Family: American Writers Remember Their Own, by Sharon Sloan Fiffer and Steve Fiffer (1996)
I hardly need to write a review for this book except to say that I enjoyed it---the title tells you everything you need to know about the content. Sixteen authors wrote essays, each on a particular member of the family. One writes about a grandfather, one about a mother, one about a cat, one about a family member in the making via fertility treatments. The essays are unusually consistent in quality: only one or two weren't as good as the others.
The Art and Etiquette of Gift Giving, by Dawn Bryan (1987)
You still have time to get this book before you begin your Christmas shopping; however, large sections have been rehashed by women's magazines so unless you're truly hopeless you might find nothing useful.
For example, perhaps when the book was written it was a startling new concept to put together baskets of related objects as gifts, but now it's overdone. The author suggests that a picnic basket with wine glasses is the perfect wedding gift, yet newlyweds all over the country are buried in piles of picnic baskets they'll never use because they never go on picnics no matter how quaintly romantic the concept seemed to the giver.
My least favorite chapter was called "The Metaphysical Aspects of Giving and Receiving": gifts regarded as part of the cycle of renewing the human spirit, heavy on the fallow-field analogies. A better section was about gift-giving customs in other countries; unfortunately, the book was published long enough ago that it would be risky to count on these being up-to-date. This book is best used as a series of idea lists to skim through, rejecting the majority that are overused and silly, jotting down the ones that you might not otherwise have thought of. I'd hate to see the book used to refresh some of the ideas I keep hoping will die out, though, such as the picnic basket idea mentioned above. Use it the way my father told me to use a thesaurus: to jog your memory into letting out ideas you already had, not to experiment with unfamiliar paths.
Flim-Flam!: Psychics, ESP, Unicorns, and Other Delusions, by James Randi (1982)
It's useful to be reminded from time to time that no matter how many pompous asses there are on the side of deception, there are just as many on the side of truth. James Randi, aka "The Amazing Randi," is so sarcastic and arrogant I wanted to give him a hard slap, so it's too bad that his book is essential to this society---though unfortunately the members of society who ought to be reading it are the ones absorbed in the latest "non-fiction" paperbacks about alien visitations.
If I ruled the world (and surely we could do something to speed that event?), I'd make the book required reading for every high-school student, with extensive testing on the contents required before graduation diplomas would be granted. So many of my acquaintances believe with almost pitiful devotion in astrology, psychic ability, The Bermuda Triangle, dream interpretation---and these are for the most part smart, skeptical people who don't believe the coworker who calls in "sick."
Much of the fault lies with a basic sweetness called credulity: nice people believe that a book labeled as non-fiction, with the material inside claiming to be researched and verified, will be a book containing facts; and that experts in a field who claim to be willing to stake their reputations on an analysis wouldn't lose those reputations if the bets were called in. A session with Flim-Flam will, if nothing else, chop down this particular Tree of Innocence. In fact, by the end of the book you'll be so jaded and cynical you won't know if you should believe anything James Randi claims either. Considering how quickly urban legends are spreading, I'd say this kind of cynicism wouldn't hurt anyone I know. If any of you reading this review have ever thought that there might be something to Atlantis or the Bermuda Triangle or your daily horoscope, I'm begging you to read this book. If I were a rich woman, I'd pay you to read it. You'll be a better person and a better thinker for the effort; plus, you'll be less likely to make an idiot of yourself.
I should also mention that although I'm not a rich woman and so won't pay you to read the book, James Randi has a long-standing offer that he'll give $10,000 to anyone who can prove that anything paranormal, from ESP to UFOs to telekinesis to astrology to psychic predictions, exists, even by the smallest demonstration. He'll even come to you at his own expense. But wait, there's more: since the time this book was published the amount has gone up to $1.1 million, that's $1.1 million. Yet still somehow no one has been able to claim the goods. Please spread the word---I'm sure the problem is just that all those people with genuine psychic ability and proven UFO sightings haven't heard of the offer.
Conception, Pregnancy, and Birth, by Dr. Miriam Stoppard (1993)
I found this book so much more reassuring and informative than the more popular What To Expect When You're Expecting that I can't believe I never heard of it before I saw it on the shelf. I wonder if the power of What To Expect When You're Expecting is entirely in the clever title?
What I liked about Dr. Stoppard's book is that it combines the intellectual content of a textbook with the comforting appeal of a picture book. Actual photos are used, and although many are of pregnant women demonstrating exercises or folding itsy-witsy clothes, you should be prepared that a full-length naked picture of a pregnant woman illustrates each month of pregnancy. There are also photos of the placenta, the baby in the act of being born, and a mother breastfeeding. Thank goodness the "sex during pregnancy" section has sketches instead---there's such a thing as Going Too Far, and I felt we were getting alarmingly close to that point already.
It's difficult to sum up the information contained in a book such as this, but I'd say the title is accurate: the book begins with information about the emotional and physical decisions to be made before deciding to have a baby, including infertility procedures and workplace issues; then covers the pregnancy from the first day to the last, including various tests and complications in addition to fitness and nutrition and mother/infant developmental stages; then discusses various birth options including instructions on giving birth at home; then wraps up with what it's like to have a new baby in the house and the basics of how to take care of its needs.
