Category Archives: Books

Of Summer

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Lately, I’ve been reading Game of Thrones, the first book in the Song of Fire and Ice series by George R.R. Martin. In the land that it is set in, summers and winters last for years. It would be beyond strange to have a summer last nine or ten years, especially since I live in Colorado, a state with definite seasons. Summer would mean something absolutely different than it does now.

Because to me, summers mean:

1. No school

2. Traveling and visiting family across the country

3. Eating Otter Pops while reading a book in the sun

4. Iced tea

5. Hiking

6. Camping

7. Going swimming outdoors

8. Kicking off my blankets at night because I’m too hot.

9. Family barbeques/picnics

10. Sleeping in.

Of course, now that I’m an adult and I have a job, summers do not quite mean all those things. I haven’t been camping in a while, I can rarely sleep in, and I can only go on one short vacation. But it is still summer. I’ve been hiking and I’ve been reading (and writing) in the sun while drinking iced tea and/or enjoying a popsicle.  And I’ve been reveling in not having to go to school (about a month and half more!).

What would summer be like if it lasted for a few years instead of a few months. It could be beautiful, I’m sure (as long as it rained). It could be amazing, but winter would be a bigger threat as summer would become almost normal. Harsh winters can be bad enough for livestock, mental health, and general livelihood.  Imagine if a winter, no matter if was harsh or not, lasted for nine years. No wonder why the Stark motto is “winter is coming.” They love the summer, but they know full well that winter is going to come again and it will seem like summer never existed.

As for me, summer is only a few months long and the rest of the seasons are tinged with varying amounts of cold and that’s the way I like it. Summer may seem fleeting, but it is constant. Winter may seem long, especially when I have to regularly drive in snowy conditions, but I know for certain that summer will be coming soon.

Recently Read/Watched

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When I was in early high school, I watched a BBC miniseries called “North and South” (made in 2004). Back then, I did not completely understand what was going on.

Just a couple weeks ago, I saw it on Netflix and loved it. I realized that the reason behind why I did not grasp all the events going on is that they dealt with politics and different societal expectations in a country not my own. But since I’ve learned more about England’s history in my literature classes, I comprehended everything. Instead of being confused, I could enjoy and analyze (after all, I am an English major) the story.

To this American, the title “North and South” immediately evokes thoughts of the Civil War. The title, however, refers to the north and south of England. The protagonist, Margaret Hale, has lived in the south for her whole life (it does not give her age) and is forced to move to Milton, an industrial town in the north after her father, a pastor, removes himself from the Church of England. Throughout the story, she and her family gets involved in the lives of the cotton mill workers, Mr. Thornton, who is Marlborough Mill’s manager, and Mr. Thornton’s family.

After watching the miniseries, I learned that it is based off the novel of the same name by Elizabeth Gaskell and immediately checked it out from the library.

From the miniseries, I expected the novel to read like one of Charles Dickens (who, incidentally, published Gaskell’s works in his newspaper), but the style of writing seems a bit like Jane Austen. The subjects broached in the novel more similar to Dickens than Austen in the sense that Gaskell paid attention to the entire human experience instead of one aspect of life. For example, Gaskell writes about worker’s unions as well as Margaret and Thornton’s attraction to each other.

One thing that I noticed in both the miniseries and the book is that when Margaret is in Helstone, her home in the south, everything is idyllic. On my computer screen, the scenery at Helstone was lush and green and always tinged with a delightful yellow. On the pages, the flora and fauna are given wonderful descriptions. In both the original and adapted versions of the story, Milton is gray and unwelcoming. This is a perfect example of one movement (Romanticism) transitioning into another (Realism). I love Realism and I don’t particularly like Romanticism, so I absolutely loved when the novel became more realistic.

Enough of heavy English major talk!

I actually liked the miniseries infinitesimally more than the book. Strangely enough, it added more depth to each character than the author was able to. But for the most part, the miniseries and the novel were similar plot-wise (although the miniseries added scenes and information that wasn’t provided by the book).

I only have one complaint: I didn’t like the ending of either one. Without giving away what happens, the miniseries ending was not realistic for the Victorian era and the book ending was rather abrupt.

