A Wolf at the Table: A Harrowing Memoir

Memoirs are interesting creatures; a well-written memoir has the ability to crawl under your skin and stay there, waiting for you to understand the deeper meanings of the life experiences that the author pained to put into words. I have found that the best memoirs, the ones that are honest, raw, and ring true to life, are the ones that grow in your  mind long after you read them, the ones that replay themselves in your head after a phone conversation with your mother or a fight with your father.

I read Augusten Burroughs’ Running with Scissors about six months ago and, while I certainly liked it, I felt as though it were a bit flat, a bit one dimensional for my taste. I loved how honest the text is, how ridiculously funny it is, and the unique style of his writing, but I couldn’t really find anything to relate to. I enjoyed the story as a story, but couldn’t find a shared emotion or experience that was strong enough to act as an anchor, to allow me to latch onto. This may have been because of all of the hype the book received (and the fact that, though I never saw the movie, I couldn’t get the image of Gwenyth Paltrow and her massive amounts of eyeliner out of my head), but for some reason it was no more than an incredibly well-written story to me.

A Wolf at the Table is nothing like Running with Scissors. I will never understand how this book was met with mixed reviews, how everyone I knew hasn’t read it yet, or how it ended up on sale for less than $5 at Barnes and Noble. This is easily the best memoir I have ever read.

In this book, Burroughs brings to life the toxic relationship that he had with his father. A drunk professor plagued with psoriasis and a dark, homicidal, and secretive personality, his father is an ominous figure. Yet somehow, as a child, Burroughs longs to be close to him, to talk with him, to forge the kind of bond that most fathers and sons share. Only after his father kills his pets, threatens his mother, and tries to kill Augusten himself does he realize that his father is not just distant– he’s not quite right. Over the years Burroughs fights the similarities between himself and his father, searching for little differences between them that tell him he will not grow up to be the kind of evil man that his own father had become. Only after his father is dead can he breathe easily and live his life without the fear of turning into the man who terrorized him for so many years.

The title of this book is perfect– the imagery of a wolf ready to eat, ready to devour its prey, is a wonderful reflection of Burroughs’ father. The anticipation of a wolf before it eats its prey perfectly mirrors the anxiety and tension that ruled the house in which Augusten grew up.

The cover design is also perfect– balanced, full of contrast, and simple.

Anyone who has read Burroughs’ work knows that his writing is brilliant– simple, to the point, yet full of surprising detail and well-thought out technique. A Wolf at the Table, though, takes his craft to a whole new level. The most impressive detail about his writing is how he is so perfectly able to capture the voice of a child. Writing as an adult through the eyes of the child has been done a million times over, but many attempts are tainted with the knowledge of the adult. Burroughs is able to perfectly capture the innocence, loyalty, and heartbreaking rollercoaster of emotions that he faced growing up. One of the scenes that best depicts this childlike perspective, and that has stayed with me since reading the book, describes how excited Augusten is for his father to come home at night:

“My father’s home!” I screamed, wild with pent-up anticipation and sugar from the raw cake batter I’d eaten earlier.

And I ran, sliding over the wood floors and knocking against the walls. “My father’s home!”

It was just so thrilling. He was the missing piece, restored. The king in a game of chess.

As soon as he opened the door, I was on him. In the winter, his hands were icy cold and they made me scream with joy as they touched my face– freezing!– pushing me back. I tried to climb him like a tree. Fighting against his arms, those tricky arms, I had to get around them because they always tried to stop me. “Stop, stop, stop,” he’d say, the arms blocking my way to him.

The fact that he saw the arms as an obstacle, not as a sign that his father didn’t want him around, is heart wrenching. The innocence of the love that Augusten feels for his father is apparent, but unfortunately this innocence is lost and, eventually, he wishes his father dead. The fact that his father is so distant from the very beginning, though, attests to the capacity of the heart of a child to see beyond the cruelty of a person to their core. To them. This dimension, this capability to see beyond the events and capture their meaning, is what was missing from Running with Scissors.

Though this book is well-written enough to resonate with anyone who reads it, it will have special meaning for those of us who have experienced less than perfect relationships with one or both of our parents. Commiserating with little Augusten, not simply understanding his experiences, will certainly add even more meaning to the story for readers.

