Lisey's Story

written by Stephen King

I used to have a thing for Stephen King books back in the day. Like way back. Then in my early days of figuring out what I wanted to do with God and spirtuality, I got kind of creeped out by how dark these books were, and I didn't touch any of his stuff for a long while. But I've had this one lying around for about a year and finally decided to pick it back up. It was an impulse purchase I made in a moment of panic when I thought I might need to go on a road trip, bookless ... but then the trip ended up being canceled and I never did get into the book. I tried a couple times, but I just couldn't quite get my interest piqued.

Which brings me to my first complaint about the King of horror: the guy just meanders all over the place in his later writings, and it takes forever to get to the point. But I guess he's entitled to do that now that he's made his millions and can just write for the fun of it. I envy that, actually.

Quick synopsis of the book: it's a disturbing tale (big surprise there, huh?) of a middle-aged writer named Scott Landon, who has been plagued for his whole life by what appears on the surface to be a mental illness that runs in his family. His father and his brother both suffered from extreme and bizarre mental breaks, and Landon's means of escaping from the pain and danger of living with such circumstances leads him to discover (create?) an alternate reality - not a mental one but an actual physical one where he can travel away from his current anguished existence to another "plane" of reality. Not only does that escape route prove to be his means for staying (seemingly) sane, but the whole experience provides him endless material for his career as a horror fiction writer.

So the obvious question here is, did King write this book about himself? Did he suffer under a hellaciously crazed father and a brother who suddenly turned into a dangerous animal-like beast? I don't think so. After reading the book I poked around to find out a little about his life, and it looks to me like he had a fairly ho-hum upbringing. But the guy does have some twisted imagery in his head, let's be clear on that. The book portrays mental illness as startlingly predatory, and I won't spoil the story for you, but I will say that eventually the beastly darkness hunts down some folks, and it's not pretty.

It's actually a really good story once you get into it, and it sated my appetite for something scary, at least for a while. I like King's style and his creativity. So even when he got into the meandering parts of the book, I didn't really mind all that much because his writing is so fun to read. One of his really remarkable skills is to seamlessly take you across many different locations and time periods without being at all confusing. I don't know how he does it so artfully, but I love that. Another notable thing is that there are a lot of subtle but clever references to other literature, and to music. I probably only got half of them (or less!), but they were fun to discover nonetheless.

The only glaringly "off" thing in the story seemed to be that the heroine, Lisey (Scott's wife) was a little too steely. There is no way that any woman (or any person, for that matter), no matter how strong, could endure some of the experiences in this story without completely freaking out into a nervous fit. But whatever. If he had baked that into the story, I'm sure it would have added even more bulk to the already-bulky 653 pages.

Snow Flower and the Secret Fan

written by Lisa See

For one reason or another, I've really fallen off in my consumption of fiction these last few months. I hate it when life gets in the way of reading! This was a great novel to dive back in with. It came from my very smart and well-read mother-in-law, who reads all the good books out there.

This book is both amazing and disturbing. It chronicles the lives of two Chinese women living in rural nineteenth-century China, and the horrific struggles they endure simply because they are female. Though the two women, Snow Flower and Lily, are not related, at around age 6 they are matched with each another by their families as laotong. Literally translated, this means "old sames," implying that the girls' past, present and future are so aligned that they are sort of soulmates.

Not all Chinese girls of that era were matched with a laotong, and it seems to be something of a privilege. The seriousness of the match was almost akin to marriage; families had to consent to the pairing of the girls, and there was a legal agreement involved which the girls had to sign (at age six or seven!), pledging to be faithful to this contractual friendship for life. The relationship provided lifelong emotional support for the two women, and it was often also a boon to the families involved: alliances between respected or prosperous clans helped to cement the economic and social stability of both families.

Lily and Snow Flower endure the barbaric ritual of footbinding together (Google it — you'll be appalled), they grow into young women together, and they both eventually "marry out" to men of their families' choosing. Through all the stages of their lives, they share and document their histories in nu shu (a secret writing created by Chinese women) on the fan that they share.

Once the girls reach adulthood and marry, the novel gets pretty turbulent. Through circumstances that neither of them can control, Lily marries into a well-to-do family and Snow Flower marries into a despised family. Their lives diverge and their friendship suffers, though they are still bound together through a handful of shocking and heartbreaking experiences. Both endure amazing hardships, and you're left with the impression that it generally sucks to be a woman in nineteenth-century China — regardless of how well off your family might be. As one of the traditional sayings from the book quips, "Raising a girl and marrying her off is like building a fancy road that others may use." Nice.

