Looking for Canterbury, by Jason Marks (2002)
If you're interested in post-Vietnam trauma and even more interested in Chaucer (think Renaissance, medieval, doublet-and-hose, ringlet-and-bosom, etc.), chances are good you'll enjoy this book. Liking neither, I bogged down while picking through the umpteenth passage written in Middle English ("In world nis non so witer mon / That al hire bounte tell con").
The book also suffers from cheap editing/publishing. Single hyphens are used liberally in place of double-hyphens (e.g., "Hammaker appeared unfazed by what-whatever it was-was happening"), making for confusing reading. Hyphens are also used unnecessarily ("support-group"), as are exclamation points ("Monica couldn't get over it!") and other punctuation ("...Harry watched graphic advertisements on 'Cable' of pornographic videos"). Absurdly crude language (e.g., "The wad of bills was thick and warm as sperm against his thigh") is distracting. Typos are common.
Ground Cover, by Edith S. Marks (2002)
The trouble with Agenda Fiction is that it always ends up shooting itself in the back. It has the potential to gently lure a reader over to its side of a cause, but instead it goes too far, boring and/or annoying the reader until the reader feels like thwarting the cause in question just so the reader will never have to read anything about it again. By the time I finished this book I was so sick of the Amazon and the rain forests, I almost didn't care if the whole place went up in smoke and capitalism.
The book tries to unite two themes: a family tearing itself apart, and a big corporation evilly conspiring against the rain forest. Neither plot survives the effort. The family is so awful, I was pleading with the Gods of Dysfunction to pry them apart and banish them to the four corners of the earth (or the author's solution of picking them off like skeets--that was a good idea too). The conspiracy is so shallow and contrived (the corporation might as well be named "Big Evil Generic Corp."), I didn't have any interest in making myself believe it was true.
To top it off, the editing/publishing is cheap. Quotation marks are near-random, appearing (if at all) almost anywhere in the paragraph. I had to struggle to understand sentences that were missing a crucial comma/period or had inserted one at random. Typos of various other sorts abound. It's frustrating as a reader to wonder how much better a book could have been with a decent editor, especially when the writer seems to have some talent. Aspiring authors, take note.
Escaping into the Open: The Art of Writing True, by Elizabeth Berg (1999)
As a breathless Elizabeth Berg fan, I was nervous about reading this non-fiction book. Sometimes it can be unpleasant to get to know a favorite fiction writer. Occasionally I see an interview on TV with an author I love, only to realize I think he/she is a big jerk, and that squashes my crush, which is a crying shame. I especially didn't want that to happen with E.B., since she's such a pleasingly prolific writer and keeps me well-supplied with fresh material to faint over.
(I don't want to oversell this author. You know how that happens: someone gushes to you about something that is THE BEST and you get this feeling of resistance to the whole thing. I myself was not an Elizabeth Berg fan from the very start. The first book I read, I thought, "Mm. That was pretty good." Then I read another. Then, one day when I couldn't find anything else I particularly wanted to read, I read all the ones on the library shelf. Still, I wouldn't have used the word "rabid" before the word "fan," not until the two most recent books. It was a similar situation with Maeve Binchy, another author I would wait in line to fawn at the feet of. The first book of hers I read, I actually didn't like. Hard to believe now, when I love love love that very same book. But the thing is that someone STRONGLY recommended it to me, and, well... So the point is, I don't want to oversell her, but it's difficult.)
I may have rolled my eyes just SLIGHTLY at the section about receiving messages from the universe (and maybe I didn't, maybe I just felt I SHOULD roll them), but even that had no effect on my devotion. In general, I don't believe it's possible to tell people "how to write," but neither does Elizabeth Berg so that's all right. What she gives us with this book is a feeling for what it's like to be a writer, and how you might go about getting there yourself. Some sections are practical: a few tips on submitting manuscripts, some ideas for keeping track of submissions and income, some great writing exercises and practice ideas if you like doing those. Other sections are pure encouragement: develop your own style, write for yourself, listen to criticism only if you want to, do your best but don't fret every word, write when it's fun, make your own writing space where you feel comfortable, etc.
I'm so pathetic for E.B., I think I might give a good review to her shopping lists--but I did think this book was yet another example of her clean, straight style. In addition, this was a fun little peek into what the author is like, herself, and an excellent motivator for any writer or writer-wannabe.
