Billie Letts is one of my favorite writers. Her first three novels-- "Where the Heart Is", "The Honk and Holler Opening Soon", and "Shoot the Moon"-- are peopled with characters straight out of reality, facing situations which (sadly) are straight out of reality. When I read her novels, I make friends. When I finish her novels, I am sad to let go. "Made in the U.S.A." does not disappoint.
I found the novel serendipitously. Every time I'm in Barnes & Noble, browsing, I check for a new one. But this time, i was in Target, looking for a book that wasn't yet out ("Shanghai Girls"), when I saw her name in white from across the aisle. I had to have it, even without reading the synopsis on the back.
"Made in the U.S.A." tells a familiar story, on the surface: teenage girl in the mid-west falls on hard times, and the drama continues to unfold, one grisly chapter at a time, until-- finally!-- something good happens. But what Billie Letts does with plot and character carries the reader from the lowest lows to the highest highs (much rarer, interestingly), with ease and unease simultaneously.
Her language is not confounding. In fact, she writes as people generally speak: colloquially, crafting metaphors her readers can easily understand and using details they have experienced themselves. But the ease of the language belies the unease, the feeling of anxiety in the pit of a reader's stomach. Because Letts' stories are swiftly moving, but the journey is often unsettling. I found myself cringing, shaking my head, trying to stave off disappointment and disgust and reproachment all at once.
But the story continues in the way that life continues: one pitfall after another, one night following one morning following one night. And when the reader gets to the end-- to the series of jubilant verbs on page 354-- she is glad she kept turning the pages.
I love Billie Letts. I think she is the quintessential American writer of the time. For readers of all ages she offers dynamic characters, sage wisdom, and quiet solutions to gregarious problems.
Happy reading.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
The Namesake
"The Namesake" is written by Jhumpa Lahiri, and I think she works literary magic crafting a tale about a single family. The parents were born in India and moved to Massachusetts. Their kids were born in the U.S. and never understood their parents' draw to Calcutta. Mixed in there are several love stories, a few heartbreaking losses, and many, many questions.
For whatever reason, I found myself, at times, empathizing with the main character. The way he views the world-- as a collection of places rich with memories, imbued with the past-- is how I see the world so often. When I go to a place, I remember the people I've been with there, the food I've eaten, the music I heard or things I experienced. Every place has a weight. Some of the weight is too heavy; some of the weight is just right. The movie theaters and classrooms and restaurants where I've shared time with people-- or spent time alone-- every place holds memories that inform my life, that let me know I have, at the very least, been around.
In the end, "The Namesake" left me a little unfulfilled. The last line does not have the power I was hoping it would have. But it does sort of remind me that life goes on-- that this story persists beyond the last page for the characters Lahiri so carefully constructed. And, so, I'm mostly okay with it. It's a story that feels real, a story that has been lived by millions of Indians (and immigrants) since our country was not our country. It is a story without which we do not exist as we are.
It is a story about Self, identity, family, love, place. It is a story about the known and unknown past, the wholly unknown future, and the brevity of the present. Beautifully written and hauntingly moving, "The Namesake" makes me pause, reflect, and, somehow, long for places past, present, and future.
For whatever reason, I found myself, at times, empathizing with the main character. The way he views the world-- as a collection of places rich with memories, imbued with the past-- is how I see the world so often. When I go to a place, I remember the people I've been with there, the food I've eaten, the music I heard or things I experienced. Every place has a weight. Some of the weight is too heavy; some of the weight is just right. The movie theaters and classrooms and restaurants where I've shared time with people-- or spent time alone-- every place holds memories that inform my life, that let me know I have, at the very least, been around.
In the end, "The Namesake" left me a little unfulfilled. The last line does not have the power I was hoping it would have. But it does sort of remind me that life goes on-- that this story persists beyond the last page for the characters Lahiri so carefully constructed. And, so, I'm mostly okay with it. It's a story that feels real, a story that has been lived by millions of Indians (and immigrants) since our country was not our country. It is a story without which we do not exist as we are.
It is a story about Self, identity, family, love, place. It is a story about the known and unknown past, the wholly unknown future, and the brevity of the present. Beautifully written and hauntingly moving, "The Namesake" makes me pause, reflect, and, somehow, long for places past, present, and future.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Empire of the Soul
I just finished "Empire of the Soul" by Paul William Roberts. I am left with an impression of India that lingers at the end of every personal narrative I've read about the nation: it is teaming with life. It is gleaming, and steaming, and screaming with life. But, in the midst of this apparent chaos (wrought, perhaps, by Siva himself), two simple notions persist: love and truth.
Always in these accounts of India, the author is able to pinpoint his truth. Always in these accounts of India, the author is able to pronounce deep love-- a love of the people, a love for the people. I am always left feeling like the author at the beginning of his tale: someone seeking something she can not yet define but with an inclination that it must lie in India.