Despite that one misgiving, I definitely recommend both versions of “North and South.” While I may not like Elizabeth Gaskell’s writing as much as Charles Dicken’s, I do appreciate that the product of her pen and mind reveals more of what its like to be human.

Currently Reading

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One of the books that I am reading for an American Lit class is White Noise by Don Delillo. Set in the 1980s, the novel explores the life of Jack, a professor who invented the field of “Hitler Studies” at his college, and his nontraditional family around the event of a chemical explosion.

Before we read it, my professor told us that it is okay for us to find some of the events and dialogue funny. And some parts of it is funny. Not necessarily laugh-out-loud funny, but they deserve a couple chuckles.

For instance, this scene with two of Jack’s daughters:

In bed two nights later  I heard voices, put on my robe and went down the hall to see what was going on. Denise stood outside the bathroom door.

“Steffie’s taking one of her baths.”

“It’s late,” I said.

“She’s just sitting in all that dirty water.”

“It’s my dirt,” Steffie said from the other side of the door.

“It’s still dirt.”

“Well it’s my dirt and I don’t care.”

“Dirt is dirt.”

“Not when it’s mine.”

This scene is mostly funny because it is relatable. You can easily see siblings having a similar conversation.

The novel is very aptly named. Throughout the novel, Jack mentions bits and pieces of noise from the television, which no one really seems to pay attention too. Events, such as the smoke alarm going off and people going missing, are talked about but stay part of the background.The conversations are often like the one on either side of the bathroom door. Background conversations, ones that don’t really matter. One could argue that all the conversations (at least the ones I’ve seen so far) classify as such. I personally think that Jack’s family is all part of the white noise and that he and his thoughts on death are all that he really pays attention to.

One view of white noise, background noise, the noise that we don’t quite pay attention to, is that it is different for everyone. Some people have to have music or the TV on all the time and some people actually listen, so they can’t have it on while they work on their business. Another view is that everything, even your thoughts, are white noise.

If the second is true, if everything and everyone is white noise, then do we matter?

I’m hoping that the second half of the book will give me a semblance of an answer.

 

 

 

Music is Magic

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“Ah, music: a magic beyond all we do here!” -Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone

On my first day of band in 6th grade, my teacher wrote the above quote on the board and told us that the first person to guess where it was from and who said it would get a prize. I knew the answer, but I wasn’t the first to shout it out, so the prize (a metronome) went to a saxophone player.

Music is certainly magic. Sometimes it inspires you. Sometimes it keeps you awake on long drives. Sometimes it helps you fall asleep. And sometimes it tells you the truth you need to hear.

A few of the songs that have fulfilled the last quality:

Life is Beautiful by Vega4

When You Come Back Down by Nickel Creek

Save by The Rocket Summer

Brave by Josh Groban

Your Hands by JJ Heller

For Good from “Wicked”

Free to be Me by Francesca Battistelli

Word of God Speak by Mercyme

Hold Me Jesus by Rich Mullins

But music can be a distraction. It can cloud what you need to see about yourself and/or certain situations. Silence can be overwhelming, but sometimes it shows you who you really are.

I was taking a short hike this morning in a local park and I passed two girls who were playing music on their phones that was loud enough for everybody else to hear. I get the need to have music as a constant presence because I tend to surround myself with it, but I believe hiking or enjoying the outdoors should include only those of nature.

Those who believe that immersing themselves in nature means only encountering silence haven’t really listened. There are a plethora of sounds to be heard: birdsong, the wind, leaves rustling, grass, or perhaps tall flowers, whispering, water trickling. Even the noise of your feet hitting the ground or making a rock skip can be music.

So… something to pay attention to the next time you go out of your door, take a walk, or a bike ride: the noise… or rather, the music. Because music isn’t only created by cords, notes, or voices. Because music is powerful magic.

Currently Reading

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The book that I am in the midst of is J.K. Rowling’s The Casual Vacancy. I have wanted to read this book since it came out, but only just recently made the decision to get it.