This would be a good book for any young woman to read, as it's a jarring reminder of how far women have come, not only in the Chinese culture but in the world in general.

The Shack

written by William P. Young

My niece Melissa passed this book along to me. Generally I avoid the genre of "Christian fiction" because to me, books in this category too often feel too tidy, too scrubbed-clean. But since I was hearing a little bit of buzz about this book, I thought what the heck.

Before I lambast it, let me just say that it is thought-provoking, and I like books that challenge my paradigms and stretch my thinking. This one certainly does that, particularly in how it portrays the trinity. (Spoiler warning!) Suffice to say that if you have never envisioned God the Father as a large, boisterous black woman (think Whoopi Goldberg), this book will probably take you a little off guard.

Nutshell version: a guy named Mack loses his youngest daughter to a horrific child-molesting murderer. Two years later, still grieving, he receives a note in his mailbox, ostensibly from God, inviting him to the shack in the woods where his daughter was killed. He goes there, encounters God in a fantastical otherworldly series of events, and basically goes away healed and restored.

Well, anytime you write a book about God, you're going to offend or agitate somebody, and I think this book does a pretty good job of that. Just take a look at the ratings on Amazon — generally, people give it five stars and gush about it, or they give it one star and condemn it. I guess I'm somewhere in the middle. As far as literary quality, I think it tends toward the low end of the scale. Portions of it are really poorly written and downright cheesey. Many elements of the story seem misplaced and underdeveloped. (If you've read it, think about the weird spirit-lady-being that Mack finds in the cave. Huh? What was that?) By the middle of the book I found myself wishing that whoever did the editing for this book had been far more ruthless.

But anything that shakes the tree a little and gives me a different view of the many facets of God's personality — well, I'm open to that. In fact, I rather like the fact that this book seems to really hone in on the loving, nurturing facets of God's character ... mostly because I think the church universal is a little too uptight for its own good and could use a good dose of love/nurture to counteract the centuries of penance/guilt in which it's been steeped.

Howevah! If you're looking to this book as a source of theological truth, don't. Repeat after me: it is just a fable. Treat it about the same as you would treat Jonathan Livingston Seagull. Take what works for you (there is some good allegory) and leave the rest (there's a lot to leave, trust me).

My biggest complaint about the book actually has nothing to do with the plot or the theme or the writing quality. It's the shameless self-promotion at the end. After finishing the book, you find several pages that urge you to tell all your friends about the book, write positive book reviews about the book, buy multiple copies of the book and give it away to friends, post on online bulletin boards about how great the book is. Please. That, too me, is just slimey.

The Stepford Wives

written by Ira Levin

Now here's a throwback for you! I had always heard of the movie, but had never seen it and never even knew it was based on this little novella. The book was originally published in 1972, during a time when feminism was kind of the up-and-coming thing. But it was a bit before my time so I didn't know too much about it, except that it had something to do with some kind of sinister plot to make all the wives in the town of Stepford think and act the same.

I'm told the book was quite groundbreaking back in the day, because of its not-s0-subtle feminist messages. And even though it's no longer what our present-day culture would consider revolutionary, it is pretty entertaining. Basic plot is, a family moves to the charming town of Stepford, which they are initially quite pleased with, but soon the wife begins to see that all the women are subservient cookie-cutter Mrs. Cleaver types. Additionally, the men essentially run the town and most evenings can be found congregating at the local men's association (which of course excludes women). Uneasy about this, she does some research and finds that a handful of the most influential men have backgrounds in either experimental science or have worked at Disneyland, the acknowledged hub of all things animatronic. Her conclusion is that the men calculatingly do away with their real wives and replace them with lifelike fembots whose functions are pretty much limited to housework and sex.

At times the book is laugh-out-loud funny. The most entertaining element to me, though, was to observe that what was edgy and borderline-conteroversial back in the early seventies actually comes off as a little chauvinist and provincial today. For example, the main character, though she considers herself a feminist, has what we would today consider a very conventional lifestyle: she doesn't work (except that she's somewhat of a hobby-photographer), her husband is the family breadwinner, and she busies herself with taking care of the house and the kids. Sure, she's a little feisty and independent, but even so, she takes part in a fair bit of daytime grocery shopping, ladies' luncheons, and mid-day tennis matches. Not that those are bad things; they just don't fit our present-day definition of feminist. Kind of interesting, I think, to note how our picture of feminism has shifted quite a bit in 30 years.

This is a quick, short book — only 123 pages, and although it doesn't quite fit the description on the back cover ("a masterpiece of psychological suspense"? That's a bit of an overstatement, I think!) it's still kind of a fun read.