Overall, this is an amazing story and I am looking forward to reading the book Burroughs is currently writing. I highly, highly recommend A Wolf at the Table to everyone who is up for a dark memoir.  However, I will warn readers that this is an intense story– never have a hated a character as much as I hated Augusten’s father.

The Left Hand of Darkness: How Aliens Can Reveal the Core of Humanity

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I picked up this book. As you can tell from a previous post, this was my first foray into sci-fi. As it turns out, this book isn’t about time travel, monsters, inexplicable beings, or even aliens, for that matter, it’s about how human beings interact when they when they are stripped of their pride, social constraints, and fear. I am still in awe of the compassion and love that the characters portray and am astounded that LeGuin was able to make such a big point in such a little book. The bottom line is that this book will change your life, and I highly recommend it to everyone because I believe that everyone should be exposed to the acceptance, trust, loyalty, and love that this book illustrates.

The story follows Genly Ai, an Evoy from the Ekumen, which is an intergalactic coalition of planets that share information, technology, and ideas with one another. Not a government, the Ekumen only offers the chance to join others in sharing their achievements and answering the big questions that arise. Genly is sent to Gethen, or Winter, to invite the nations to join the coalition. Gethen is a planet that is severely cold and houses governments that are as fickle as they are paranoid. Betrayal, assassinations, and political manipulation are nothing short of ordinary despite the slow-paced lifestyle. The inhabitants of this planet, the Gethenians, are short, stout, yet strong androgynous creatures that, to the surprise of Genly, only adopt a gender during their mating cycles– and the gender they adopt can change from month to month. In this highly foreign environment, and not well adapted to the harsh cold of the climate, Genly devotes his life to bringing the peaceful tidings of the Ekumen to countries around the globe.  

Over the course of the novel, Genly is imprisoned, starved, exhausted, and manipulated by the government officials and other individuals that he meets. But at the same time he is protected, trusted, provided for, rescued, and loved in a story that shows the depths of the human heart and illustrates the fact that gender is not a detail of importance, but an unimportant characteristic that shouldn’t stand in the way of two people really learning about and caring for one another (platonically). Although romantic love is mentioned in the book, its theme is based on the bonds of humanity more than the temptations of sex. LeGuin masterfully creates a relationship between Genly and the banished prime minister, Estraven, that is rooted in the ability of two people to learn about one another and love one another for who they really are.

The plot is great. It was a bit hard for me to follow at first, since the names of people, places, and social functions are unfamiliar, but once I got into the rhythm of the story it was fantastic. LeGuin throws readers into the Gethenian culture right away, but eases the shock and confusion by inserting short chapters that contain myths, stories, and details about the culture of these people. Readers learn about Gethenian culture not through a list of characteristics or a chart of the differences between their race and ours, but through stories that illustrate their traditions, beliefs, and way of life. LeGuin is the master of “show, don’t tell” and I, as a reader, truly appreciate her craft.

Without great character development, this book would have failed. Fortunately for us, the main characters are both well developed and highly relatable. Though none of us have been transported to an alien planet and tasked with the responsibility of gaining the trust of the inhabitants, we all have been in unfamiliar or uncomfortable situations. The emotional elements of the story, and the access that readers have to the inner thoughts of its characters, pull readers in while allowing them to experience the events that occur from every perspective. The story is shown from all sides, and readers will walk away with a thorough understanding of why each character acted in the ways that they did. Though I always look forward to the end of a book, because I’m always so eager to get on to the next one (not that I don’t relish them, I just move through books quickly), I was sad when this one ended. Bittersweet, but the ending was perfect and I look forward to reading the rest in the series.

It’s been two days since I finished this book and I still can’t think of anything to write that would do it justice. All I can say is read it– I can’t believe I’ve gone this long without doing so.

I’m Sorry You Feel That Way: A Surpirsing Look into the Life of a Self-Proclaimed “Daughter, Sister, Slut, Wife, Mother, and Friend to Man and Dog”

I have recently indulged in a slight obsession with memoirs. Specifically, women’s memoirs. This blog has taught me a ton, and one of those lessons is that I may just be a feminist after all. Not a crazy one (you know the type), just a reader who enjoys the ability of a writer to craft a great story with strong female characters.

