Never Have Your Dog Stuffed

written by Alan Alda

Alan Alda is just one of those people that you can't help but like. And I don't think it's just because of the Hawkeye thing — I think he really is a nice, likeable, genuine person, or at the very least a really, really good actor who plays the part well. His book is an enjoyable, quick read.

I picked it up because of its title — how can this one not draw you in!? The message behind the title stems from one of the stories in the book: as a youngster, Alda had a dog named Rhapsody, who died and ended up being taxidermied by his well-meaning parents. His point is that sometimes there are experiences or relationships in our lives that are useful, precious, exciting, life-changing — but once they've run their course, it's okay to let them go. Propping them up artificially and trying to pretend that they're still alive and vibrant can be destructive, painful, or in the case of Rhapsody, just plain strange.


Really cool elements:

• Alda is so frank and real that anyone can identify with him. He doesn't put on airs of superiority or trump up his accomplishments. In fact, he comes across as an ordinary guy who's thankful for the opportunities he's been given and a bit amazed that he even made it big in show business.
• How many actors do you know who have been married to the same person for nearly fifty years and still talk as if they really like their spouse? How refreshing! It's very clear that through the difficult times in his adult life, Alda's wife Arlene was a source of comfort and encouragement.
• I vaguely knew Alda had some issues with his Catholic school experiences and wondered if he would use the book as a vehicle to express some bitterness toward God. He does talk about some faith crises, and I wouldn't call his position on religion complimentary to the church, but certainly there was nothing venomous or hateful.

Not-so-cool elements:

• We all know Alan Alda is funny, and because the title seemed funny, I thought the whole book would be funny. It wasn't. There are funny parts, but much of it — especially the first hundred or so pages — are kind of sad and depressing. You learn a lot of details about his not-so-normal childhood and the problems in his family. Not that I think he should've whitewashed all that; I guess I just didn't expect it.
• While Alda's sense of humor works great as spontaneous, improvisational comedy, it comes across a little disjointed in print. The book feels very stream-of-consciousness, with no real overarching theme. In fact, I think it's kind of a stretch to call it an autobiography. To me it seems more like just a string of loosely related anecdotal stories of his life, many of which I wish he had developed further. For example, I wanted to know more about his relationship with his schizophrenic mother, the joys and struggles of parenting his three girls, and how on earth he held his marriage together through some really difficult times.

Bold Spirit

written by Linda Lawrence Hunt

My sweet mother-in-law sent me this book not long before I headed out to the Appalachian Trail for another hiking adventure. Perfect reading for a hike! It's about a woman who completes the monumental challenge of walking across America with her teenaged daughter from Spokane to New York City, unaided, in 1896. I was so fascinated by the premise of the book — epsecially in light of my own odyssey of completing the Appalachian Trail — that not only did I read it en route to the trailhead in North Carolina, I actually added it to my backpack so that I could continue reading while I was out in the wild. Now, that might not sound so astounding, but trust me — any object that is not absolutely necessary for survival (especially one that weighs 11.125 ounces, like this book does) has to be pretty captivating if I'm going to consider adding it to a backpack that's already frighteningly close to 35 pounds.

The story is of a Norwegian immigrant named Helga Estby, whose life appears to have been filled with hardship from the get-go. She emigrated from Norway to Manistee, Michigan with her parents (she was an only child) at age 11 and just four years later, found she was pregnant. The circumstances of her pregnancy are unknown. It appears she soon became party to a marriage arranged by her family. Her groom was an older Norwegian man who was likely not the father of her child. Together they endured a harrowing move across the country and several devastating events, including a fire and fears of debilitating diseases that devastated many prairie communities. They eventually settled in the Pacific Northwest, and life was very hard. In additon to Helga's firstborn, Clara, they had seven more children and endured the constant physical and financial struggles of a pioneer family. Helga survived a life-threatening "female illness" (no further details on her malady exist) that required dangerous corrective surgery. A wildly fluctuating economy made it impossible to sustain financial security. At the time that Helga began walking across the country, the family was in such financial straits that they were in danger of losing their farm and all that they owned.

Which is the biggest reason why Helga undertook the challenge of walking those thousands of miles. Apparently, some mysterious sponsor in New York offered to pay $10,000 to Helga if she was able to complete the journey according to an agreed-upon contract which stipulated a strict timeline and rules. That sum of money, in Helga's estimation, would help her and her husband unbury from their debt and preserve their farm and family.

