AV Club. Specifically, I went to my favorite AV Club writer, Nathan Rabin (though Noel Murray is a close second). Rabin is hysterically funny, particularly in his regular "My Year of Flops" column, which started as a bi-weekly experiment four years ago and continues to this day. Last fall, Scribner released the book version of My Year of Flops, but I haven't gotten my hands on it until now. As usual, I am at least six months late to anything that's awesome.
Flops features some of the highlights from Rabin's column, which is about movies that notoriously failed at the box office. Rabin loves movies, and he rates these flops based on a judgment system that consists of "fiasco, failure, or secret success." I have never heard of some of these movies, and I've only seen a couple with my own eyes. But that doesn't matter. These essays are so funny and informative that you don't need to know anything about the subject to appreciate the book. Rabin has a real soft spot for these bombs, and he writes about them in a way that mixes awe with disdain, horror with joy. This book is a lot of fun.
Obviously, I loved My Year of Flops and laughed all the way through it. But then something happened at the end that I didn't expect. I got a little teared up. Rabin starts the book with his very first MYOF column about the movie Elizabethtown (which, I should add, is one of the few movies that I can honestly say I hate). He finds the sentimentality and cuteness of it to be toxic, and he rates the movie as a "fiasco." Then, at the end of the book, he writes about the movie again. Three years later and a hundred-and-some flops later, he decides to re-assess Elizabethtown. This time, he rates it a "secret success." Anyone who has read Rabin's great memoir, The Big Rewind, knows this guy has had some majorly crummy years. But by the time he sees Elizabethtown this second time, he has to admit he's a happy person, with a job he loves, a girlfriend who makes him ridiculously happy, and an interesting life he enjoys. Suddenly, seen through these more content eyes, he finds the movie charming.
I still think Elizabethtown is a shitty film, but it's hard not to be moved by Rabin's conclusion. Who hasn't readjusted their tastes after finding some sort of happiness or calm? It's happened to me a lot over the last two years, and you can see it happen if you go back in time on this blog. I spent many years being a sober book snob, and now that I have let go of a lot of my personal hang-ups, I now enjoy reading lots of stuff I never would have even looked at before. My Year of Flops isn't just a book for pop culture nerds or film buffs or Nathan Rabin fans. It's a book for anyone who loves what they love and is willing to change their minds.
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