Throughout the book there are case studies: two-page spreads covering a specific pregnancy situation, such as Penny the Older Mother, Anne the Vegetarian Mother, Jill the Diabetic Mother, and Gemma the Rh-Negative Mother.
I've heard many women object to the fact that most pregnancy books assume committed heterosexual relationships and don't make room for lesbian life-partners and single motherhood, and so I feel obligated to point out that this book, too, is written for the majority of the population. I noted during a recent trip to the bookstore, however, that there are many books that address special situations and I don't see any reason why this book couldn't be used as a main source of information along with another book that takes care of anything about a specific pregnancy that might be different, whether that's the mother's sexual preferences or the baby's special developmental problems. I don't believe every book needs to be everything to everyone. Imagine the text of such a book: "The pregnant woman, or womyn (or perhaps we should say "person" since a woman isn't completely categorized by her sex) and her support person whether that person be the woman's mother, lesbian life-partner, husband, friend, or any other equally legitimate choice she is comfortable with including the choice of going through it alone, may feel that her doctor, or obstetrician, or midwife, or doula, or acupuncturist, or herbal alternative medicine practitioner, or whoever else she deems competent to handle the medical aspects of her pregnancy, is...." Oh, save us.
Clone: The Road to Dolly and the Path Ahead, by Gina Kolata (1998)
I remember that when the news about a cloned sheep hit the newsstands I was only mildly interested. "Cloned sheep, hmmm," I think was my exact thought. This just shows how insufficient knowledge on a subject leads to an insignificant appreciation of big accomplishments.
Gina Kolata has impressive scientific degrees and extensive experience with scientific writing. Her book is written perfectly: it doesn't require a strong scientific background to understand it, nor does it stoop to tabloid-level "see the pretty twin lambie" talk. Cellular structure has never been one of my fields of expertise, yet with a little brow-furrowing I could get the gist of everything that was happening.
The book begins by piquing interest in the topic: cloning is discussed in ethical and theoretical terms, and you begin to wonder what you think on the issue. Some points seem good, others seem silly; and as you make judgments about each point you'll find you're developing the beginnings of an opinion of your own on the subject. I was especially interested in what seemed to me the dangerously elitist view that clones should be made of "superior" human beings. By the end of this section my heart was racing and I was getting ready to duke it out with someone---if only I could decide where it was I'd chosen to plant my feet.
This was a good place to begin the calming descriptions of each and every scientific experiment for decades that led up to the point where we got a baa-baa out of it. There's something about long discussions of embryonic frog cells that lulls the fighting spirit. The progress is well-explained so that I understood the significance of each new discovery or defeat. When Dolly was finally born I didn't exactly say "Yippee!" but I did feel a sense of triumph.
The book ends with a recap of some of the issues and possibilities that emerged with the success of Dolly. The only time I got a little bored was during the rhapsodies over how Pure scientific research used to be in The Old Days. Maybe it was or maybe it wasn't, but there are many things that seem as if they were better in the old days only because we no longer have to do it that way---butter-churning, for example.
The award for the best quote in the entire book goes to Joshua Lederberg, a Nobel laureate: "It is an interesting exercise in social science fiction to contemplate the changes that might come about from the generation of a few identical twins of existing personalities. Our reactions to such a fantasy will, of course, depend on who is immortalized in this way---but if sexual reproduction were less familiar, we might make the same comment about that."
Advice from a Pregnant Obstetrician: An Insider's Guide, by Shari E. Brasner, M.D. (1998)
This is the pro-epidural, pro-Snickers guide to pregnancy I've been looking for. I think it's an excellent idea to read all the pregnancy books that say sugar is certain death and epidurals are for wimps who don't love their babies, but then what a wonderful relief to relax into a book like this. It's good to be careful and thoughtful about the things you do during pregnancy and childbirth, but it's also good to realize that being pregnant doesn't mean your body turns into a pristine and holy workshop into which the introduction of the smallest of contaminants (a grain of sugar, a sip of coffee) will cause mutation. However, if you're a woman who already finds it all too easy to justify half a pack of cigarettes and a fifth of whiskey, perhaps you could use a little of the hard-core preaching approach and should steer clear of a book written for the woman fretting because she had half a glass of wine before she knew she was pregnant.
I also appreciated the viewpoint that weight gain varies, weight loss afterwards varies, levels of pain tolerance vary, interest in sex while pregnant varies, and so on. Dr. Brasner gives the reader what many pregnancy books leave out: the reassurance that "doing pregnancy My Own Way" doesn't have to mean flying in the face of doctors and treating medical technology as the enemy---and that the occasional pan of frosted brownies eaten while sitting on the kitchen floor, or the occasional Tylenol taken for a ferocious headache, isn't going to hurt anything or anyone.