Oh, and my favorite line in the book: when the main character is visiting a friend, they're sitting outside next to the friend's pool and "the maid, a slightly gray-haired woman named Nettie, brought them a pitcher of Bloody Marys and a bowl of cucumber dip and crackers." Who knew I'd make a cameo appearance!?

Good Family

written by Terry Gamble

Wow, I've read two books inside of two weeks. You can tell I've been on vacation!

This book is billed as fiction, but you definitely get the sense that many elements of it are autobiographical. It's about a wealthy, WASP-y family steeped in old money, and the story is told by the adult daughter of the dying matriarch. The setting is a sprawling "summer cottage" (read: mansion) on an island in northern Lake Michigan, where the matriarch's daughters and an assortment of other relatives are gathered to see her through her final days.

Though the locale is fictional, any midwestern reader will picture Mackinac Island right away. The island has large, Victorian-style homes, a quaint historic downtown, and no automobiles are allowed. The author, I found out later, has a lot in common with the protagonist: she grew up in California but spent her summers at a family beach house on Lake Michigan. This novel grew out of her experience of losing her mother under circumstances similar to what's described in this story.

There isn't a ton of action in this book, and at times I wished the dying mother would just die already. The whole ordeal seems to kind of drag on and on. But even though the mother's looming death feels a bit wearisome, it does give the author a good backdrop for unfolding a really well-done character study. You get a vivid peek into the past of the daughter, Maddie, who, despite her privileged upbringing, has endured a lot of pain and dysfunction, including alcoholism, a failed marriage, loss of a child, and some really out-there family relationships. You also get a candid view of some of the kooky aunts, uncles, cousins, etc.

If your family is anything like mine, you'll recognize some of the experiences and character traits in the stories the author tells. In fact, the book reminded me in some ways of the movie The Family Stone, which also portrays some archetypical characters and relationships.

It was really helpful to have a chart of the family tree at the front of the book, just because some of the characters seemed to run together in my mind.

Overall, it's not a bad summer read. Despite some of the kind of depressing themes, I think Gamble is a really talented writer, and I felt quite drawn in by her portrayal of individual characters.

The Dogs of Babel

written by Carolyn Parkhurst

This tale is of a university professor and linguist named Paul Iverson who marries a quirky, artsy woman nine years his junior and who loses her, tragically, under mysterious circumstances. He comes home from work one day to find his wife dead in the back yard, at the base of an apple tree. No witnesses - not even neighbors or passersby - have any clues as to what happened, and only the couple's dog, Lorelei, was present at the time of death. Iverson finds himself on a desperate mission to tap into the dog's knowledge of what happened, and he takes a sabbatical from his job in order to teach Lorelei to communicate. The story follows him through months of reclusive research, encounters with a psychic hotline, and a brush with a criminal and cult-like subculture that performs bizarre and cruel surgeries on dogs to teach them to talk.

It sounds kind of weird, and it is, but overall it's actually not a bad novel. The wife is a heartbreaking but fascinating character who is brilliantly creative and spontaneous, and who apparently suffers from depression and maybe some sort of mood disorder. I wonder if the author had some exposure to someone like Lexy in real life. It is painful to read at times - I guess more so if you have known anyone with depressive tendencies or if you've ever (spoiler warning) lost anyone to suicide.

One piece that I thought was really artfully done was the parallel plot of Lexy's career: she happens to be an artist who specializes in making sculpted masks, and throughout the book, her work is often expressive of some of the tensions and struggles she is battling. Another thing I appreciated about the book is that it does not have a tidy, buttoned-up ending. It is sad and haunting and makes you think. On the down side (and yes, I know I'm no Jane Austen), parts of the novel seemed a little amateurish. The psychic hotline stuff was just hokey. And the characters in the dog-maiming cult were very cliche and not well developed. The biggest thing that bothered me, though, was that you find out in the last 75 pages or so that the husband knew a critical piece of information early on, which wasn't shared with the reader but would've made the reader feel completely different about the entire story. That felt manipulative and to me, and it really cheapened the story to almost a dime-store-level.

Still, the book was a good read-in-the-car book on the way to Maryland; it certainly beats looking out the window at Ohio for two and a half hours.

A Girl Named Zippy

written by Haven Kimmel

Haven Kimmel is a most excellent storyteller. She takes what you might otherwise consider a disjointed jumble of memories about growing up in a podunk Indiana town, and spins them into one of the funniest books I've read in a long time.