Really cool elements:

• Just the idea of this woman and her daughter (Clara, age 18, accompanied Helga on her journey) taking on such an unthinkable challenge is so cool! Though the hiking I do on the Appalachian Trail certainly pales in comparison to what Helga and Clara endured, I love reading about seeminly ordinary women of previous generations who pushed back boundaries and took on things that no one thought they could handle. One particular quote near the end of the book says it all: "For women to walk unescorted in the wilderness...was simply incomprehensible..." (p. 248). Have I not heard those words myself?!
• I love how Helga's adventure is not just a story of a woman and her daughter doing something amazing; it's also a reflection of a bigger picture that colored the culture of the 1800s. Society as a whole — both women and men — was grappling with the ideas of women's worth, women's rights, and women's tenacity. People's reactions to Helga and her journey were very mixed. Some admired her. Many disdained her. She was doing something that women "weren't really supposed to do." (Sad to say, in some ways, times haven't changed that much! Any woman I know can easily point to countless examples of ways she is heavily influenced by what others deem is proper — or improper — for our gender.) The author does a great job of showing how this bold walk exemplified the emergence of a new attitude towards women's roles and abilities.
• Ladies, it will definitely give you a certain "girl-power" feeling to read this book, but the really cool thing is that it doesn't do so at the expense of men. I get so sick of how feminist literature often implies that recognizing women's worth requires that we simultaneously malign and scorn men. This book rightly allows the worth of women to stand on its own, with no need to trash the other gender.

Not-so-cool elements:

• The author is a scholar, and it shows. In many places the book reads like a research paper because, well, it is! This isn't a bad thing; it just makes for some boring passages that I think an artsy-er writer could've breathed a little more life into.
• You might become frustrated by the lack of detail on certain topics. For example, there's no firm information on the mysterious New York sponsor. Who was it? Was Helga hand-picked by this person, or was some kind of contest involved? What were Helga's fears, concerns, triumphs? Unfortunately, many, many details of the story have been lost. Helga's memoirs were destroyed by family members who disapproved of her adventure and took steps to silence her story. Sad.

Consent to Kill

written by Vince Flynn

So I was at this conference with my friend and colleague, Catherine, and after five days of absorbing all kinds of information about corporate universities and how we might help launch one, our eyes were bloodshot and our brains were reduced to pastey mush. As I prepared for my flight home, I was longing to self-medicate with a good mind-numbing novel, but foolishly had forgotten to bring any pleasure reading. Well, Cat had just the thing for me. She had finished Consent to Kill on the way to the conference, so that became my elixir on the ride back to Detroit. I was a little leery at first because, although Catherine raved about this book, she described it as a really great "suspenseful political thriller," which is not a genre that would normally hook me. See, I'm generally repelled by anything with the word "political" in it ... plus I'm not that great at keeping track of dozens of characters with lots of interrelationships and a complicated story line. Give me some intrigue, sure, but don't make me work too hard for it.

Well, now I'm a "suspenseful political thriller" convert and there's no going back. To use a cliché, I was riveted to this book until the last page. And I mean to the point of allowing the laundry to pile up and ignoring my family's pleas for dinner.

The novel is the latest in a series about a CIA "special operative" (read: hit man) named Mitch Rapp. Because he is reputed to be the killer of a fanatical Muslim terrorist (that story's covered in an earlier book, I believe), the terrorist's father, aided by a crooked Saudi prince, hires a pair of international assassins to do away with Rapp. Their plot is foiled when (stop reading if you don't want me to spoil the story for you!) they accidentally kill Rapp's newly pregnant wife but only injure Rapp himself. The story becomes more complicated when the assassins (a man and wife who are romantically involved) learn they too are expecting a child. The rest of the novel follows Rapp's maniacal quest to avenge his wife's death by finding and killing those responsible.

Really cool elements:

• You'll be engrossed in this story from the first page. Trust me. Flynn skillfully unpacks a complicated story line without losing my attention, which is no small feat.
• If you forget a name or a detail that was mentioned a hundred or so pages ago (which I am wont to do), no problem. Flynn very tactfully bakes in reminders of who's who so you don't get lost. It makes me feel much less mentally feeble about reading a book with a complex plot.
• The ending is very surprising. Rapp has a perfect opportunity to kill the assassins who murdered his wife, but he chooses to let them be. I'll let you read the book to find out why. It's a good twist.