The novel is about the aftermath of the death of Barry Fairbrother, a council member, in the town of Pagford. Although the town seems idyllic, it soon becomes clear that a war is brewing between its members.

It is difficult to not view J.K. Rowling’s writings like you would the Harry Potter series. But just because they are written by the same author, doesn’t mean that they will be similar.

Indeed, they are extremely different. While I can still hear the voice of Rowling that I know and love, it is adult. It uses vulgar language that belongs to the adult world. And there are less metaphors in this book as in Harry Potter because the issues are more overt. For example, werewolves in the Potterverse have been labeled by the author as metaphors for sexually transmitted diseases, especially AIDS. In Casual Vacancy, there are no metaphors for abuse. It is not taken lightly; it is quite explicit.

One of the aspects of the novel that I particularly like is how she sections off the novel. She does not use chapters in the normal sense. Instead, they are separated into the days of the week. The first day is Sunday, during which the actual death is described and then on Monday, everyone’s reactions are recorded. While the sudden introduction of the characters in just a few pages makes it a little confusing (it isn’t as confusing as the characters in As I Lay Dying, I have to admit), it emphasizes the fact that everyone experiences moments, days differently. Going a little off-topic: that is one of the major reasons why I am fascinated with creative nonfiction. When I write a piece based off of memory, I remember certain details that other people may not or I remember them in a different way.

One thing that I have always admired about J.K. Rowling’s writing is that she makes her characters so incredibly human. Some of her characters are not likeable in the slightest and some only have a few redeeming qualities and the same time others are good people that make mistakes every once in a while. A good writer can write about likeable and mostly good people, but a mark of a great writer is being able to write unlikeable characters.

Speaking of great writers… Looking back at all her books, I can definitely see how far she has come. In Sorcerer’s/Philosopher’s Stone, she definitely had talent and wit, but grew immensely by the time she wrote Deathly Hallows. Some have worried that she would loose her writing prowess after Harry Potter, but she hasn’t. If anything, she has gotten better.

It truly is inspiring to know that such a great writer and woman has overcome her struggles and has increasingly improved and honed her skills. It gives hope to me, an emerging writer, that I too can improve and be successful.

Currently reading/openings

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This weekend, I opened up one of my used books for American Lit to start reading it. The person who owned or rented it before me had written all over it. I usually find marks in books annoying, especially since I can’t stand writing in them myself. But her notes are amusing and sometimes even spot on. The remark that first caught my attention was on the page opposite the first page of prose. It says,” Why does he open with this?”

In all of my high school English classes (not so much my college ones), the teacher often started with a variant of this question when beginning a novel or short story. With The Raisin in the Sun, we discussed why Lorraine Hansberry took the title from Langston Hughe’s poem, “Harlem.” And with Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men, we talked about the nature filled opening. It is a common question for an English major to ask to themselves or out loud. But I think it is also a common question for humans to ask.

Sometimes it comes in different forms. “Why do we do this?” “Why do we do that?” Why when we greet each other do we say “Hello” or “Good morning/afternoon/evening?” Why do we not say “Eat well today!” or “Sleep well tonight!” Well, the answer is: because our normal greetings make sense and are expected.

But let’s return to the original question: “Why does (do) he (we) open with this?” We do not have a choice about how we start in this world, but we do have many other choices after that. That is one thing that I have learned: we have choices that we make every day, whether it be the clothes that we wear or the food we eat. Our beginning does matter, but our middle matters more. The end is simply a denouement, a resolution.

In case you are wondering, the book that I found this thought provoking remark in is Cane by Jean Toomer. Published in 1923, it is a collection of short stories, poems, and drama, all on the subject of black life in the South. It is not autobiographical, but quite a bit of it is informed by Toomer’s biracial identity and his brief stay in Georgia.

I will not say much about the book, except that it is not the easiest book to read and it is quite brilliant. One thing that I would recommend if you wanted to read it would be to research the Harlem Renaissance and Jean Toomer. It is not necessary, but I think it is nice to know the background of literature that is so tied to history.

Currently Reading

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Happy New Year!

As we greet a new year, I look at a book that reflects on the past.