I'm not usually that into memoirs, but part of what's so appealing here is that I can relate to some of her childhood experiences. Like Zippy, I grew up in the midwest in the early 1970s, lived in a very small town (still live there, in fact), and was (am) the baby of the family. But even if the genre of thirtysomething midwestern women reflecting on childhood doesn't float your boat, I'm betting you will like this book. It's really funny stuff.

One evening after dinner, I actually read a few pages of this book out loud to my kids and their cousins, because it was just too funny not to share. I won't give away the punchline, but it involved a crazy story about Zippy eating a shocking number of raw carrots (because her mom had - gasp - taken a job outside the home and Zippy was forced to forage for a snack while her mom was at work). The ensuing aftermath was awful and hilarious at the same time.

An interesting wrinkle is that some of the things Zippy writes about are kind of disturbing. For example, she casually observes that there are never family dinner times in her house, that the house is always filthy and has little or no food in it, that her dad sometimes disappears for hours or days with no explanation, and that her mother sits on the couch for days on end, reading science fiction. One can assume from reading this book that Zippy's dad was something of an alcoholic and compulsive gambler, and her mom suffered from bouts of depression, so the homefront was not always blissful — yet all this is presented quite matter-of-factly, even humorously, not in a life-stopping, psychosis-bending, pity-me-because-my-family's-dysfunctional sort of way. I like that, not because I think that family problems should be minimized or swept under the rug, but because all of us (yes, even wholesome midwesterners) can point to a fair bit of dysfunction in our upbringing. But unlike some of the other chick lit out there, Kimmel's memoir doesn't let these darker points define her childhood; they're merely there as part of the fabric.

My friend Lisa, who also read this book, told me that Kimmel has written a follow-on memoir about her mom, called She Got Up Off the Couch - and Other Heroic Acts from Moreland, Indiana. I'll have to check that out.

Starvation Heights

written by Gregg Olsen

Scary book, this.

It's a piece of true crime, set in the early 1900s, about a quacky "fasting doctor" named Linda Burfield Hazzard, who was actually not a doctor at all. She was a charlatan who applied a "fasting treatment" to her patients (many of whom ended up dying of starvation) at her Wilderness Heights "sanitarium" on an out-of-the-way island in the Pacific Northwest. It just so happened that several of her patients were rather wealthy, and what do you know, much of their wealth ended up in the hands of the good doctor (supposedly according to the patients' wishes) prior to their deaths.

It was a case of not only malpractice but also brainwashing, and I found it fascinating.

In the book's spotlight are Claire and Dora Williamson, sisters and young British heiresses who had traveled to Washington state on holiday. Upon reading about Hazzard's fasting treatment, they decided to put themselves under her care for some unnamed malady that they both claimed was sapping the life out of them. The author implies that there was likely nothing major wrong with the two young women; they were just faddists whose interest in alternative healing methodologies led them to the wrong place at the wrong time. Within a month of arriving at what the locals had dubbed Starvation Heights, the two women were emaciated, delusional, and unable to walk or care for themselves. They had withered away to mere shadows after weeks of consuming little more than water and vegetable broth.

Oh and much of their money and jewelry had disappeared in the process.

One of the sisters ended up dying of starvation at the sanitarium. The other sister then began to see that Hazzard's practices were manipulative and unsound. However, too weak and withered to check herself out of the place, she secretly sent a desparate plea to a friend in Australia. This set in motion a long process of being rescued from the sanitarium and participating in a trial in which Hazzard was eventually convicted of medical malpractice.

I don't usually love true crime stuff, but this book reads like a novel and I enjoyed it a lot. I'd recommend it.

How to Breathe Underwater

written by Julie Orringer

This is one of the darkest books I've read in a long time. It appealed to me because it's a collection of nine short stories, all self-contained and unrelated — and since these days I'm hard pressed to read more than a handful of pages a day, I figured it would be kind of nice to be able to actually finish something inside of a week for a change. As it turned out, I ended up taking the book with me to Mexico on vacation, and I think I finished the whole thing in just a day — not because it was a particularly stunning work, but because I had more time than usual to lounge around with a book in my hand.

All of the stories feature young characters in the spotlight, each of them thrust into adulthood (or at least into very complex adult matters) far too soon, either by their own doing or by circumstances beyond their control. The book is sometimes painful to read, I guess because some of the stories stir up difficult memories of my own adolescence. Lots of self-absorption going on in those years, and that's true for many of the characters in Orringer's stories too.