It all started with Chelsea Handler and now I search for stories that reveal the lives of women, their high points and low points, their social faux-pas and their family dramas. I never really paid attention to this genre before, partially due to my literary snobbery (I’m working on it! See!) and obsessive-compulsive need to read all the classics, but after making room for this genre in both my reading schedule and my heart I have run across many a woman who has changed my life, or at least my way of thinking about it. I don’t know why I’m drawn to these memoirs, maybe it’s because I’m at a stage in my own life where I can identify with some of the women who write them. Regardless, I’m eager to see what else the genre has to offer.

I’m Sorry You Feel That Way was very interesting to me because it offered a different tone than the others I have read. Chelsea Handler is all about comedy, so her books don’t have too many underlying truths to them (unless, or course, you count the need to understand how to be the top bitch in jail or how to defend yourself against 14-year old attackers). On the other end of the spectrum is the work of Mira Bartók, whose book The Memory Palace (which I reviewed here) is haunting, poignant, and life-changing in the fact that it will force you to consider your own relationships with family. Then, in the middle of the genre, stand works like Sometimes I Feel Like a Nut by Jill Kargman (also reviewed), which is absolutely hilarious but still rings true to the emotions that abound and often overwhelm people on a day to day basis. Diana Joseph’s I’m Sorry You Feel That Way lies somewhere in the middle of all of these. Funny in some places, more serious in others, Joseph captures her life and its underlying purpose in a way to which others can relate.

The title is perfect for the book, as it has a deeper meaning that readers will discover as they uncover the layers of Joseph’s past. The cover, though, I found to be very misleading. I was expecting a more light-hearted read based upon the cover design and, while I really like it, I don’t think that it reflects the tone of the book very well. This threw me off to the point where I felt I was floundering for the first couple of chapters. I expected something funny, something over the top, and what I got was a story that is honest while maintaining a healthy perspective. Once I realized that the tone of the book was different than expected I was able to really get into it and thoroughly enjoy it, but until then I felt a bit let down. Basically, what I’m trying to say, is that the book is really good as long as you anticipate its genuine tone.

I found Joseph easy to relate to and I thought that the stories she chose to illustrate her life were appropriate and well-crafted. One thing that bothered me, and this one thing is completely stylistic, is that the writing can be highly repetitious in a couple of places. When describing people, Joseph often repeats their name– their full name– in many of the sentences. This disrupted the flow of the story for me, but as I said it’s stylistic, so others may find it perfect.

Overall, I really liked this book. The editing was thorough, the story’s development was easy to follow, and the chapters were perfectly organized. Joseph has done a good job telling her story in a way that is both enjoyable and impactful. At the core of the story is a woman looking for love, which is something that I think every woman can relate to.

North Carolina’s Ocean Fishing Piers, Al Baird’s Debut, Due Out in March 2011

Every blogger has that day where they know they should post, they should keep to the schedule and create something witty, enlightening, and a bit fabulous for their readers, but they just don’t have it in them. Today, well, technically yesterday, is one of those days here at Trees and Ink.

Luckily for you, though, you do not have to go without some bookish news. Al Baird, a client at Grammar Chic, Inc., is about to release his first book, North Carolina’s Ocean Piers: From Kitty Hawk to Sunset Beach. Click here to see my interview with Al over at the Grammar Chic company blog, From the Margins, and to learn more about his great new book!

Hopefully I can get back to the old Monday, Wednesday, Friday posting routine. I know withdrawals can be scary, but you will get through them. I promise. If not, take a look around the Trees and Ink archives and drop me a line, I love hearing what you all have to say :)

Where Angels Fear to Tread: Beauty and the Development of the Soul

 

E.M. Forster’s work is known for its masterful plots, and from a technical standpoint Where Angels Fear to Tread is no exception. After reading A Passage to India I was a bit hesitant to pick up this particular book, as I really didn’t connect well with the cast of Forster’s most famous work. Luckily, I thoroughly enjoyed Where Angels Fear to Tread and highly recommend it.