"Empire of the Soul", unlike "Shantaram", is a work of complete nonfiction. Paul William Roberts visited India several times, in both the 1970s and the 1990s. He writes at times as a philosopher, as an historian, and as an outsider seeking that which lies within. He provides accounts from all over India: from Bombay to Tiruvannamalai, from Goa to Calcutta. He introduces the reader to the people he met, to the places he explored, to the obstacles he faced and usually overcame. He questions his own motives and those of the people around him, particularly Westerners apparently on their own quests. He visits holy men in his near-constant plight to understand religion for himself.
Over the course of the travelogue, the reader becomes accustomed to India. She climbs onto a camel, sees the sadhu standing on one leg for thirty years, speaks with Mother Theresa. Roberts gives his reader an almost scientific explanation of his experiences, but his lucid writing never confounds.
For those interested in India (and who crave a history lesson without a weighty textbook), Paul William Roberts has crafted a fantastic read.
Quotes from "Empire of the Soul":
The city had moved on, but the temple remained. In India, the past refuses to die, undisturbed by new realities... indifferent to God and man. (221)
Mighty opposites rule this world. In this clash of opposites, Calcutta is the most truthful city on earth, exposing all the wounds, the scars, the festering sores, the realities we in the West hide away as if they did not exist. (244)
I had never really doubted the wisdom I'd come to find and had found here I had no questions about the big issues. Even death no longer really scared me... I looked hard for what exactly did scare me. And I found it: I scared myself. Why had the wisdom my mind had absorbed so long before not moved into my heart, my body, my life? Reading a memo does not stop you starving. (326)
The reason so many wise and wonderful men and women have never ceased speaking Truth into deaf ears, I thought that dawn, is that Truth exists to bear the burden, carry the fright. It's not our problem. (350)
Always in these accounts of India, the author is able to pinpoint his truth. Always in these accounts of India, the author is able to pronounce deep love-- a love of the people, a love for the people. I am always left feeling like the author at the beginning of his tale: someone seeking something she can not yet define but with an inclination that it must lie in India.
"Empire of the Soul", unlike "Shantaram", is a work of complete nonfiction. Paul William Roberts visited India several times, in both the 1970s and the 1990s. He writes at times as a philosopher, as an historian, and as an outsider seeking that which lies within. He provides accounts from all over India: from Bombay to Tiruvannamalai, from Goa to Calcutta. He introduces the reader to the people he met, to the places he explored, to the obstacles he faced and usually overcame. He questions his own motives and those of the people around him, particularly Westerners apparently on their own quests. He visits holy men in his near-constant plight to understand religion for himself.
Over the course of the travelogue, the reader becomes accustomed to India. She climbs onto a camel, sees the sadhu standing on one leg for thirty years, speaks with Mother Theresa. Roberts gives his reader an almost scientific explanation of his experiences, but his lucid writing never confounds.
For those interested in India (and who crave a history lesson without a weighty textbook), Paul William Roberts has crafted a fantastic read.
Quotes from "Empire of the Soul":
The city had moved on, but the temple remained. In India, the past refuses to die, undisturbed by new realities... indifferent to God and man. (221)
Mighty opposites rule this world. In this clash of opposites, Calcutta is the most truthful city on earth, exposing all the wounds, the scars, the festering sores, the realities we in the West hide away as if they did not exist. (244)
I had never really doubted the wisdom I'd come to find and had found here I had no questions about the big issues. Even death no longer really scared me... I looked hard for what exactly did scare me. And I found it: I scared myself. Why had the wisdom my mind had absorbed so long before not moved into my heart, my body, my life? Reading a memo does not stop you starving. (326)
The reason so many wise and wonderful men and women have never ceased speaking Truth into deaf ears, I thought that dawn, is that Truth exists to bear the burden, carry the fright. It's not our problem. (350)
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Life of Pi
I read "Life of Pi" this week, finally completing a book I've been told a million times that I must read.
It is an interesting book, its tone irreverent and conversational. My favorite moments were ones of humor. When Pi Patel changes his mind about Richard Parker getting onto the life boat, I laughed out loud. I also liked the vivid imagery and the philosophy Pi develops regarding animal behavior (including his own). The structure of the novel-- namely that it is a story within a story-- is not often seen, and it is done exceptionally well by Yann Martel.
I had been told the end of the book was a surprise, was, in fact, a reason to read the book. Perhaps because my expectations were so high, I was a bit let down. There was something to Pi's story that was fantastic, and I did not want that tainted by the real world. Maybe part of me wanted him to remain on the boat with R.P. Or for there to be some intricately tied ending (after all, Pi reveres endings). But the end did not satisfy me. Still, I am glad I read it, and it was an enjoyable read.
