Book 7: Austenland by Shannon Hale

I'm not sure if I've made this adequately clear in the past, but I am not a huge fan of Jane Austen's.  While her stuff is, yes, entertaining to a degree, I can't help but feel like every story is the same and every character is just a reconstituted Mr. Darcy or Ms. Bennett.  And, yeah, her characters sometimes have rather witty, snarkastic (sarcastic + snarky; I think it's clever) things to say, but nothing from a Jane Austen novel has ever inspired me to love, admire, or even loathe her characters.  

In light of this, I find it highly amusing that Shannon Hale's Austenland, a novel entirely concerned with Jane Austen and the women who love her work, is one of my favorite frivolous reads of all time.  I say "frivolous" simply because, having read a few of Hale's other novels, I can safely call Austenland one of her more playful endeavors (it's meant to be funny and ridiculous, unlike Goose Girl which is much more literary in nature, for lack of a better description).  

The plot of Austenland is as follows:  Jane Hayes is a successful working woman living in New York.  She has, it seems, everything a girl wants--beauty, youth, a good job.  Everything, that is, except a healthy love life.  Jane is a Pride and Prejudice addict of the highest order and a lover of everything Jane Austen.  And she is obsessed--OBSESSED--with Mr. Darcy.  No real boyfriend could possibly compare in her eyes to the perfection that is Fitzwilliam Darcy.  It's a guilty habit--one she's aware of and knows, on some level, that she has to get rid of if she wants to move on with her life.  So when a recently-deceased relative wills her an all-expenses-paid trip to an English resort built specifically with her type in mind--that is, a three-week immersion in a re-creation of Regency England that caters to the Austen-obsessed--Jane decides to go on the eccentric vacation for one last hurrah before dumping the Darcy habit for good. 

For three weeks she dresses in ball gowns, learns the talk and the manners, dances, and interacts with Martin the Gardener and the broody Mr. Nobly (or is it the actors they're played by?) and the other vacationers, and she eventually finds herself in her element, thriving in the synthetic setting and loving it.  The true question by the end of the vacation is this:  will she bid Pembroke Park adieu having left the obsession in the past or will she, perhaps, end up with a flesh-and-blood Mr. Darcy of her own? 

It's a seriously delightful novel, and a very quick read.  It's chick-lit, to be sure, but even the most straight-laced readers will have to laugh and sigh with the believable and relatable character that Hale creates in Jane Hayes.  The narrative reads with an ease and a wit that I really can't get enough of.  

Yeah, maybe it does have a happy ending, but it's so much better than that.

Grade:  A+

Rating:  14+ for (ew omgsh) making out, etc.

Book 6: "Covering: The Hidden Assault On Our Civil Rights" by Kenji Yoshino

Since I'm part of the housing staff at my college, I'm supposed to read the summer reading book that the college assigns to incoming freshmen so that I can discuss the book with the freshies when they get on campus.  

I picked the book up before school let out, and started reading it during the train ride to the beach on my last day in Southern California.  While the material was relatively interesting, I only got through the first few pages before falling asleep (credit for the doze-off goes to the groovy motion of the train, though, not the book).  

I was recently reminded of the task I had been charged with, and since I didn't have anything to read, I picked this one back up.  

Covering:  The Hidden Assault On Our Civil Rights is a memoir/essay by Kenji Yoshino on the broad subjects of identity and society.  More specifically, it's about society's demands for conformity through an act which Yoshino calls "covering".  Covering is defined as the process by which people "tone down" or de-emphasize stereotypes or stigmas associated with their racial, gender, sexual, religious, or other identities.  According to Yoshino, one can cover along the four axes of appearance (by making sure we don't look stereotypically ___), affiliation (by not associating with ____ culture), activism (by not engaging in ____ causes), and association (by keeping a distance from other ____ people).  

  Aside from addressing a very interesting and current topic, Yoshino does a great job of building  the book into a delightful cross between an expository essay and a memoir.  By using his own experiences as fodder for the discussion of covering, Yoshino builds context and provides resonant parallels between his life and the sociopolitical precedent that legitimizes covering in American society.  I found the format in which Covering was written to be very effective in not only giving readers a reason to care about the subject, but also in forcing readers to think about how they themselves capitulate to and impose covering demands.  Yoshino's style is also very appealing to me, in that he neatly balances the flourish of more formal, lyrical writing with a very frank, honest discussion of the issue and its effects.  He is also very even-handed, and seems to never make the mistake of taking himself too seriously--a quality that I respect very much in a writer.  