This book is Between Shades of Gray by Ruta Sepetys. It should not be confused with Fifty Shades of Grey by E.L. James.

Sepetys’ beautiful novel features Lina Vilkas, a fifteen year girl from Lithuania who is deported with her mother and younger brother to Siberia under Stalin’s regime. Lina is an artist and secretly draws portraits of everyone around her and writes descriptions of everything that happens. She hopes that these pictures will somehow reach her father who was separated from his family.

On the back of my copy of the book is a review by Susan Campbell Bartoletti, the Newberry Honor-winning author of Hitler Youth. She writes that she feels grateful “for a writer… who bravely tells the hard story of what happens to the innocent when world leaders and their minions choose hate and oppression.”

Bartoletti’s review is incredibly apt as when the year “1941” is spoken or read, people think of the Holocaust and Hitler. Typically, they do not think of Stalin. And if they do think of him, he is somehow separated from Hitler in their minds. I get this because I do it too. And there aren’t many, if any, survival stories. Unlike the Holocaust. It is quite clear in the book, however, that these two events are happening at the same time because every once in a while, someone will mention news about the ghettos, the concentration camps, or the progress of the war.

Even though this book is a work of fiction, I believe that it is quite good at capturing the despair, the chaos, and the dehumanizing nature of the situation. This is possible because fiction, I believe, always holds a glimmer, or perhaps a whole sun, of truth. It also captures the random and uplifting moments of humor and joy that always seem to pervade throughout dark times.

The style of Septys’ writing is simple and clear. It does not make the horrific events, like shooting a young mother because she was grieving over her dead newborn, more or less dramatic. They just simply happen. Like most novels, it has chapters. They are shorter than your average chapters and sometimes break up the narrative. This clearly has not disrupted me because I have had a hard time putting it down, even when it is midnight and I know I have work in just a few hours.

While reading it, a quote from another book, The Book Thief by Markus Zusak, popped into my head: “I am haunted by humans.”  I, a human, find myself thinking I am haunted by humans because of the events portrayed in  Between Fifty Shades of Gray. I am haunted by their ability to do evil. I am haunted by their ability to be good and kind amongst all odds like Lina’s mother is. But mostly I am haunted by their ability to love and survive when hopelessness abounds.

The Taste of Reading

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Sorry for the delay in posting. The last two weeks have been more than hectic with the end of the semester. My last thing isn’t due until tomorrow, but I saw a news report about the Taliban attack on a school and I decided publish something more uplifting. Something that is proof that the world is not just full of darkness.

My sister and I walk to the library. It is a nice day with a blue sky and sunshine.
At one point, we cross a driveway. We think the car is going to stop for us, but it jerks forward at the same time that we start walking. “Always try to make eye contact,” my sister tells me as she grabs my arm.
She heads right for the reserved shelf. I want to peruse the young adults section, but I already have a few books from the last time we were here in my room. She finds the bright green paper that proclaims our last name in black permanent marker and pulls the book that we had chosen together off the shelf. It’s Pride and Prejudice.
It starts to rain while we are checking out using the new “do it yourself” system. We walk quickly out of the library and down the hill. My sister tucks the book under her coat to keep it safe. No cars bother us.
We are both cold and fairly wet when we duck into a restaurant. We are eating later, so we just order two hot chocolates and sit in the slightly comfortable chairs in the corner next to the fireplace, which is thankfully turned on.
My sister suggests starting the book and I lean over as she reads the famous first sentence: “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.”
Always mindful of the time, I allow her to finish the first two chapters before I say that we should be going; we have a movie to catch.
It is yet again sunny and bright outside as we walk over the highway to the dine-in movie theater that is a few blocks away from my house.
One half of the theater is dimmed and the other still has its lights on full power. My sister and I sit in the lighted side and order one Mushroom and Swiss Burger each. While we wait for the food to come and the movie to start, she pulls out Jane’s Austen’s work. She gets through half a chapter before the lights start to dim.
“I guess they don’t want me reading out loud,” she says as she closes the book

Pride and Prejudice wasn’t the first or the last book we read together. First, we read The Hobbit. Some of the reading took place on the hammock in our backyard. One chapter was read in the dark with a flashlight. And in middle school, she would pick me up after school and we would walk home where sardines and crackers would wait with our latest book. We read A Great and Terrible Beauty and Timothy Zahn’s Dragonback series.

