Angela's Ashes

written by Frank McCourt

Wow. Just... wow. I had heard that this book was intense, and I had been wanting to read it for a while now, but oh my word. I was not prepared for how desperate Frank McCourt's Irish Catholic childhood was. It was so eye-opening, to read this man's very personal story of growing up in the poorest of poor slums in Limerick, Ireland.

The memoir chronicles the story of how Frank's parents met and married, his early years as the eldest child in an Irish immigrant family in New York, the family's return to Ireland, and the many desperate events and circumstances that characterized his life as he grew from boyhood into being a young man of his own.

In my opinion, it's an important book to read because most of us have no idea what it's like to live without comforts and trappings. But do be aware that the book has some unsavory explicit parts that aren't appropriate for younger readers.

Really cool elements:

• I admire McCourt for finding humor and joy in a most unexpected place: a childhood plagued by alcoholism, depression, loss, and astonishing poverty. Amazingly, though the book documents some very sad events, it doesn't really feel like a sad book. It's a beautiful testament to the resilience of the human spirit. I guess it's because the way McCourt chooses to muscle through his struggles, learning and growing all the while, rather than allowing them to define him and victimize him. I hope at the end of my life I can say that I did the same. (Though after reading his story, I have a hard time pointing to any area of my life that would qualify as hardship.)
• I've heard some complain that the book could be shortened by at least a few hundred pages because of the repetitive stories of McCourt's father's alcoholism. I disagree. I think to take out any of those portions of the book would be to downplay the severity of the disease and its impact on the family. Malachy McCourt struggled mightily to stay off the Guinness and hold a job, and though he seemed to love his family, his alcoholism made it impossible to provide for them, materially or emotionally. After knowing a few families who have been similarly broken by alcoholism, I'm all for McCourt telling it like it is, painful details and all.

Not-so-cool elements:

• McCourt writes the entire book from a child's point of view, which means the story is somewhat stream-of-consciousness, with very few complete sentences and only about half the required punctuation. If that kind of thing bugs you, you might find it kind of tedious to get through the book.
• Maybe I missed something, but I don't get the title. I know the book is as much about Frank's mother (Angela) as it is about himself, but where do the ashes come in? I guess I thought there would be something about his mom dying and him doing something with her ashes, but there's nothing like that. Or is the title a reference to the ashes of the Woodbine cigarettes she always smoked? Or maybe the cold ashes in the fire, since the family always lacked enough fuel to have a warm, cozy home? I don't know — I didn't see a strong enough connection to figure it out.
• The book ends kind of weird. The final installment in McCourt's memoir depicts him finally making his way back to America at age 19 to secure gainful employment. He immediately has a fling with a married woman, and that's the end of the book. It's not that I think he should gloss over this or pretend it didn't happen — this is a memoir after all, and if it happened, it happened — but it was such a disappointing ending. Is he implying that after all he's been through, he's really the boss of himself now and can do what he wants? Or that he's become enlightened enough to be above the church-manufactured sin/guilt complex that plagued him as a child? I don't know. I just know that I would've liked to see more profundity — some kind of significant parting statement, I guess — after such a provocative book. I wanted to find out more about whether he found fulfillment and purpose once he returned to America, and how he gained some closure to his fractured family relationships. But I guess that's what second books are for. Guess I have to add 'Tis to my library list...

Promise Me

written by Harlan Coben

This is apparently a revival of Coben's oft-used hero, Myron Bolitar. I haven't read any of Coben's previous books, but I do know that many people rave about the Myron Bolitar series.

The book opens with Bolitar telling two teenaged girls (one is the daughter of a friend) to call him if they ever find themselves in trouble or need a lift, especially to avoid riding with a drunk driver. Of course, one of them ends up taking him up on his offer, and he gives her a ride to her "friend's" house in the middle of the night. When she turns up missing the next morning, Myron (who was the last person known to be in contact with the girl) finds himself embroiled in a sticky police investigation in which he may be implicated for abduction. Suddenly a sports-agent-turned-crime-sleuth, Myron gets to the bottom of the mystery and pretty much saves the day.

Not-so-cool elements:

• Is it just me, or is the plot unnecessarily complicated by about a million different two-bit characters? And many of the characters are so over-the-top silly that they seem like caricatures. Almost like you're reading a comic book.
• Coben goes overboard with sexual references. Can't a book be intriguing without all the trash?
  
• Some of the lines in this book are just pure cheese. It's like the literary equivalent of a really bad Stephen Seagal movie. For example: "His worn blue jeans hung low, displaying enough plumber crack to park a bike." Sigh.
  
• I think a good mystery book should be at least halfway believable. This one just wasn't. The twist at the end felt particularly contrived.
  

Cool elements:

• I have to give Coben credit for the way he can hook a reader and maintain interest. Maybe he took lessons from James Patterson. Their books are like train wrecks -- you know they're horrible but you just can't look away.
  