Professor Yoshino actually came and spoke at my college on the subject of covering, and I was pleased to find that he is as well-spoken in the flesh as on the page.  (He also dresses excellently, but that's quite besides the point)

I think Covering is one of those books that everyone should read, both for the purpose of better understanding society and to, more importantly, gain better understanding of the self.  Covering is an issue that touches everyone, and understanding it helps us know how it relates to us and influences our place in the world.  

Grade:  A

Rating:  15+; it would probably bore anyone younger

Considerations:  None.  It's appropriate for just about everyone

Life Update 2

Things have been pretty crazy of late.  I'm back at school now, and it's only just hit me how crazy this semester is going to be.  Still, things are good.  I like my classes (or, rather, I like them as much as I am able, given that Organic Chemistry has officially put its devil mark upon my brain as of today), I love my room (it's GIGANTIC and all mine), and I adore my freshmen.  I hope they like me as much as I like them.  

It's been insanely hot here in Claremont, though right now it's pleasant and cool in my room (the breeze blows in through the balcony door once in a while and it really is the most exquisite thing).  The local fires are burning themselves out slowly, so the air quality is gross.  I find ash on the balcony in the morning sometimes, and smoke clouds rise out of the North and make me think of Mordor every time I turn towards the mountains.  

According to my freshmen, a "blonde guy" keeps showing up at my door when I'm not around.  I have no idea who this person is, since he's never left me a note to indicate his identity despite the fact that a good portion of my door is taken up by whiteboard.  Hopefully he'll come by while I'm here and solve the mystery.  That would be good.

Book 5: La Cucina by Lily Prior

I feel bad for hating on this novel, since it is technically the sort of book I should like.  It's about Italy, it contains stellar recipes, it's got a neat front cover (sold!).  But, if I had a five-star rating scale, this book would get a whopping two.  I found La Cucina by Lily Prior lacking significantly in the uniqueness and stylistic grace that makes other books of its kind so much fun to read.  

This book is the sexed-up, slightly demented lovechild of Under The Tuscan Sun and Like Water for Chocolate (both are excellent books, so it's a pity that they have such an odd pseudo-offspring).  While the other two books handle the topics of family, hardship, and love in a classy and novel manner, La Cucina feels like it's been done before and, moreover, is just plain awkward to read.  Within the first couple of pages, the narrator is talking about lying naked on a table and going into discourse on the subject of the virility of the locals' loins.  

DO NOT WANT.     

Don't get me wrong--I'm not a prude by any standards and, to be fair, the back cover of the book did prepare me adequately for the general content.  Food and sex are deeply intertwined in this book; the two are explored together in all varieties of visual media (see photography byGeorgia O'Keefe, or the Japanese film "Tampopo"), so it isn't at all an unnatural pairing.  What weirded me out was the style, the manner in which these themes were discussed.  There is a lot of what I have termed "sexytime" in this book (I'm sure you can figure out what that means).  I generally  have no problem with literary sexytime.  The problem with this novel is that the sexytime isn't...sexy.  Or sensual.  It's the kind of sexytime that makes your (or, at least, my) skin crawl.  

But, hey, maybe the problem is with me.  As a member of the younger generation, I don't have any relish for expostulation upon the mating rituals of the elderly (which, of course, is the nature of sexytime in La Cucina).  Perhaps I just have some growing up to do before this will be a relevant/appealing read for me.  In that case, I suppose your enjoyment depends on who you are and where you are in life.  I'm just not there yet.  Despite the richness and flavor of certain sections of the novel, I couldn't ignore the painful awkwardness long enough to properly enjoy what I was reading. 

Anyway, on to the plot!  

La Cucina follows and is narrated by Rosa Fiore, a farmer's daughter from the Italian countryside.  Rosa is a talented and passionate cook, and her knack for the culinary arts introduces and sustains food throughout the novel as a medium for her self-expression and emotional catharsis (hence the similarity to Like Water For Chocolate).  As a teenager, she falls in love with Bartolemeo, the son of a Mafioso who has already been promised to another by his father.  Though Bartolomeo loves Rosa in kind, their romance comes to a tragic end, which results in a grief-stricken Rosa exiling herself first to her kitchen and later to the city of Palermo where she lives and works as a librarian.  It is only years later in her life, after she has resigned herself to a loveless existence and grown fat on the richness of her cooking, that she meets an Englishman (who is referred to only as "L'inglese"--literally "the Englishman"--throughout the novel) who makes her discover not only the full extent of the pleasures of food, but also the pleasures of the body.  

But, of course, love can't last.  More disaster strikes and, in the wake of yet another loss, Rosa returns to her hometown where family drama (including a who's-the-daddy twist) awaits her.  Despite this, though, the novel ends on an optimistic note, leaving Rosa's future happiness up for the reader to imagine.  