I Try to Behave Myself, by Peg Bracken (1963)
A light, funny, reasonable book about doing the right things at the right time, I Try to Behave Myself is perhaps not as applicable as it was 40 years ago (people don't have seated dinner parties as often as they used to), but is just as funny and fun to read; and of course people still do attend weddings, have houseguests, and exchange gifts. The entire book is worth reading if only for the section in "Men and Women and What to Do About It" on times when women are not, er, in the mood. Brilliant.
The Sweet Potato Queens' Book of Love, by Jill Conner Browne (1999)
What I would like to know is, why didn't any of you people tell me about this book? I get hundreds of recommendations for self-published volumes of punctuation errors, 700-word tomes of Russian despair, and every book a high school student ever needed someone else to read for him. But here is this book, this book I have somehow missed even though it has been out for three years, a book that anyone who reads my site would know I would love, and not one person mentions it. Surely some of you have read it, considering that since its publication there has been a Sweet Potato Queen membership surge in this country unlike anything seen before. But thanks to you slackers I'm three years down the waiting list.
I can't possibly do justice to this book. It's....funny....charming. It's....delightful...insightful. It's....wonderfully written. Words seem so inadequate. And how to describe it? It's a humor book? It's a book of memorable anecdotes and a few fattening recipes? It's a motivational book? It's a book about a group of women you will end up begging to join? None of these hit the nail on the head.
The Sweet Potato Queens are a group of (real-life) women who have been around long enough to know what they're doing, wearing, er, "stuffed" (the, er, bosoms and bottoms are, er, augmented) mini-dresses covered in green sequins. The women also wear enormous red wigs, and accessories such as hot pink elbow-length gloves, hot pink majorette boots, and sunglasses. They are prominently featured in a St. Patrick's Day parade in Mississippi. They flounce, they prance, they dance. The Queen of the Queens, Jill Conner Browne, also writes a great book.
There's a section for recipes, including Fat Mama's Knock You Naked Margaritas, Armadillo Dip, and Oh God. There's a section on how to get a man to do whatever you want; my natural prissiness prevents me from telling you what you're supposed to promise him (promise him, not give him), but you should probably go see what it is because it gets the Sweet Potato Queens all sorts of good stuff. (There's also a section on the day the Queens had to explain to their mothers that they were making these promises, and then had to explain to their mothers what exactly that particular act entailed, because the mothers weren't familiar with that term.) Other sections include: The Best Advice Ever Given, being prepared for anything, trashy lingerie, men who might in fact need to be killed when you're done with them, "marital aids," and what to eat when tragedy strikes. I laughed and laughed and laughed. I was charmed senseless.
God Save the Sweet Potato Queens, by Jill Conner Browne (2001)
The trouble with sequels is that they lose the stun factor. When I read The Sweet Potato Queens' Book of Love (see review, above), I was knocked flat by that feeling of finding something so unexpected. I'd stumbled upon the book by accident (it was on the same shelf as the Elizabeth Berg nonfiction book on my list) and it was like nothing I'd read before. I was delighted out of my wits. I began the sequel immediately. But of course, now I was expecting to be delighted, so I wasn't knocked quite so flat. I think if I'd gone into it remembering the Sequel Problem, I would have liked it close to as much as the first book. There are more anecdotes (some from readers of the first book), more recipes, more sassy takes on life experiences (childbirth, divorce, etc.).
Far be it from me to question a Queen's decision, but I winced at the inclusion of a chapter about the love of her life, a man who confessed his undying love to her but was married to someone else (as was she) so they didn't pursue it. The man has since died, leaving a widow. All I could think about was how much I hoped the widow hadn't read this book.
That's an icky note to end a review on, and besides, I don't want to get knocked off the list of those in the Queens' Favor, so let me add that I did enjoy the book and will have to read both books a second time (and will probably have to buy them, *kiss up, kiss up*) before I'll know if the second one is as good as the first.
Color Style: How to Identify the Colors that are Right for Your Home, by Carolyn Warrender (1996)
There are few things I like better than a book full of glossy color palettes and the rooms I could theoretically design with them. I love the lines of colored bottles on sunny windowsills, no matter how many times I've seen it before. I love rooms all in yellow, with variety coming from the different stripes and plaids and florals. I especially love color wheels, and this book has lots. Carolyn Warrender has come up with a series of wheels, named Air, Wind, Water, Fire, Earth, Mineral and Natural, and each wheel has a "warm" and a "cool" palette. Don't be put off if you are not the outdoorsy type: they're just names. "Natural" is the only one that says "earth tones" to me, with its collection of browns and tans and beiges. "Air," my personal favorite, is a gorgeous array of greens and pinks and yellows and blues and purples. As are the other wheels, actually, but the intensity of the colors varies.
