The Fault in Our Stars, by John Green

Wow. Just wow.

Here's a book that I was just too damn cheap to buy full price, even though the cover blurb grabbed me when I first came across it. So, I waited my turn at the library, and finally got lucky when the audio version was added to the collection (still haven't gotten my call for the hard copy.) This was no problem for me, as I enjoy audio versions, both when driving or for listening to when I'm doing tasks around the house. For this book, though, I invented tasks as an excuse to listen. When those ran out, I just sat like a lump and followed Hazel and Gus through their days.

This is a book that reaches out and grabs your heart from the get-go. Green has created powerful characters, brought us into their everyday world, and made it vibrant, heart-wrenching, and beautiful. This is not always an easy task, for there's very little about cancer that is beautiful. But there is a great deal that is glorious in the two young people in this story. Synopses abound. Go read one if you wish, but it cannot adequately prepare for how engaging this story is.

A bonus to the audio version is that there is an interview with Green. I really appreciated his insights on the story, writing, life with cancer, and more. I also found out that he has done an audio version of the book, primarily for the fans of his vlog, who wanted to hear his inflections to the story. The audio version I listened to was superb, and as Green said, he was much happier to hear Hazel say, "you're so hot" in a female voice than in his lovely baritone.

Oddly enough, while reading this, I also read of Neil Gaiman's participation in  An Evening of Awesome at Carnegie Hall presented last week by Hank and John Green.Watch the video, and you'll get to hear the stars of The Lizzie Bennet Diaries (which also involves Hank Green) read the wonderful section in the museum (won't say more because of spoilers.)

10 out of 5 stars. Yes, I liked it.

Farewell Dorothy Parker, by Ellen Meister (Release date Feb 21, 2013)

Disclaimer: Every time I saw or thought of this book, "Just One of those Things" * began running through my head. And now it's in your head, too. Just one of those things, I guess.

On to my thoughts of this book. I'm a Dorothy Parker fan. I think we're a dying breed. So when I read that Ellen Meister, who is also a Dorothy Parker Fan, upon seeing all the Jane Austen spin-offs, had written a book around one of her literary favorites, I was in. 

The premise of the story is clever. Movie critic Violet Epps, as fiery in her reviews as she is timid in her real life, manages through a quirk of fates, to unleash the ghost of Dorothy Parker. Violet's personal life is a bit of a mess in just about every aspect: love, family, work. The quick witted Mrs Parker jumps in to help Violet strengthen her resolve, grow a backbone, get some courage, which is both helpful and horrific. In turn, Violet works to get the ghost to resolve some issues.

The story itself is an interesting mix of Parkerisms, historical facts, and poignancy. Violet's love life is a mess because of her timidity. She also is involved in a nasty battle for the custody of her beloved niece, orphaned the year before when Violet's sister and brother-in-law died. Plus she has a cut-throat assistant at the office to deal with. But her relationships with the niece, love interest, and co-worker ring true. This reader was able to follow her emotional growth, even though I did cringe each time Dorothy interfered as there were some disasters when she did so.

There were a few minor plot developments that irked me, but overall, I had fun reading this. I even pulled a couple of books of Parker's writings off the shelf to add to my "to be read" pile. My main problem with stories that revolve around a literary or historical figure being involved in a fiction book is that I often don't like how they are portrayed. While this characterization did not always match up to mine, it was fine. And probably, if I had met Mrs Parker in person, she would have terrified me.

Many thanks to Library Thing and to the Publisher for sending this AR copy my way. 3.5 our of 5 stars.

*As Dorothy Parker once said to her boyfriend: "Fare thee well!"
As Columbus announced when he knew he was bounced: "It was swell, Isabelle, swell!

A Memory of Light by Robert Jordan and Brandon Sanderson (spoiler free)

When you've committed yourself to a series which was written over the course of 22 years, there are a great many emotions that come into play with the final book. First and foremost for me, was the sadness that Robert Jordan was not with us to see the series completed. His death in 2007 was a huge loss to literary and fantasy fans, especially to those of us who knew him personally. However, if Robert Jordan could not finish the series himself, his sagacious widow/editor Harriet McDougal, and Tor Books selected Brandon Sanderson to weave together an ending. Sanderson used Jordan's ideas, notes, scattered writings, and dictation, with the expert assistance of Ms. McDougal and Jordan's two assistants (aka Team Jordan) to bring the series to its conclusion.