I am starting "Empire of the Soul" by Paul William Roberts-- another book about India. This is a travelogue, essentially, and it comes very highly recommended by an Indian friend, so my expectations are high. I'll keep you posted.
Happy reading!
It is an interesting book, its tone irreverent and conversational. My favorite moments were ones of humor. When Pi Patel changes his mind about Richard Parker getting onto the life boat, I laughed out loud. I also liked the vivid imagery and the philosophy Pi develops regarding animal behavior (including his own). The structure of the novel-- namely that it is a story within a story-- is not often seen, and it is done exceptionally well by Yann Martel.
I had been told the end of the book was a surprise, was, in fact, a reason to read the book. Perhaps because my expectations were so high, I was a bit let down. There was something to Pi's story that was fantastic, and I did not want that tainted by the real world. Maybe part of me wanted him to remain on the boat with R.P. Or for there to be some intricately tied ending (after all, Pi reveres endings). But the end did not satisfy me. Still, I am glad I read it, and it was an enjoyable read.
I am starting "Empire of the Soul" by Paul William Roberts-- another book about India. This is a travelogue, essentially, and it comes very highly recommended by an Indian friend, so my expectations are high. I'll keep you posted.
Happy reading!
Sunday, March 15, 2009
The Last Lecture
In addition to finishing "A Thousand Splendid Suns," I also started and finished "The Last Lecture" by Randy Pausch. For those of you who have not heard Randy's story, he was a wildly successful computer science professor at Carnegie Mellon University, and, at age forty-six (I believe), he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and given 3-6 months to live. "The Last Lecture" refers to his last lecture at CMU, given shortly after his diagnosis. The book ties in with the lecture itself, providing a little more background information and giving the lecture (which you can watch at thelastlecture.com) a narrative format.
Randy Pausch chose to live even as he died. He got his affairs in order, as they say, but he also made the most of every moment he had. He recorded his love for his children in words and in video of himself playing with them. He cemented his beautiful marriage. He made visible his philosophies on life, many of which occurred to him on the precipice of his death. At the heart of his philosophies is the importance of striving for and achieving childhood dreams. Perhaps more importantly, he describes the existential power in each of us to live full and realized lives.
I first found Randy Pausch this summer when a friend sent me a link to youtube videos of the actual "Last Lecture." The book is a lovely companion and a great reminder that it is never too late to dream big and to make those dreams reality.
Randy Pausch chose to live even as he died. He got his affairs in order, as they say, but he also made the most of every moment he had. He recorded his love for his children in words and in video of himself playing with them. He cemented his beautiful marriage. He made visible his philosophies on life, many of which occurred to him on the precipice of his death. At the heart of his philosophies is the importance of striving for and achieving childhood dreams. Perhaps more importantly, he describes the existential power in each of us to live full and realized lives.
I first found Randy Pausch this summer when a friend sent me a link to youtube videos of the actual "Last Lecture." The book is a lovely companion and a great reminder that it is never too late to dream big and to make those dreams reality.
A Thousand Splendid Suns
I was apprehensive when I began "A Thousand Splendid Suns." Sure, I hefted praise on the reviews of the book so that my Read For Yourself students would read it without complaint, but I had my own reservations. I read part of "The Kite Runner" this summer, back when I was preparing to teach in Florida. I didn't enjoy the book, and, in fact, I never finished it. Besides that experience, I had just finished "Shantaram", part of which is set in Afghanistan, and I harbored some distaste for the war depicted by the author.
But "A Thousand Splendid Suns" began compellingly and progressed quickly. The female characters are characters in conflict, battling lives that seem or are preordained by man or God. The story has a decidedly morose emotional tone with moments of calm or congeniality-- moments of happiness, as Mariam describes them as she takes her final walk. It is a story fraught with brutal violence against women and, indeed, against humanity. It is raw and strangely picturesque, in so much that the reader can vividly imagine the destruction described by Hosseini. In fact, the destruction was real and may be again; Afghanistan, like its Middle Eastern neighbors, is a country still in turmoil, religious and cultural wars persistently waged beneath (and above) the surface.
I am left longing for peace, as I close the book, its soft cover bearing lovely words about the story contained within. I am left hoping that hope and peace can reign; that violence and hatred can be obliterated; that men, women, and children can embrace the country of Afghanistan with its rich and troubled history. I am left wishing for a permanent solution so that these characters-- their real incarnations and variations thereof-- can have more moments of happiness and love.
Bagels & Books is April 7 at 7am in the LFHS library. Read this fabulous book, and join us for lively conversation.
Happy reading!
But "A Thousand Splendid Suns" began compellingly and progressed quickly. The female characters are characters in conflict, battling lives that seem or are preordained by man or God. The story has a decidedly morose emotional tone with moments of calm or congeniality-- moments of happiness, as Mariam describes them as she takes her final walk. It is a story fraught with brutal violence against women and, indeed, against humanity. It is raw and strangely picturesque, in so much that the reader can vividly imagine the destruction described by Hosseini. In fact, the destruction was real and may be again; Afghanistan, like its Middle Eastern neighbors, is a country still in turmoil, religious and cultural wars persistently waged beneath (and above) the surface.