Not-so-cool elements:

• I have almost no complaints, but there are several passages that detail graphic torture and violence. None of them seemed overdone or excessively long, but if that sort of thing bothers you, it might sour you on the book. Then again, what can you expect from a novel about professional assassins who are on the hunt to dust each other?

Disgrace

written by J.M. Coetzee

This novel was recommended to me by Michelle, my book-loving sister-in-law who is a librarian at the Plymouth Library (and whom I can always count on as a great source for thought-provoking literature!). It tells of the pitiful demise of David Lurie, a white South African professor whose indiscriminate sexual appetite winds up getting him fired after he seduces (rapes?) one of his students. He drops out of the university scene, intending to spend some time regrouping at the home of his earthy twentysomething daughter Lucy, who owns a combination dog kennel/organic farm. Misfortune seems to follow him, and the farm is burglarized by some thugs who also beat up Lurie and rape Lucy. The rest of the novel tells of his leaving the farm for a time to work on an opera he's writing, then returning to try to get Lucy to move away from the farm and away from danger.

Really cool elements:

• If you can get past Lurie's abhorrent view of women, the book contains some interesting paradoxes that show the moral disconnect which often plagues the human heart. For example, He nonchalantly objectifies women in general... yet seems to feel genuine love for his daughter Lucy. He is a professor of "Communications"... yet can't seem to master the art himself. He has no functional relationships in his life (even his relationship with Lucy is strained) ... yet begins to feel something resembling compassion for unwanted dogs in a veterinary clinic where he begins to volunteer. I can identify areas in my own life where similar paradoxes emerge. I think it's evidence that we have both (1) an innate thirst for virtue and "rightness," because we're all made in the image of a perfect Creator, and (2) an inexplicable attraction to abasement, because we're also born with a bent toward sin. The novel does a good job showing this. Maybe too good.

Not-so-cool elements:

• I was so repulsed by Lurie and his dehumanizing view of women that it was difficult to pay respects to the the overarching story. About the first 75 pages are devoted to a subplot focusing on Lurie's relationship with a prostitute. This sets the stage for his alarming emotional manipulation and physical seduction of Melanie (the student), which by any standards is painful to read. Later in the novel, while staying with his daughter Lucy, he matter-of-factly seduces one of Lucy's friends: middle-aged Bev Shaw, with whom he has begun working at the animal clinic. Lack of moral character is one thing, but complete and repeated disregard for the value of women really bothers me. It made me angry at the author and became such a major distraction that I had a hard time even finishing the book.
• At the end of the book (and this is a spoiler, so be warned if you plan on reading it yourself!) Lurie finds some sort of peace in arranging for the euthanization of a dog that he has become particularly attached to. I tried hard to figure out what this is supposed to symbolize, and I just couldn't come up with anything that made sense. Is he finally saying goodbye to any shred of decency he has left? Is he letting go of his desire to control his daughter's decisions? Trying to put to death the parts of his character which make him tick but which he knows are immoral? I still don't know.
• I found myself wishing for more detail about Lurie's daughter. What were her thoughts about her father and his moral demise? What were her thoughts about the rape and burglary? Did she somehow see these things as related? Didn't she fear for her safety after the assault? I thought it odd that she would choose to stay on in a place that was dangerous, even after the known rapist moved in next door with her former hired-hand. Having known closely a handful of women who have been assaulted in real life, I wish that Lucy had at least had her own voice in this story. Her character seemed underdeveloped to me.
• This might be trivial, but it seems silly that Lurie's daughter calls him "David" and not "Dad" or something similar. Is it a sign of their dysfunctional relationship? Or perhaps a sign that she never really considered him a father figure? Who knows, but it's annoying.
• Because I know next to nothing about South Africa, I wish the author would've brought in more description about the surroundings, the people, and the culture. Odd that he would even choose South Africa as a setting and then opt not to flavor the novel with lots of detail about that part of the world and its people. In fact, at times I didn't even know if certain characters were white or black (Melanie the student, some of Lurie's colleagues, Bev Shaw, the police who investigated Lucy's rape and burglary), and whether this had any impact on their interrelationships.