The awkward handling of sex as a theme in La Cucina wasn't exactly my only problem with the novel.  The characters feel more like caricatures, lacking depth and originality.  Though the story was decent, the narrative was sadly lacking.  I generally wouldn't recommend it, but if you're determined to read it, be aware that there is a good deal of strong language used, as well as a few relatively explicit sex scenes.  

The tagline of the title is "A Novel of Rapture".  Sorry, Lily Prior.  I really wasn't feeling it with this one.

Book 4: The Nonesuch by Georgette Heyer

No matter what people say about judging books by their covers and all of that, I will be the first to admit that books with attractive covers are the first to catch my eye and, more often than not, the ones I end up buying.  I like bright colors and creative color schemes and evocative imagery; those are the principle characteristics of the covers of best-sellers like The Time Traveler's Wife (Audrey Niffenegger), The Alchemist (Paulo Coelho), and--yes, I'll admit it--Stephenie Meyer's Twilight that I have noticed, purchased, and enjoyed.  As a result, it's actually become general (though mostly un-acknowledged) policy for me to literally judge books by their covers.  True, it's a pretty prejudiced habit, but it's one that's actually proven trusty over the years so I generally follow it.

So when my librarian-friend, Sarah, stuck a copy of The Nonesuch in my hands, I was a bit apprehensive.  "Funny-looking regency dude in front of shrubbery" isn't exactly my idea of awesome cover material.  Still, Sarah has dependable literary taste, and she seemed so enthusiastic that I just had to read it.  

This ended up being one of those reading experiences that make me perhaps maybe sort of consider changing my position on books with fugly covers.  "Perhaps," I begin to think to myself, "maybe I should stop going only for the pretty books, because if I'd stuck hard and fast to the rule, I would have never read this piece!"  

The Nonesuch is one of those books that you (or, well, I) enjoy not because of any depth or profundity of subject matter, but because it has fabulous wit and style.  And because it was written by Georgette Heyer (an extremely prolific writer from the 1900s who is known both for her creation of the Regency England Romance genre and for her extremely well-researched books).  If you've run out of Jane Austen books and are feeling the pinch of Regency Withdrawal Syndrome, nothing could possibly serve as a better fix than Heyer's 50+ novels (except, perhaps, Austenland by Shannon Hale for it is in fact a CURE for Regency Addiction).  I digress.  Basically, the woman was a total beast (and I mean that, of course, in a good way).  

Back to the novel, plot first.  The Nonesuch takes place in the Yorkshire countryside during (as you might have guessed) the British Regency Era.  The plotline receives it's first push from a dead relative's bequeathment of his country property, Broom Hall, upon the already well-landed Sir Waldo Hawkridge, who is in fact the Nonesuch himself (for there is none such as him!  Oh-ho!  Clever!).  Sir Waldo is "of the Corinthian set", a "top o' the trees" sort of gent, and a bona-fide "pink of the Ton"--basically a bunch of crazy Regency terms used to describe his good breeding and general social admirability.  

At any rate, Sir Waldo and his cousin Lord Julian Lindeth set off to the countryside to investigate this property that Waldo has been given.  The news of Waldo's intended visit to Yorkshire precedes him and causes a considerable stir among the locals, and his arrival at Broom Hall kicks off a flurry of social activity in the area--a series of balls and dinners and parties all put together for the purpose of impressing and perhaps ensnaring the ever-sought-after Nonesuch.  

Aside from Lindeth and Waldo, the other principle characters are two lovely ladies:  Miss Theophania (Tiffany) Weild, heiress, and her governess-companion, Miss Ancilla Trent [Ancilla is such a cool name].  In short, Tiffany is the underaged heir to a considerable fortune who lives with her paternal Aunt Underhill at Staples Manor.  She is also very beautiful, headstrong, hideously selfish, and manipulative, and the only one who can keep her under a semblance of control is the cool, collected Miss Trent.  

Over the course of Sir Waldo's tenure at Broom Hall, he and his cousin meet Tiffany and Ancilla on many occasions, and due to Lindeth's infatuation with the lovely Tiffany, Waldo and Ancilla end up spending a great deal of time together.  This and that happen and, as one can guess, love can indeed bloom as late in life as at the absolutely decrepit age of twenty-six (ha ha ha).    

The Nonesuch was fabulously entertaining.  Because of her wealth of knowledge on the Regency Era, Georgette Heyer's writing rings very true in terms of grammar, style, and vocabulary.  Her use of ye olde school cant/language doesn't feel forced or fake like it tends to in a lot of other novels of the same type.  And, above and beyond that, she just really knows how to use said language to create bitingly sarcastic characters (and, oh, but don't I love tongue-in-cheek humor!).  Such fun!