The story revolves around Lilia Herriton’s decision to spend a year in Italy. The motivation for her trip is questionable, depending upon which character you ask, but it all comes down to the fact that Lilia feels controlled and manipulated by her late husband’s family and her mother-in-law is getting tired of controlling and manipulating her. A family of good social standing in England, the Herritons expect Lilia to act in a certain polished manner that she simply does not find necessary. Once in Italy, to the horror of the Herriton clan, Lilia becomes engaged to a local in the small town of Monteriano. After failing to break up the engagement, and only further alienating Lilia, they get word that she has had a son and died during childbirth, leaving them with the question of what to do with the baby. Leave the unwanted child in Monteriano, at the mercy of his Italian father, or spend the family’s fortune to seek him out and take on the burden of responsibility? The resulting journey, both emotionally and physically for many of the characters, reveals what it really means to love and to appreciate the beautiful things of the world.

First, the cover– I adore it. The artist is Stephanie Bart-Horvath, who has achieved a design that is both interesting and welcoming. I love the colors, and the beauty of it fits well with one of the major themes of the book. The title is also perfect for the story, which illustrates the disparities between English and Italian cultures and reveals that only those who are less than perfect (by traditional English standards) are able to appreciate the beauty of both Italy and its people. Part of this appreciation, though, lies deep within human nature, within the capacity to see immorality and accept it, to see beauty in the more vulgar works of art, and to understand that beneath every action, moral or not, lies something of worth. Human nature, it seems, is where angels fear to tread:

“This admirable change in Philip proceeds from nothing admirable, and may therefore provoke the gibes of the cynical. But angels and other practical people will accept it reverently, and write it down as good.”

And:

“She was silent. This cruel, vicious fellow knew of strange refinements. The horrible truth, that wicked people are capable of love, stood naked before her, and her moral being was abashed. It was her duty to rescue the baby, to save it from contagion, and she still meant to do her duty. But the comfortable sense of virtue left her. She was in the presence of something greater than right or wrong.”

One of the main themes of the book, and one that I actually quite enjoyed, focuses on development and the ability of a person to learn to appreciate everything in this world, even those things that may not be seen as positive at face value. Throughout the entire book characters are changing, are learning, and are adapting to the world around them. During the process, one character in particular learns to not only love, but embrace the world despite its imperfections and questionable morality:

“Philip began to see that there were two Miss Abbotts– the Miss Abbott who could travel alone to Monteriano, and the Miss Abbott who could not enter Gino’s house when she got there. It was an amusing discovery. Which of them would respond to his next move?”

This idea of progression, of development in the attitudes of the characters, mirrors the development of the characters themselves. I found the three main characters, Lilia, Philip, and Miss Abbott, to be extremely interesting. Their reactions to certain events caught me by surprise a number of times, but upon reflection every action makes sense, when considered in light of the characters who execute them. I love that Forster so masterfully develops his characters, as it allows the reader to truly understand the motives of each member of the cast and to connect with them, rather than flounder about wondering why this or that happened.

Much of the development was achieved through artfully crafted dialogue. In fact, the dialogue was my favorite part. I found the book to be funny, despite its dark ending, and laughed out loud at a number of comments made throughout. The balance in mood is just as important as the balance in character development or the balance of the plot itself– all of which are perfect. 

But beyond humor, beyond morality, and beyond the differences that exist between all cultures, there lies a great understanding of the romantic and beautiful qualities of life itself. Forster has created a story that is both captivating and haunting, one that anyone who appreciates a great work of literature should read. True, romanticism is often scorned by pragmatists as superfluous and idealized, but Forster has introduced a dimension to the world in which romanticism can cohabit with more practical considerations, although this will undoubtably cause conflict. The question, then, comes down to this: is it worth the loss of the value of morality to gain an understanding of the deepest, most beautiful facets of life itself? Of the world?

Judging a Book by its Cover

I do it, you do it, we all might as well admit it. It’s nearly impossible not to judge a book by its cover.