The Poisonwood Bible

written by Barbara Kingsolver

This was a really disturbing book on many levels, yet I'm really glad that I read it. The novel chronicles the lives of the wife and daughters of a total nut case (Nathan Price) who passed himself off as a Baptist missionary to Congo in the 1960s. (You might know Congo as Zaire, which is what it was called from 1971 to 1997.) I call Price a nut case because the guy's character (or lack thereof) literally destroyed his family, alienated the very people he was trying to impact, and painted such a warped picture of God that I'm betting most readers of this novel (unless they already have a firm faith in God to begin with) will most certainly be driven further from him (God, not Price!) than before they picked up the book.

Granted, the author provides some background for why Price is such a kook, but still. It made me long to have a private moment with each reader of this book and gently explain that not all missionaries are self-seeking, condescending, holier-than-thou proselytizers whose main goal is to force Western culture onto foreign nations. There really does exist a pretty vast number of people who sacrifice their careers, wealth, comforts, possessions, and the familiarity of home in order to respectfully and humbly bring a selfless, unadulterated Gospel to people who have never heard the name of Christ. I know this because I've met people like this, even worked alongside people like this briefly in Argentina. And their goal really isn't to sweep away a culture's identity in the name of God, or to make that culture bow to the ideals of Western capitalism or even democracy.

But I digress.

The book is really well done. The main characters take turns telling their story in first-person. Sometimes the stories they relate overlap, sometimes not.

Really cool elements:

• Kingsolver does a fabulous job portraying Rachel, the sister you love to hate. She is shallow, selfish, unthinking, blonde (in every sense of the word) and generally the archetype of that annoying relative we all have -- the one you're embarrassed to share a gene pool with. Particularly witty is the way Kingsolver allows Rachel to unknowingly reveal her dimness through constant linguistic faux pas. For example: "You have your way of thinking and [Africa] has its, and never the train ye shall meet." Another one that made me laugh right out loud was, "Nelson was not going to sleep in our chicken house for all the teeth in China."
• The portrayal of Adah (one of the middle sisters, who suffers from some vague mental and neurological disorders) is fascinating. Adah is a study in paradoxes. She is brilliant yet mentally challenged; incredibly strong, yet her physical body is damaged goods. And as you read her narrative you really do get right inside her head and experience with her the pain and tragedy of her African (and then American) experience.
• Perhaps the most valuable part of this book, to me at least, was that it offers quite an education on the dramatic political upheaval that brought Congo out from under the thumb of Belgium and into its own African nation, for better or for worse. It just makes me realize how little I know of world affairs and the abhorrent corruption that often disguises itself as "aid" to poor nations. The atrocities committed are eerily similar to what is happening in present-day Iraq.

Not-so-cool elements:

• This book was torturously long, at least to me. Have I ever read a book that's 543 pages?
• As I mentioned above, it's sad that a lot of readers will come away from this book with a bad taste in their mouths about Western missionaries.

The Beach House

written by James Patterson

Which came first, Grisham or Patterson?

This is only the second novel I've read by James Patterson and it was vastly different than the first (which was Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas, but that's an entry for another day). The Beach House is pretty captivating in a Grisham-esque way, which is fine if you like that sort of thing. And I do, when I'm in the right mood. Nothing wrong with a somewhat predictable, formulaic good-guy-versus-bad-guy(s) plot, with a little love story and litigation thrown in for good measure.

The story takes place on Long Island and is told by Jack Mullen, a local boy who's nearly done with his law degree at Columbia. Jack's brother Peter is found dead on the shore the morning after a wealthy businessman throws a swanky party at a beachfront mansion. Jack is convinced that the police, who chalk up the death to suicide, are puppets for the wealthy businessman and are covering up the real reasons for Peter's death. The book follows Jack's quest to discover the facts and bring the perpetrators to justice.

Really cool elements:

• Call me schmaltzy, but I like the idea that a regular smalltown guy can take on rich, powerful, evil people and win. Though the story might be a little hokey in spots (there is a trial scene toward the end that is quite unbelievable, and the ending borders on ridiculous), I do like the message.
• This book gets pretty high marks for entertainment value, because it draws you in quickly and holds your attention until the very end.

Not-so-cool elements:

• As Jack uncovers details about Peter's life and the reasons for the murder, some dark and violent sexual themes surface. I'm guessing Patterson probably intended this as a way to bake in some shock and intrigue, but please. Uck.
• Is it really necessary to have 113 chapters in one 350-page book? Some of the chapters were like two pages long. I felt a little insulted over that, like the author didn't trust me to have a grown-up's attention span.