Once I stopped gazing at the palettes (and doing the fun quiz in the back to find out which one was right for my home), I couldn't stick with the book. It seemed so overwhelming: you're supposed to take care of all the wiring/drywall needs before you can start choosing pretty colors. But the advice about design boards was instructive and interesting, and I did skim through all the text, learning bits here and there about design for different areas of the house. The color wheels/palettes, though, were definitely the high point. You know what this book would be great for? If you had some furniture or curtains already and wanted to know what other colors would work well in the room. You could find the color of your furniture/curtains on one of the wheels and voila! Go shopping for the other colors.
The Victoria's Secret Catalog Never Stops Coming, and Other Lessons I Learned From Breast Cancer, by Jennie Nash (2001)
Reading a book by a mother in her mid-30s who has survived breast cancer puts me in a quandary. If I don't like it...what can I say? Well, I will just have to be gentle. The problem was not with the quality of the writing; in fact, I'm not sure I can put my finger on what the problem was. But the result of it was that I found myself...annoyed. Annoyed by the story of a breast cancer survivor? You see the bind I'm in.
Who is the target audience of this book? Women with breast cancer might find hope in this complete success story (cancer found in time and completely removed with no radiation/chemo; breast rebuilt with tummy fat so tummy is flat as bonus), but if they don't have that kind of success they're not going to want to hear about it. Or I wouldn't if I were them. Anyone who has more of a struggle with cancer is going to scoff at the sufferings of someone who got off so relatively easy. In fact, that shows the sort of annoyance I felt: I use terms such as "so easy" to describe what must have been a scary ordeal, regardless of what "other people" go through. Would I want to personally experience one single minute of what she went through? No. So what's my problem? For whatever reason, I found myself feeling dismissive of her experience, feeling as if she almost...enjoyed it. This doesn't make me feel good about myself, so no need to rub it in. I'm only telling you because it seems as if that's the sort of thing that you'd want to know before starting a book of this sort. Possibly you'd have the same reaction.
So perhaps the book is for women who don't have breast cancer but should be on the alert for it? But unfortunately it gives the wrong after-effect: I'm left feeling as if breast cancer isn't so bad after all. Or that if I have it, and I don't think I can receive "messages" from my body to lead me to early detection, I'm doomed anyway so why bother. I'm also left annoyed by her confidence that we'll find a cure so soon: she tells her daughter confidently that no, her daughter won't get it. Makes a terrific dramatic ending to the story, but it's a lousy lie--and a lousy motivator if vigilance is the goal.
Could the book be for the friends and family of someone with breast cancer? Maybe. But I fall into that category several times over, and I had those aforementioned feelings of annoyance.
I will now say positive things. The cover of the book is a masterpiece, really terrific. The title is fabulous. The writing is good, especially when she admits that her psychic communication with her own body is not without error, and when she tells how silly she felt getting a mammogram "just because she had a friend with cancer." The writer shows a self-awareness that is appealing, as if she knows how different this story could have turned out at so many different points: if she had gone for a mammogram that was a waste of everyone's time, if she hadn't gone because she felt too silly, if she hadn't discovered the cancer until much later. The telling of her story is brave, and perhaps there is a whole group of people out there who will benefit hugely. Stories are always worth telling; it's only an issue of whether they're worth reading.
Misconceptions: Truth, Lies, and the Unexpected on the Journey to Motherhood, by Naomi Wolf (2001)
This book marches into battle against the pregnancy/childbirth medical institutions. Such institutions, according to the chapters I could choke down, trick and deceive and mainstream women, depriving them of their special, primal experiences, keeping them from the knowledge that motherhood is not a soft-focus rocking chair containing a glowing mother and a sleeping baby. Expecting something a little more rational in tone, I was put off--and in fact found myself turning against things I might have agreed with if presented less ferociously. The attack is so violent and one-sided, it invites argument and suggests its own counterattacks.
Doctors certainly can be dismissive, and they generally don't like to be interrogated or corrected, but chalking this up to a conspiracy against women is ridiculous. Doctors are the same way with the guy with a prostate problem. I personally know a guy whose doctor got all prickly when the guy corrected his own name on a form. The type of person who makes a good medical doctor isn't necessarily the same type of person who would have endless patience with questions presented by every first-time-pregnant patient in the "Defend thyself!" tone modeled by this author.
