November 2002

Dragonfly in Amber, by Diana Gabaldon (1992)

Guess what I've been spending all my time reading. These enormous books (in the 800-page range) are surprisingly quick reading. Get them in hardcover, though: the paperbacks are too unwieldy and they fall apart.

After reading Outlander last month (see review), I found myself thinking often of Jamie and Claire and wanting to know more about what happened next. And look where that got me: I've read nothing but Diana Gabaldon for nearly two months.

I believe the quality stays consistent throughout the books, although by the time I was reading The Fiery Cross my attention was beginning to flag just from the sheer number of pages I'd read. These are historical fiction/romances of the "cut above" level; i.e., plenty of rolling in the hay but also plenty of good adventure and interesting historical information.

For those of you unfamiliar with the series, Claire is a mid-1900s woman who goes back in time accidentally (and later deliberately) to mid-1700s Scotland. Jamie is the unbelievably perfect man she finds there.

From a Buick 8, by Stephen King (2002)

A car that is not quite a car appears out of nowhere, and a police force adopts it and monitors it. Periodically the car spits out things that are bats but not quite bats, or emits smells that are like cabbage but not quite like cabbage. Sometimes it produces lightning that is not quite lightning, or sounds that are not quite sounds. Possibly the car is a gateway to another universe, a pretty gross universe from the look of things. But as the various storytellers say repeatedly, we don't know anything, and furthermore we can't explain anything, because that's the way life is sometimes.

It is convenient to introduce theories of the inexplicable in a book with supernatural themes. Don't explain what was going on, just keep saying that in life, we don't always have all the answers and things aren't always wrapped up in a tidy little package. Who can possibly argue with that? I can. Fiction books are not real life. When I want to shrug my shoulders at the unknowableness of it all, I watch the news. When I want everything explained, I read a book. I believe that part of the author's JOB is to wrap things up in a tidy little package. I want answers, I don't want "who really knows anything, really?"

Stephen King hypnotizes with suspense as usual (an unusually short one, only 351 pages), but he's getting lazy with the story. And here is my list of words/phrases/expressions I was thoroughly sick of by the time I finished the book:

• "Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought him back."
• "John Q. Public," "John Q. Taxpayer," "John Q's family," and all other variations
• "the guy who sat in the big chair," "the guy sitting in the big chair," "what it means to sit in the big chair" and all other variations

Blue Shoe, by Anne Lamott (2002)

Splendid writing and mesmerizing themes, as per usual for Anne Lamott. The Born-Again Christian theme creeps in, unfortunately for those of us who prefer our fiction sans "The Lord" and "His Ways." But the theme is not overwhelming, and it detracts from the book only slightly. Those who are B-A Cs themselves won't even notice it.

Flip-Flopped, by Jill Smolinski (2002)

This extremely pleasing comedy/romance book has several things going for it. First, it has a believable love story, with few clear-cut decisions or obvious choices. Second, it has an unconventional lawyer who uses drums and needlepoint to work through a case. Third, it has the ring of truth: I'd be surprised if it weren't basically autobiographical. And fourth, it takes place in Hawaii; I can't remember the last time I read a book set in Hawaii.