My Sister's Keeper

written by Jodi Picoult

It's been a long time since I've gotten worked up enough about a book that I actually cry over it. I don't know, maybe this says something about the dearth of good literature that crosses my coffee table. (Oh wait, I don't have a coffee table.) All I know is, I can count on my pal Janet to pass along a good gut-wrenching read when she finds one, and she did. I figure any book that reduces me to whimpering on my couch at three in the afternoon has to be pretty good.

The gist of the story: there are two sisters. One's 16 and in the late stages of a wicked form of leukemia. The other, who's 13, was conceived specifically to be a donor for her sister and has undergone all kinds of medical procedures in order to prolong the older sister's life. The novel begins with the 13-year-old tenuously seeking out a lawyer to help her gain medical emancipation from her parents.

As if this isn't enough, add to the mix a controlling and martyr-like (but well-intentioned) mother, a dad who's caught in the crossfire, a neglected and rebellious older brother, and you have the makings of a pretty profound page-turner.

I like the way the auther puts it: "...this isn't an easy book, and you know from the first page that there are no easy answers."

Really cool elements:

• Picoult's writing style is easy and inviting. Throughout the book, she gives voice to each of the main characters, flipping back and forth among each of their perspectives. If that sounds annoying, give it a chance anyway — it's surprisingly easy to read because Picoult does it so well. I found it pretty amazing that she could, for example, go from being a 13-year-old girl, to the fortysomething firefighter dad, to the used-to-be-attorney mom, to the slimey (but yet likeable at some levels!) lawyer who represents the main character. Only thing that felt weird was, the perspective of the sick daughter was never revealed until the very end. It will become obvious why, if you read through to the last page.
• Though certain characters cause a lot of messy moral themes to surface (drug use, promiscuity, arson, and parental rights are a few that come to mind), there is some form of resolution to many of these problems in the end.
• And speaking of the end. If you like twisty plots like I do, this is the book for you. If you hate being shocked, better read the last chapter first.

Not-so-cool elements:

• This is a great parable about human love and sacrifice, and because the main characters are teenagers, about 80 percent of the book is awesome material for the 13-and-up crowd — especially since readers of that age are beginning to look outside themselves and ponder larger issues of morality. Only problem is the other 20 percent of the book. Particularly the parts that focus on the unruly older brother, who uses some pretty raw language and gets himself into all sorts of mayhem while the rest of his family is focusing on the sick sister. There's also some hanky panky between the attorney and the court-appointed guardian ad litem, which seemed unnecessarily explicit.
• For being such a realistic book, portions of the ending seemed a little too tidy, maybe far-fetched. Nuff said. I won't spoil it for you.

Snow Mountain Passage

written by James D. Houston

This was a great summer read — a fascinating piece of historical fiction that brings to life the ordeal of the famous Donner Party. The story focuses mainly on James Frazier Reed, one of the group's leaders, but the author folds in recollections from Reed's daughter, Patty, who was eight at the time the pioneers attempted to cross the Sierra Nevadas.

You probably already know bits of their story because the nation developed (and still maintains) a morbid fascination with the fact that certain members of the party resorted to cannibalism — an early snow trapped most of them in the cruel mountains, with almost no means of obtaining food once their supplies ran out. What the book does, though, is go far beyond the gore (the cannibalism bit isn't even a focus of the story until about the last 75 pages) and instead affords appropriate attention to the experience of these remarkable people who gave new meaning to the idea of human endurance. Houston skillfully develops themes that we can all relate too: human conflict, power struggles, loss, grief, hopelessness, and survival — not only physical survival, but survival of the spirit.

Really cool elements:

• At the risk of spoiling the book for you, I need to mention that there is a beautiful theme of reconciliation that doesn't fully materialize until the end.
• Houston paints a portrait of Reed that holds him up as an amazing example of husband and father, without coming off as trite or phony. His character is genuine, believable, human, and (yes) flawed. His flaws and mistakes are what make this book captivating.
• Teachers and parents won't have trouble recommending this book to kids that are middle-school-aged and older. Though some of the themes are disturbing, they reflect the conflicts we experience in real life. There are only a handful of swear words (and aptly used, I might add) and there's nothing in the book that I would consider raunchy.

Not-so-cool elements:

• There are a lot of names to remember here. The Donner Party was really big, and many characters come into play as Reed's story unfolds. If you read like I do — in short snatches here and there, between carpool responsibilities and work appointments or whenever a blessed commitment-free minute presents itself — you might need to keep a list of who's who.