And there a section on women complaining that there is a cover-up as well as a conspiracy: that no one told them how bad the pain would be, that no one told them how they might not bond with the baby right away, that no one mentioned how their sex life might be affected. Who are these women listening to? Every mother I know has a horror story about 42-hour labors and year-long postpartum depressions and never wanting sex again. The pregnant women, however, listen instead to the books they read which say that labor is "pressure" and that if they aren't afraid, and if the lighting is gentle, they won't feel pain. If you're looking for a male conspiracy against women, turn to these books, most of which are written by men (and the rest written by that tiny percentage of the population who really does have easy labors--and then give themselves credit). But we can't really blame self-deception on men: if you're silly enough to believe that billions of women felt pain only because they wanted to, you deserve what you get. Especially if you were smug to mothers while you were pregnant.
In fact, the women I know who have been most disillusioned by pregnancy/childbirth are not the ones who went the whole hospital/epidural/c-section route but the ones who thought they could have a baby pain-free just by freeing themselves of the medical establishment, and then something came up and they didn't get to have A Beautiful Experience. If pain medicines were being withheld from women in childbirth (or during any other operation of that pain level), THEN I'd be willing to listen about a conspiracy against women. But if the complaint is that doctors allow women to have a requested epidural rather than sending them outside to squat in a field, give them c-sections rather than let them die and/or infect and/or risk their baby's health, and otherwise use the wonders of medical science to ease the path of pregnancy and childbirth, then I don't know what it is women are supposed to be complaining about.
Maybe it would have become clearer what the complaint was if I could have read all the way to the end, but I can stand only so much inflammatory rhetoric. Medical buildings "sprawl" and "squat" where idyll used to flourish; anyone inside is "in the bowels" of the building. Gels and hands and equipment and tones are all described as cold. When I began picturing the author sitting hunched in a corner, twisting her hands and cackling maniacally, I stopped reading. For all I know, she went full-circle and presented a balanced view.
I Love You, Ronnie: The Letters of Ronald Reagan to Nancy Reagan, by Nancy Reagan (2000)
I've been aware of this book for some time but had put off reading it: love letters written to other people are never as mesmerizing as love letters written to one's own self. I think it's a good idea to go into it expecting little, as I did, because then you may be pleasantly surprised, as I was. In fact, some girls might be a little jealous, if their guys aren't the expressive type. On the other hand, if the price of such letters is the nickname "Mommie Poo Pants," some girls might just settle for what they've got.
Nancy Reagan's narrative provides interesting peeks into a few presidential events, including the assassination attempt; however, the point of the book is the Reagans' marriage. Photos throughout are a big plus. After reading the letters and examining the photos, it's even sadder to end the book with the discovery of Ronald Reagan's Alzheimer's disease and a photo of him looking so different from the earlier photos.
Wild Cats & Colleens, by Morag Prunty (2001)
The plot is this: an American (presumably U.S., but let's note for the record that there are two entire continents that can call themselves American--as the Canadian border guards never tire of reminding those of us who live in part of one of those continents and stumble over "United Statesian")...As I say, an American billionaire wants an Irish wife in honor of his dead Irish mother. Irish women of various types go mad trying to get him.
A good-humored approach to writing and an evident goal of entertaining the reader go a long way. Creative details (for example, the ramifications of an oyster-decorated fireplace) add pleasant surprises. Also, as I believe I've said before, I greatly enjoy novelists who tie up all the loose ends, so a big thank you to this one for giving me the satisfaction of filing each character away neatly in his or her own pleasing and fair plot development.
The Eyre Affair, by Jasper Fforde (2002)
Reading the first half of this book, I kept a list of things I didn't like about it:
I still don't like those things, but by the time I finished the book I was chalking them up to Rookie Stuff with a dismissive wave of the hand. (I have a friend who won't even read an author's first novel because of the inevitable rough spots.) For one thing, one of the big insider references is to Jane Eyre, and I love Jane Eyre (see review). If you haven't read it, get it out of the library at the same time as this one and read it first. The characters in The Eyre Affair go INSIDE the book Jane Eyre, interacting with Mr. Rochester and even affecting the plot. Heady stuff for a Jane Eyre buff.
For another thing, there's time travel, and minor super powers (stopping time, being invisible to cameras, etc.), and I like that. And there are all these little surprising things that happen. And there's this guy who invents all kinds of cool stuff, a la "Q" in the James Bond movies. And there's a Latin reference (one guy's surname is Tabularasa, Latin for "blank slate"), and I've forgotten four years of Latin. And each chapter begins with an excerpt from books written later by the fictional characters, autobiographies and so on. Good stuff! The author has great imagination and wit, and if he can learn to just tell us what someone looks like instead of using a gimmick to do it for him, he'll do great things. I can't wait for the next Thursday Next book. (Yes, I'm afraid that's her name.)