The best of the nine stories, I thought, was The Isabel Fish, because it's the only one that seems to have any form of resolution. Like the other stories, though, it deals with a fair amount of moribidity: the main character is a girl who survives a horrible car accident in which her brother's girlfriend dies. She and her brother, in a clumsy but courageous effort to overcome the scars of that experience, end up learning "how to breathe underwater" by taking scuba lessons, and in the process they deal with some of the anger and blame that has hung between them since the accident. It sounds kind of dorky when I write it out that way (yeah... taking scuba lessons to get over the drowning death of someone close to you...), but really, it's kind of a cool story.

The most disturbing of the nine stories, I thought, had to be the very first one in the book. In Pilgrims, we see a horribly twisted plot involving all kinds of death and dysfunction. It features a sad and desparate family in which the mother is dying, another family in which the mom has already died, bratty elementary-age children who are completely out of control and see no problem with torturing one another ... anyway, the upshot of it is, some of the children actually kill another child and then attempt to cover up the deed. Don't look for any resolution in this story, because there is none. In fact there doesn't even seem to be a real ending — the story just stops, as if the author got up for coffee and forgot to come back.

One thing that made the book somewhat more interesting is that the author is perhaps from (or familiar with) my own stomping ground, as in many of the stories there are references to Royal Oak, Ann Arbor, and Chicago.

Overall, I think this writer has an interesting and engaging style, and certainly the stories are thought-provoking. But I don't know as I'd recommend the book, because I really prefer stuff that's less dark and morose — or at least stuff that comes full circle with a complete, cogent ending.

The Color of Water

written by James McBride

This book caught my eye right away when I saw it at the library because its subtitle is A Black Man's Tribute to His White Mother. Now doesn't that just make you want to know all about this guy's story? It truly is an amazing memoir — the moving story of McBride's own life but also a beautiful portrayal of the tough-as-nails woman who raises 12 incredible children, McBride among them, under the worst of circumstances.

The story alternates between McBride's recollections and his mother's, and it is as much her story as it is his. While providing a rich history of his mom's own upbringing in an abusive home under the rule of a very crooked white Jewish rabbi (she fled her abusive family home in the south and became "a black woman in white skin" by moving to Harlem and marrying a black man), he also explores his lifelong struggle with his own racial identity. Is he Jewish? White? Black? Or the color of water? While tackling these questions, he provides a sometimes-humorous, sometimes-poignant chronology of his own growing-up years, including lots of colorful stories about his siblings and extended family.

It's a cool book that sends the powerful message that true love and dignity can overcome a world of hardship.

The Know-It-All

written by A.J. Jacobs

This was a book that came to me from my boss. She picked up a copy for me and a copy for herself because her daughter had read a bit of it and thought it good. It's a funny, funny book, but man, you need to read it in small doses. Jacobs' style is a bit like Dave Barry's: extremely entertaining, but after a while, extremely exhausting.

Jacobs took a year to read through the entire Encyclopaedia Britannica and somehow managed to turn his experience into 369 pages of light and funny reading. The book includes his reflections on key Brittanica entries and a lot of self-deprecating humor and personal stories about his own life. It also contains an absolutely dizzying amount of trivia gleaned from the pages of the Britannica. Someone with a better memory than I might actually learn some things from this book, but I think the only fact I remember is that gymnasium, when translated literally in Greek, means "school of naked exercise." Who knew?

The book is organized alphabetically, just like the encyclopedia. So you'll find a healthy handful of entries regarding words that begin with A, another bunch for B, and so on. It's easy to read this book in short bits of time because most entries are less than a page long. And short bits of time are perfect, since he does start to get annoying if you read too much at a time. He's a really entertaining writer, but you can only take so much sitcom-esque material at one time.

The New York Times calls Jacobs a "stunt journalist" because he tends to do crazy things and then write funny stuff after the fact. In addition to the Britannica stunt, he also wrote a book called The Year of Living Biblically, in which he documented how he dedicated one year of his life to carrying out the literal interpretation of every command he could find in the Bible.

Overall, this is a fun and easy read.

When the Emperor Was Divine

written by Julie Otsuka

It's been a while since I've blogged a book. Life has a way of getting in the way of my reading! In any case, toward Christmastime I picked up this book from the library for something to read over the holidays, and I'm just now getting around to blogging it.

It's a very cool, short, high-impact novel about a Japanese-American family that was placed in detainment camps for nearly two year during the 1940s. I love this book because it sheds much light on the experience of the children who became detainees. In fact, I think it would be a great book for middle schoolers or high schoolers, just because it gives such a vivid perspective on what it would've been like to be part of this heartbreaking and shameful period in our country's history. Certainly it's too succinct to provide an in-depth study of the internment camps, but it sure does give a snapshot about this often-forgotten group of World War II victims.