When a reader picks up a book the cover is the first thing that he or she sees, so naturally first impressions will be based on the cover and title (even if that first impression later gives way to an opinion based on the content of the writing). In a recent comment a reader mentioned that it would be great to be a cover designer, and I agree completely– of course, I would have to be a talented artist to succeed in that field, meaning that “book designer” will never be added to my resume.

But that did get me thinking: what is it that attracts readers to a cover design? Is it a catchy color scheme? Great graphics? A certain style of art?

I, personally, like a variety of cover styles as long as they look finished. Nothing disappoints me more than a book that has a great story and a great title but a bad cover (Okay, a lack of editing is worse than a bad cover, I will admit. But the cover’s still important!). Over-the-top graphics and bold colors are great, as are muted hues and shadows of images. The key is that the design compliments the book and that the entire volume– cover, title, and content– are cohesive and polished. As long as the design of the book reflects the story itself, and is done in a way that is tasteful and refined, it will most likely be a success.

Just as important as the actual cover design is the font in which the title is written. Anything in Comic Sans or those other “fun” fonts screams of unprofessionalism and only brings to mind third grade handouts and fliers for community car washes. There are ways to create a carefree look without utilizing the cliché and dare I say amateurish fonts. On the other hand, fonts that are too heavy can easily overwhelm the cover design and scare away would-be readers.

As you might have guessed, and as it is with many things in life, a great cover design is all about balance. There should be a balance between the color scheme, the font style and size, and the graphics or patterns that are used. The last thing a reader wants to see is a cover that looks pieced together (unless the book is about a quilt, then it might be acceptable).

Basically, I look for a cover that looks well thought out, professionally executed, unique, and interesting.

Here are some covers I really love:    

       

Sometimes I Feel Like a Nut: Riotous Insight into the Experiences of Womanhood

Sometimes I Feel Like a Nut chronicles the life experiences of Jill Kargman through a series of short stories. Each story builds on the last, but each one also deals with its own theme and could stand alone. These themes are based upon the experiences that Jill Kargman has had, from childhood to motherhood.

First of all, this book is hilarious. And by hilarious I mean hil.ar.i.ous. After reading the blurb on the back I knew I was in for a good time, but I was really blown away by Kargman’s ability to be profane yet inoffensive, funny yet meaningful, and ridiculously inappropriate while talking about things that women go through every day.

Kargman’s writing draws you in so that you feel you can relate to everything she talks about, even if you have not experienced childbirth, the conviction that you are really a gay man, or the desire to become a gun-wielding tattoo-ridden badass. The accessibility of the writting ensures that the emotional aspects of these events are shared, which translates into the reader’s ability to relate through this emotion, even if they cannot relate to the event itself.

The title is perfect, especially after the explanation Kargman gives in the introduction. For those of you who tend to skip intros (I admit, I do it too sometimes) you have to read this one! Both funny and meaningful, the introduction serves to throw you into the insanity that is both Kargman’s writing style and her life. With bold, shockingly honest statements literally comprising the entirety of this small little volume, the writing will have you literally laughing out loud while shaking your head and wondering how Kargman was able to so succinctly sum up some of your own personal thoughts. At other times you may be aghast at Kargman’s attitude about sex, motherhood, and the value of coconuts, but you will simultaneously wonder why you have never thought of such things in the same way (although I do agree with her about the coconuts– I hate everything about them).

The cover of the book is great– it reflects both the traditional and quirky elements of the book well. Kargman’s life is a constant struggle between fitting in with the traditional and being herself, and the cover portrays this wonderfully. Although I adore this book and the writing that it contains, I must warn my more conservative readers that this may not be the book for you. A little graphic in some areas and strewn with profanity, some may find it offensive. I, personally, think Kargman has hit the nail on the head and given a voice to both her own thoughts and to those of women everywhere.

Overall, this is a great read and I highly recommend it to any woman looking for a funny reprieve from her own life. Funnier, in my opinion, than Chelsea Handler (I love you, girl! No disrespect!), Jill Kargman seems like the kind of down to earth and fun girl that I would want to be friends with.    

To check out more about Jill Kargman or to stalk her via social media (really, just follow or like her, no real stalking necessary) visit her website, her Facebook page (a fan page), or find her on Twitter. If you want to check out the book before buying it, read the sample chapter entitled “I Am a Gay Man Inside a Woman’s Body.”