While my sister was reading, I would sink into her voice and all thought would be suspended temporarily as I crawled into the minds of the characters. And throughout all these experiences, I would be happy. Because you see, books are love.

25 Reasons to Love Life

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This entry is  based on Kim Dana Kupperman’s “71 Fragments for a Chronology of Possibility” and her writing exercise in Blurring Boundaries: Explorations to the Fringes of Nonfiction (edited by B.J. Hollars).

25 Reasons to Love Life
“Wherever she was, she was at the center of the world. That one lives at the center of the world is the world’s profoundest thought.” Wendell Berry, Whitefoot

1. At the center of my world is purple. Purple for passion, passion for survival.

2. At the center of my world is my heart, its beats going unnoticed most of the time. It pumps, provides, pushes blood through me and guides my every step.

3. At the center of my world are the dreams I dream about the future someone who will be my other purple.

4. At the center of my world, a mountain stands.

5. As I write this, I understand the center of my world.

6. As I write this, I know that the center of my world is solitary, but not alone.

7. As I write this, I realize that the center of my world is circling and always, always, always changing.

8. As I write this, I am certain that I center my world on writing.

9. I need to be strong for the center of my world.

10. The center of my world is silence and taking time off for myself.

11. The center of my world is love and loving myself.

12. The center of my world is chaotic.

13. The center of my world is difficult and arduous, like rapids in a swollen river.

14. The trees in the center:
a. Aspen
b. Blue Spruce
c. Oak

15. The colors:
a. Mauve
b. Forest Green
c. Royal Blue
d. Rose Pink
e. Gold

16. The couch on which I sit now in my apartment is not the center of my world.

17. The pillows with prints, although they are nice to rest on, are not the center of my world.

18. The politics of my work, school, and nation do not belong in the center of any world.

19. What is the center:
a. Music
b. Breathing
c. Warmth of a friend

20. I hope that the center of my world will be like an oval. Or a labyrinth with a clear beginning, middle, and end.

21. I hope for hands to hold mine.

22. I wish for magic.

23. The center of my world is why I should love myself.

Why?

24. A reason: Hope.

25. Another: Life and the beautiful mess that it is.

Currently reading

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Lately in my creative nonfiction class, we have been reading and writing memoir. To help me write my own (short) memoir piece, I read Chasing Daylight by Eugene O’Kelly.

Eugene O’Kelly was the CEO of KPMG before he died in 2005 of brain cancer. The memoir, written in the three months between his diagnosis and his death, was published posthumously in 2008.

If someone hadn’t read memoir before, this book would be a good one to start with. It does not use extensive figurative language, it has a lot of summary, but it is relatively short and extremely powerful.

The subtitle of the book is How My Forthcoming Death Transformed My Life. O’Kelly didn’t have much time to live, but he had enough to obsess over it and let it ruin him. That is not what he did. Instead, he thought of the dying process similar to how he approached his business organization. Instead his first line of the first chapter is “I was blessed. I was told I had three months to live.”

I do not usually recommend reading the end before reading the middle of a book, but O’Kelly’s wife, Corinne, wrote a phenomenal afterword. In it, she wrote about the events right around his time of death, the events that he could not. In the afterword, a hospice doctor visits and tells her about patients who was not close to his family and was severely agitated until he died, restless. The hospice doctor told Corinne that “Your husband isn’t agitated. He’s peaceful.” He had accepted his disease and resolved any unresolved relationships.

I can’t help think of my grandma who has Dementia. Her husband made a choice not to tell her what disease was setting in, so she never knew what was happening. And when she dies, she will have no concrete memory of the past six years. At least Eugene O’Kelly knew and could say goodbye, could make amends.

Death has always puzzled us. It has intrigued us. It is an unknown that many have conquered, but none truly understand.