The author feels that the problem with other books is that they're too careful to stay neutral; I feel that the problem with other books is that they place too much emphasis on perfection and pain. My favorite parts of this book: the sample menu that includes cookies and ice cream along with the whole-wheat bread and vegetables; the "you should still be able to enjoy life while pregnant" approach to a moderate intake of coffee, soda, sugar, and even alcohol; the unusually thorough index in the back ("cheese---pgs 50, 55").
The only things I found distracting were the frequent references to other sections (e.g., "also see pg 127"), which made me feel as if I had to keep skipping through the text. However, I was reading the book straight through; if I were using it for reference, I would certainly want to be referred to all relevant sections.
The Pregnancy Book, by William Sears, M.D. and Martha Sears, R.N. (1997)
I'd say it improves the credentials of anyone writing a pregnancy book to have eight children. The medical degrees are impressive, but a degree on the wall doesn't quite measure up to eight children's worth of stretch marks.
The Pregnancy Book came to me highly recommended, and I thought it was pretty good. It's set up in much the same way as What To Expect When You're Expecting: each chapter gives a summary on what's going on with you and the baby that month, then goes on to discuss in question-and-answer format the issues and concerns that might be on your mind at around that time. Into the text the authors insert excerpts from the diaries of several pregnant women. The detail I liked best is that they count weeks from conception rather than from two weeks before conception. Runner-up for best detail is that they realize a woman pregnant for the first time may not yet have a Birth Philosophy.
The detail I liked least was their strong feeling that "We're pregnant" is the correct way for a couple to speak of a pregnancy. I'll go along with a compromise like "We're having a baby," since that happens to be not only warm-fuzzy-inclusive of the father but also true, but I see no reason to say things even a 5-year-old would know were ridiculous just to keep a man from feeling left out. He will be left out to some extent during the pregnancy, and that's because---now listen to me carefully because this is a tricky biological concept---he's not pregnant. The Pregnancy Book is What To Expect When You're Expecting with more pages, more information, more credentials, and fewer inflexible, guilt-inflicting, medically-inaccurate rules. It costs about twice the price and it's worth it.
The Family of Adoption, by Joyce Maguire Pavao (1998)
A recent distant association with an adoption situation has piqued my interest in the topic. The author was adopted as a baby and now runs a center that deals with the issues that result from an adoption, so I thought the book would be an excellent overview of those issues. It is---but it isn't well organized and it lacks an objectivity that would have improved it.
The author's view is that if an adopted child runs wild it's because of the adoption, and if the adopted child is introverted, studious, and well-behaved it's because of the adoption. A child might love history or hate history---either way, it's because of the adoption. A child might be eager to fit in or inclined to keep distant---either way, it's because of the adoption. The adaptive qualities that almost all children have are considered unique to adopted children; issues that most teenagers deal with are considered unique to adopted children.
If I were an adopted child, I'd get a little tired of having everything from my food preferences to my career choices attributed to my adoption. Sometimes people do things a certain way because that's the way they are. As it happens, I don't like history. Since I wasn't adopted, this is shrugged off as a personal preference---I may not like history, but I like Latin and English, and it's normal to like some subjects better than others. If I'd been adopted, however, deep meaning would have been read into my dislike of history and perhaps I would have been rushed to the author's counseling center to work through my feelings about being adopted.
Because the author was herself adopted, she may be assuming that the feelings she had while growing up were because of her adoption; a non-adopted co-author might have added valuable insight.
Another objection I have to the book is that the author rages against an adoption system that approves almost everyone who wants to adopt without giving any thought to their parenting styles or child-rearing experience. In the case of the distant association I mentioned above, the parents who wanted to adopt were intensely scrutinized for these very things. Perhaps this was an exception, but it means that blanket statements about what agencies or committees do or don't do are clearly inappropriate. (Also, perhaps I should point out that non-adopted children too are added to families without screening for parenting styles or child-rearing experience.)
My third objection is that the author has an extremely high opinion of her own insight and intelligence and an extremely low view of the insight and intelligence of other people, such as social workers, who also work with adoption issues. This comes through strongly and annoyingly.
My final objection is to her view that if more people were educated about adoption, more people would be interested in adopting. Before reading this book I was interested in adopting children; after reading it, I have no interest in getting involved in something she's portrayed as infinitely complicated and messy for everyone involved.
Dr. Seuss & Mr. Geisel: A Biography, by Judith & Neil Morgan (1995)
The trouble with biographies is that most people, no matter how tinsel-and-adventure their lives are, spend many years being normal people and doing normal things. People who know interesting people can name-drop and people who are involved in political decisions can expose, but most people would be hard-pressed to fill 300 pages with juicy stuff. The other trouble with biographies is that they reveal normal people with normal flaws, and you may find that the actor you admire is a real jerk. I try to avoid the biographies (and especially the autobiographies) of anyone I have strong positive feelings for. I have no strong positive feelings about Dr. Seuss. Oddly, his biography held me all the way to the end. I wouldn't call it a thrilling page-turner, but it has the right balance of anecdotes and history. The arrogant, weak, childish personality of a man in the public eye comes through without overshadowing his accomplishments and successes.