I received a complimentary copy of this book in exchange for my honest review.

The Memory Palace: A Woman’s Journey to Peace with her Mother, with Herself

Mira Bartók’s The Memory Palace is a gripping story that is gorgeously written and captures the beautifully tragic relationship between Mira and her schizophrenic mother, Norma. The story details their journey through life, describing the emotional turmoil that both women experience as they try to retain some semblance of a relationship. Over time, though, Norma’s condition gets out of hand and she refuses treatment. For their safety, Mira and her sister Natalia are forced to sever all ties from her, to change their names and move without forwarding her their new addresses. For seventeen years Norma begs Mira to come back home, to bring her family back together. During these years Norma is living on the streets, in shelters, and in cheap motels. A homeless woman with schizophrenia, Norma constantly writes Mira of her fears, the latest things she has learned, and her strong desire to have her family together again in the old house. Mira’s brain is badly injured in a car accident and she loses many of her memories. Finally, Mira is ready to rekindle her relationship with her mother, but it is too late– Norma is dying. Mira and Natalia go to her deathbed and from there Mira tells the story of her life, of her mother, and of her constant struggle between living for herself and being pulled into the chaos of Norma’s existence.

Bartók’s writing perfectly pinpoints the emotional experiences of her family, resulting in a book that is very intense. The scenes she creates are beautiful and poignant, yet simultaneously tragic. The writing is the book’s best feature– it is serious, hopeful, resentful, and even angry when it needs to be, but it is always aware of something deeper lurking beneath the surface. The feeling is almost tangible, that even when times are good there is a tension behind the happiness that could break at any moment.

One of the best aspects of the writing is that Bartók is able to capture her mother’s death perfectly. Oftentimes authors struggle with this scene, especially in a memoir, and it becomes too trite, too drawn out, or too impersonal. Bartók writes as through it were happening at this moment and the words are true to the emotions of the event. Anyone who has lost a loved one to cancer or any other illness will relate, and I recommend not reading this section in public as it had me sobbing.

The one thing that I did not like about this book is the structure. There are three different story lines happening at the same time: Mira is mentally building her memory palace while she is describing her reconciliation with her mother at her deathbed, from where she is detailing their lives from the beginning. The first book of the novel handles the structure well, as does the last, but the three storylines feel jumbled in the middle. At first I thought this to be a reference to her mother’s disease, as schizophrenics are often confused, but her mother keeps ordered lists, organized catalogues, and alphabetizes everything. She may be mistaken about the time, the year, or the events occurring in the world, but she has everything in order. Had the structure been strong throughout the entire story it would have been easier to read. The story itself is powerful and readers need a strong structure to anchor to.

Overall, The Memory Palace is a breathtaking book that will truly change the way you think about your relationship with your family. Not everyone has suffered through the tragedies that Bartók and her family endured, but the emotional quality of the writing ensures that readers will understand and relate to her story. Bartók writes for the reader and for the story and has created a beautiful and heartbreaking work that I highly recommend to anyone interested in a great piece of literature.

This review is posted as part of a Free Press blog tour. I received a copy of this book for free from the publisher in exchange for my honest opinion of the work.

The Continuation of My Journey Through Time with the Murray Children

I finally finished reading Madeleine L’Engle’s Time Quintet and I must say that I have thoroughly enjoyed most of the books. The second book, A Wind in the Door, was actually pretty boring but the fourth book, Many Waters, held my interest unwaveringly. To make it easy, since my opinion of the series as a whole is pretty consistent, I’m just going to do a mini-review on each book to highlight the differences between them. I will say, though, that the third and fourth books are not chronological, which is something that really threw me off. The books could have easily been released in order, and this is definitely a big negative for me as it completely interrupts the momentum of the series.

 

A Wind in the Door was annoying. Basically, I felt as though I was listening to Meg Murray incessantly complain about having to save her brother’s life. It went like this: “It’s too hard! It’s not fair! I can’t do it! Why should I? I’m only a kid!” Well, kid, you have traveled through the space/time continuum and have medled in the affairs of other worlds and dimensions. Put on your big girl pants and take some responsibility. I understand that Meg is supposed to project the attitude of an average girl her age, but the reality of it is that Meg is not an average girl and that this complaining just gets in the way of the story and on the nerves of the readers.