I am left longing for peace, as I close the book, its soft cover bearing lovely words about the story contained within. I am left hoping that hope and peace can reign; that violence and hatred can be obliterated; that men, women, and children can embrace the country of Afghanistan with its rich and troubled history. I am left wishing for a permanent solution so that these characters-- their real incarnations and variations thereof-- can have more moments of happiness and love.
Bagels & Books is April 7 at 7am in the LFHS library. Read this fabulous book, and join us for lively conversation.
Happy reading!
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Shantaram- the end.
I just finished SHANTARAM. For those of you who've seen any of my status messages on Facebook, you know this is a long time coming. It took me over a month to finish this book, reading at regular intervals, and while I freely admit that I'm a terribly slow reader, that trait really only applies when the story is compelling enough for me to stop, fold down the corner of a page, and write or think for a while before moving on. SHANTARAM did that for me.
I'm left feeling a few things. Firstly, I am devastated at the death of one of the story's central, uplifting characters. His death was important, I guess, but it was not necessary, and I feel a bit betrayed by Gregory David Roberts for taking this man's life too soon.
Secondly, I feel a bit conflicted, and it's because at the heart of this complex story is a long list of dichotomies. Love and Hate are central, as are Guilt and Freedom. Peace and War find their places among the pages, and Truth and Shadow do too. Beauty is contrasted with Squalor and Ugliness and Impurity and, again, Hate. And a sense of God mingles with constant Godlessness. It's truly one existential and philosophic hurdle after another, and the journey upon which the narrator-- known primarily as Linbaba-- embarks is fraught with his pain. He lost his life, his family, his soul, his sense of self and his sense of right. He is a criminal with kindness and love for people. He moves from one emotion to the next, riding this internal roller coaster which manifests itself, at times, in the physical realm, allowing him to do things most people can not imagine, much less plan and implement.
In the end, he has Truth and Freedom and Friendship. In the end, he goes back to the slum that served as his home for much of the book, and he drinks chai with his Indian friends, and jokes and laughs and talks with them in Hindi and Marathi and English. In the end, he returns to the one home he has left. There, in the slum, holding the child of his dead friend, surrounded by the destitute but HOPEFUL, he finds Beauty.
When I am less foggy and more astute, I'll pepper this post with quotes, my attempt to capture some of the Beauty and Truth that touched me. For now, I'll leave you with this one:
"Looking at the people, listening to the breathing, heaving, laughing, struggling music of the slum, all around me, I remembered one of Khaderbhai's favourite phrases. Every human heartbeat, he'd said many times, is a universe of possibilities. And it seemed to me that I finally understood exactly what he'd meant. He'd been trying to tell me that every human will has the power to transform its fate." (932)
I'm left feeling a few things. Firstly, I am devastated at the death of one of the story's central, uplifting characters. His death was important, I guess, but it was not necessary, and I feel a bit betrayed by Gregory David Roberts for taking this man's life too soon.
Secondly, I feel a bit conflicted, and it's because at the heart of this complex story is a long list of dichotomies. Love and Hate are central, as are Guilt and Freedom. Peace and War find their places among the pages, and Truth and Shadow do too. Beauty is contrasted with Squalor and Ugliness and Impurity and, again, Hate. And a sense of God mingles with constant Godlessness. It's truly one existential and philosophic hurdle after another, and the journey upon which the narrator-- known primarily as Linbaba-- embarks is fraught with his pain. He lost his life, his family, his soul, his sense of self and his sense of right. He is a criminal with kindness and love for people. He moves from one emotion to the next, riding this internal roller coaster which manifests itself, at times, in the physical realm, allowing him to do things most people can not imagine, much less plan and implement.
In the end, he has Truth and Freedom and Friendship. In the end, he goes back to the slum that served as his home for much of the book, and he drinks chai with his Indian friends, and jokes and laughs and talks with them in Hindi and Marathi and English. In the end, he returns to the one home he has left. There, in the slum, holding the child of his dead friend, surrounded by the destitute but HOPEFUL, he finds Beauty.
When I am less foggy and more astute, I'll pepper this post with quotes, my attempt to capture some of the Beauty and Truth that touched me. For now, I'll leave you with this one:
"Looking at the people, listening to the breathing, heaving, laughing, struggling music of the slum, all around me, I remembered one of Khaderbhai's favourite phrases. Every human heartbeat, he'd said many times, is a universe of possibilities. And it seemed to me that I finally understood exactly what he'd meant. He'd been trying to tell me that every human will has the power to transform its fate." (932)
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