I wouldn't call Georgette Heyer's works "classics"--they're not about to be taught in an English class or anything--but in terms of style and authenticity I'd say they're on par with a lot of the well-known Era stuff.  And they're fun, to boot!  

Positively anyone can read The Nonesuch, and if you are at all into BritLit and romance and witty banter, you most definitely should!  

Life Update

It's incredibly hot in my house, and the only thing that's saving me from boiling alive is the fact that my fan is running on full blast and both my windows are open.  It's midnight, and even though it's cooled down substantially outside, the walls of the house retain heat like no other.

I shouldn't complain, though, because I prefer this heat to the wussy, luke-warm weather we've been experiencing lately.  If there is any local evidence for global warming, I'd think it would be the ridiculous winds and rain that we had as recently as last week.  Honestly, do I live in California or don't I?  Sunshine, please, any day!

I went for a run this morning with my dad and basically got my butt handed to me by my old man (who is turning fifty and can still literally outstrip me with minimal effort).  I have a long way to go.  To be fair, though, it was hot as hell outside and the hills we were running were ridiculous.

Yummmm.  Pie is delicious, especially when it comes from Marie Calendar's.  Pie digests happily as I sit in bed and update and consider reading or sleeping.  The computer is too hot to keep on my lap.  Too hot, I say!

[Carol, you demanding thing, I wrote this because of YOU.]

Book 3: The Homecoming By Shashi Warrier

The Homecoming sat on my bookshelf at college for six months collecting dust along with the other 15+ books I foolishly took with me to school thinking I would actually have time to read.  I felt bad for not reading many (any) of them, but I felt extra-contrite about not reading this one for two reasons:  1)  Because my dad gave me this book, and 2) Because the author is a good family friend of ours.  

When I was a kid, Shashi Warrier (Shashi Uncle in our home) used to bring me drafts of his latest work in progress, the most memorable of which was a children's book by the name ofSuzy's Gift.  With this and the several other novels he has written since, however, it is clear that Warrier has moved out of the whimsical (though greatly entertaining) sphere of kid's lit and into more grave and thought-provoking subject matter.  

The Homecoming revolves around Javed Sharif, a rug-merchant, returning home to Srinagar, Kashmir for his elderly father's birthday.  After a lifetime of working to support his family, Javed looks forward to retiring soon in his beloved hometown in spite of the violent wartime that has begun to make itself known in Kashmir.  He is, at the onset of the novel, quite satisfied with his lot in life; he is fairly successful as a businessman, his three children (sons Irfan and Fawzi, and daughter Razia) are grown, and his relationship with his family is satisfactory.  Javed surveys his life's work and perceives a job well done.  

His peace, however, is disturbed when he and his younger son Irfan are arrested under suspected involvement with and sympathies for a brutal terrorist organization.  This event, which occurs some twenty or thirty pages into the novel, kick-starts the action and drives the story to a desperate, wrenching ending.  After a night in the local lock-up, Javed is released and cleared of all suspicion while his son is kept in detention.  Though he knows it will cost him his retirement, Javed resolves to spend as much time and money as is needed to get Irfan out of prison.  In a tale of pain, sacrifice, betrayal, and loss, Javed watches what he thought was a sturdy, healthy family life fall apart and, in a manner reminiscent of Arthur Miller's Death of a Salesman, suddenly finds himself without anything.  

To me, this book epitomizes the sentiment of having the rug yanked out from under your feet.  We begin with a settled, happy protagonist and end with a wholly different picture.  Warrier does an excellent job of painting both portraits, and of illustrating the series of events that brings the characters from one to the other.  He handles the matter of Irfan's guilt beautifully  and, while never giving the answer outright, puts out enough choice pieces of information to provide the reader with a clear verdict by the end of the novel.  He presents the reader with not just the story of a family, but also the story of a country at odds with itself and its people.  

The Homecoming spares no details, no matter how harrowing they might be, and leaves the reader with a startlingly honest picture of not only the Kashmir conflict, but also of the brutal potential, the irony, and the unyielding force of human nature.

It was a slow read almost until the end, so don't go for this one expecting an action thrill of any kind.  Because it was measured in pace, the plot allowed for a great deal of contemplation and speculation on the part of the reader.  This is one I definitely recommend for older audiences, perhaps 16+, simply due to the heavy/dense subject matter.  However, if you are a particularly precocious reader, nothing should stop you from reading this wonderfully moving, evocative novel.