Despite this glaring issue, A Wind in the Door has one majorly redeeming quality: Descartes. My favorite philosopher, the ideas of Descartes are seen throughout the entire Time Quintet but most especially in this, the second book of the series. My heart literally fluttered when I read the following:

“This was the end of Meg. There was to be no more anything. Ever. Exit Meg. Ex-Meg. X-Meg.

“Then she realized that if she could think this, if she could think at all, then it was not happening. One who is Xed cannot think. The pain still burned like ice, but she could think through it. She still was” (p.182). 

Sound familiar?

“Thus, after everything has been most carefully weighed, it must finally be established that this pronouncement ‘I am, I exist’ is necessarily true every time I utter it or conceive it in my mind”– Meditations on First Philosophy, p. 18.

Thought so. To put it into a familiar cliché, it’s the old “I think therefore I am” idea. Meg exists because she must in order to think. This idea is gorgeously simple and Descartes develops his thoughts in such a beautifully intuitive way that anyone who hasn’t read Meditations on First Philosophy should definitely pick up a copy. It will change your life (see, the sidebar says so).

Meg, over the course of her adventure, again brings forth ideas that echo Descartes. At one point in the story she and her boyfriend, Calvin, end up inside one of her brother’s mitochondira (and this, my friends, is not the most absurd part of the plot). Inside this microscopic organism, Meg and Calvin communicate not by sight or sound, but by a kind of telepathy called kything. Once Meg gets the hang of it, she understands that kything is a mode of communication which allows her to address the essence of Calvin, not his physical manifestation.

“Now she was kything Calvin, not red hair, or freckles, or eager blue eyes, or the glowing smile; nor was she hearing the deep voice with the occasional treble cracking; not any of this, but–

“Calvin” (p. 226).

Descartes has a similar revelation in the sixth meditation, when he realizes that his body and his mind are two distinct entities.

“I have a body that is very closely joined to me, nevertheless, because on the one hand I have a clear and distinct idea of myself, insofar as I am merely a thinking thing and not an extended thing, and because on the other hand I have a distinct idea of a body, insofar as it is merely an extended thing and not a thinking thing, it is certain that I am really distinct from my body, and can exist without it”– Meditations on First Philosophy, p. 51.

And that, folks, is the birth of dualism, the philosophy that the mind and the body are two distinct entities composed of different substances. Heavy subject matter for the targeted age group, maybe, but then again this is what I like about L’Engle’s work; she challenges kids to both open their minds to new ideas and build upon the ones they have already been exposed to.

A Swiftly Tilting Planet was a breath of fresh air after trudging through A Wind in the Door. The important theme in this book is the fact that everyone is connected, from past, present, and future, and that the actions of one person can drastically alter the lives of others. Despite the fact that this is true historically, this book teaches kids (because remember, these are children’s books) the important ideas of personal responsibility and sacrifice. Sometimes people have to do things they don’t necessarily want to do, and this is a difficult idea for many children to grasp. The story is imaginative, well-written, and easy to follow as it takes Charles Wallace, the youngest of the Murray children, through thousands of years to correct a mistake that has the potential to end the world.

 

Many Waters was my favorite of the series– though it may be a tie between this one and A Wrinkle in Time, which I reviewed here. This story focuses on twins Dennys and Sandy, who are the least “talented” of the Murray children (they prefer to describe themselves and the normal members of the family) and, until now, have only been peripheral characters. The shift was difficult at first because their characters had not been developed in the first three books, but once the story got going they proved excellent protagonists. Normally I shy away from religious stories (and, for the record, there is a whole lot of religion in this series. It works, though, because the religious aspects are theme-based rather than sect-based) but this book puts Sandy and Dennys right in the middle of the story of Noah’s Ark. L’Engle definitely used her imagination in this one, though, because she created a story within a story by expanding on the traditional tale and playing up members of the family who are never mentioned in the Bible or other religious records. These fictious characters give dimension to Noah’s family and provide the reader with a human element to really hold onto. The focus is not the Ark, it is the love of a family.