Housebroken: Confessions of a Stay-at-Home Dad

written by David Eddie

This was another twenty-five-cent find at the library's used book sale. It caught my eye because Jay and I are good friends with a couple in which the dad is the stay-at-home parent. The book looked funny and I thought I might read it and pass it along to our friends.

Lesson learned: there's a reason why certain books are sold for only twenty-five cents at used book sales.

Well, no, actually this book isn't all bad. There are a lot of redeeming elements that are hilarious, touching, philosophical, even thought-provoking. There's also a surprisingly useful 20-page stretch in which the author pontificates about how to cook -- portions of which are, in fact, making me contemplate hanging onto the book instead of feeding it back into the book donation bin for the library's next used book sale.

Cool elements:

• If you are a stay-at-home parent (male or female, doesn't matter) you will find a lot of humor here. Eddie covers all the typical woes of parenting: sleep deprivation; disobedient children; kids' impact on your marriage; the mental toll of interacting with people under five years old, all day every day; the "what-do-you-do-all-day" question asked by well-meaning but clueless friends... and he does it in a way that you can really identify with. His style reminds me of a machismo version of the Girlfriends' Guide series of books by Vicki Iovine.
  

Not-so-cool elements:

• In too many places, Eddie tries just a little too hard to be funny. I got tired of hearing him prattle on, sometimes boastfully, about what a raunchy cad he was (and still would be, if it weren't for having children) in his pre-fatherhood days. In fact, it was annoying enough that I almost pitched the book after the first few chapters. It also caused me to decide not to pass the book on to our friends that I mentioned above. The good and funny parts are offset too much by the overly animated retelling of his days of womanizing, drug use, and general irresponsibility.
  

Marley & Me: Life and Love With the World's Worst Dog

written by John Grogan

This is a funny, sweet, poignant book. One that I devoured in just under two days -- which is a real feat, I assure you, considering how our willy-nilly summer schedule is busting at the seams with kids' activities, barbecues, beach outings, work commitments, houseguests, and of course everything that goes into doting on our own canine prince, Buster.

The book made me laugh and cry, sometimes simultaneously. This is, I think, because about a year ago I became a Dog Person. It's not that I didn't like dogs before that -- in fact, as a kid growing up in rural Dexter, I almost always had one of our family dogs by my side. Dogs occupy a well-deserved place in my long list of happy childhood memories.

But until July 2005 I had never had a dog of my own, as an adult. Never had a dog that depended on me and me alone for safety, food, shelter, and love. So it was with some serious deliberation that Jay and the kids and I added Buster to our family after studying his "please adopt me" posting on www.petfinder.org. We haven't looked back since. We are smitten with him, all of us.

So I know where John Grogan's coming from when he says, "A dog has no use for fancy cars or big homes or designer clothes. Status symbols mean nothing to him. A waterlogged stick will do just fine. A dog judges people ... by who they are inside. A dog doesn't care if you're rich or poor, educated or illiterate, clever or dull. Give him your heart and he will give you his... Sometimes it took a dog with bad breath, worse manners, and pure intentions to help us see."

Grogan really tells two stories in this book. One story is of a hilarious, crazy, misbehaved hundred-pound retriever and how he turns the life of his master into an unpredictable, embarrassing, expensive, messy labor of love. The other story is how man's best friend captures the heart of his master and teaches him a thing or two in the process.

Really cool elements:

• Naughty dogs like Marley are pretty funny all on their own. (Especially when they're not yours!) John Grogan's wonderful, easy style and storytelling ability make them even funnier. You will laugh out loud at some of the stories in this book. And if you've ever owned a naughty dog yourself, you will see yourself in many of these stories. You might even find that you too are part of what Grogan calls the "Bad Dog Club."
• Any pet owner knows that one of the most difficult parts of having a pet is coping with the eventual death of an animal that was a special and important part of life. The end of the book describes in tender detail -- with just enough levity to keep it from getting too depressing -- how the Grogan family worked through Marley's aging and death. It's really a pretty beautiful account of how a family deals with loss.
• Grogan gives ode to Marley's life by describing how he "was a central player in some of the happiest chapters in our lives... chapters of young love and new beginnings, of budding careers and tiny babies. Of heady successes and crushing disappointments, of discovery and freedom and self-realization. He came into our lives just as we were trying to figure out what they would become." I love how the story of Marley was inseparable from the story of this man's life: his marriage, his children, his work, his friendships. Dogs are like that. Dogs are just ... cool.

Not-so-cool elements:

• Being a Dog Person, I really can't think of anything in the book to complain about. Except for the fact that the story might be lost on Non-Dog People. So if you're not into dogs, you might want to just skim. I can see a Cat Person trying to get through this book and thinking, "Please. Do we really need to know about every couch-eating incident? Every embarrassing moment in the dog obedience class? Every instance of finding some bizarre foreign object in the piles that Marley deposited in the back yard?" If you're not into dogs, the book might feel a little like listening to some over-involved parent prattling on about their wonderful children, when anyone with eyes can see that the kids are little demons who would be better off at reform school.