An Acceptable Time jumps forward at least fifteen years from where Many Waters left off and follows the adventure of Meg’s daughter, Polly, back in time. Through a time portal in her grandparents’ backyard, Polly, her friend Zachary, and a close friend of the family, Bishop Colubra, are all sent to a world 3,000 years younger than their own. They interact with natives called the People of the Wind, who have made a couple of appearances in earlier books in the series. These people are suffering through a drought and have been victimized by their neighboring tribe, who has raided their village and stolen their food. Comprised of a mixture of Native Americans and British Druids (who fled England), this tribe is peaceful and turns to the help of Polly, Zachary, and Bishop Colubra to help them make a treaty with the tribe across the lake.

This book, though better than A Wind in the Door, is not as exciting as the rest. Yes, there is time travel, a bit of romance (you know, G rated stuff), and adventure, but it lacks a certain momentum that the others in the series possess. This may be due to a number of scenes that illustrate the family talking, rather than doing. Also, the characterization of the grandparents, who were game for anything when their own children were meddling with the time-space continuum, has been toned down quite a bit. Now skeptical and a bit grumpy, the grandparents do not behave as you would think Nobel Prize-winning scientists would behave. Wouldn’t a physicist be ecstatic at the idea of a time-portal opening in his backyard? You would think so. But Alex Murray just wants to swim in his pool, drink his tea, and eat his cinnamon toast. An Acceptable Time is far from the worst installment in the series, but it paled in comparison to Many Waters. It is also the book that took me the longest to finish as it was a bit more difficult to really get into.

Overall, the Time Series is a great work for kids that also has literary value. I definitely recommend it to both children and adults looking for a fun and enlightening read.

My Obsession

There is something about having my own space, about living in a place that is mine, that I cannot get enough of. My home is my sanctuary, and that is why I like to keep it as clean and as tastefully decorated as possible. Extremely problematic are the facts that a. I hate to clean and b. my tastes change more often than my clothes. Due to these setbacks, my current place is not as chic as I would like, but then again my bank account is not full enough to support my Champaign taste, either. So, for now, I sit in my humble abode and await the day when I can go all out with my furnishing choices. I have no idea what my house will look like, considering my erratic taste it may be done in neutrals to make a statement about texture or it might be exploding with obnoxiously vibrant colors, but I do know that it will be brimming with as many bookshelves as my dear significant other can stomach.   

If I couldn’t sit in my house and read books I would sit outside of my house and read books. My second sanctuary, my books are my most prized possessions and I love to be surrounded by them. For some twisted reason they make me feel safe. In fact, they make me feel so safe that during arguments with my ex-boyfriend I would stop listening to him and pull out a book until he either gave up or left. But my emotional immaturity is not the point here. The point is that when I envision my future home I see bookshelves. Everywhere. For now I am happy in my quaint little duplex. It has character, it has charm, and it makes me extremely happy. But I can’t help but fantasize about one day having a home that is big enough for floor to ceiling bookshelves (and owning enough books to fill them all).

For the enjoyment of anyone who is obsessed with the written word, as I am, I have compiled a great little collection of photos of bookshelves that I adore. I’m not too drawn to modern design and tend to stick to a more traditional aesthetic, but I love a mixture of old and new.  

I definitely want something like this in my house. Love love love the details over the wide doorway.

 

I like the look of this because it is diferent, but the diagonal beams would give me anxiety because they look like they waste a ton of space. Love how massive the shelving is, though, covers the entire wall.

  

I am in love with this living room. I would replace the bottom cabinets with more shelving, though.

 

The blue designs seem a bit too much and the lamps on either side of the bed are way too modern, but the shelves are amazing.

 

I find my taste is normally geared toward lighter designs, but the ceiling beams really make the room when combined with the bookcase.

 

 

Can you imagine if these shelves were properly stocked with books? It’d be my own stairway to heaven. Bravo, Manuel Maia Gomes. Well done.

 

I threw this in here for fun because it is, quite obviously, ridiculous. A for effort, but it looks like a womb.