The story that began all those years ago, with three boys and a girl leaving the Two Rivers, drew to a close for me today. I can't say that I was as enamored of the final book as I was with the first, but given the length of the series, and the length of this book (909 pages hardback; 33 CDs in the audio version, both of which I read/listened to in the course of this journey), that's not surprising.  Some of my favorite characters got less page-time than I would have liked. Character development was a bit uneven for this reader, and there was a bit more telling than showing as to the strengths/weaknesses of some. It was sad to say goodbye to many, though given this is an all-out fight for good against evil, and not a romance-chick lit, I knew that some friends would spin out of the pattern. It's been fun to speculate how much of the book was penned or envisioned by Jordan, how much by Sanderson, including who survived the Last Battle. Certainly, (and for this I am quite grateful), Sanderson did not try to imitate Jordan's style, and there were times that some of his writing tics were clear. I also found myself missing some of Jordan's familiar ones (she said with arms folded under her breasts.)

The final book leads up to the Last Battle, good versus evil. And though there was fighting both before and after, the chapter bearing that title was 200 pages long.  I am not a great military historian, but even so, the battle played out across the pages with clarity. I'd been listening to the audio version prior to 37, so was grateful to have the map in the hard copy to help orient myself during the fighting. I still am uncertain how some characters got from point A in one scene, across the field to point B in another, but am determined not to give spoilers with my continuity concerns, or fan-girl questions.

There were some moments of brilliance, which helped to outweigh any dissatisfaction I had. Some of the cursing was among the most colorful I have ever heard (and enjoyed.) I draw comfort though, in the thought that  there are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. The wind will continue to blow; the Wheel will continue to turn. The Wheel of Time, and all it has brought me, will continue to weave through the threads of my days. Tai'shar Jordan.

Disclaimer: I am a relative of a member of Team Jordan.

Girl of Nightmares, by Kendare Blake

Kendare Blake comes through with Girl of Nightmares. The characters she brought to life (and death) in Anna Dressed in Blood are back, with an interesting plot line. Set six months after Cas and Anna parted, (not your ordinary teenage parting: the ghost of Anna opened a door to the beyond and dragged a horrific soul-stealing, death-bringing ghost with her), Cas is seeing and hearing Anna everywhere. Unfortunately, it's a tormented Anna; the door she opened apparently went to a hell, where the demon she took with her has the upper hand. What's a ghost-fighting hero to do? He goes to save the girl.

From there, the story just gets better.  Clear writing, humor (and a great smattering of black humor), great characters, a plot line that takes you from North America, to the UK, through the Suicide Woods and an enclave of a secret society, and into hell, itself -- that's a lot to pack between two covers.  And no vampires! Yay!

I hadn't realized when I started this book that this is actually the end of the series. It's kind of refreshing to read a book and its sequel (both really well written), and then not be dragged through a half dozen more books simply because you're sucked in, and not really liking the ride. Though I hate to say goodbye to Cas and company, I'm glad they're not going to slide into sequel hell. I think Ms Blake made a wise decision to stop for a bit (she can always start up again, if she chooses) rather than dilute the end product. Besides, luckily for us, she hasn't stopped writing, just stopped about Cas and Anna et al. I'll pick up other books by her, happily and readily.

Anna Dressed in Blood by Kendare Blake

I do not like ghost stories. I will not read horror or go to scary (or even scarey) movies. I used to close my eyes when Captain Hook threatened Peter Pan, and am not a fan of Weeping Angels. Lovecraft is not my friend. When I first heard that this book was out and so well received, I put it on my wishlist, until I found out it was a ghost story. I then took it off. But the reviews and recommendations haunted me, so I finally picked up a copy at our local UBS. What I found was an amazingly good book: well written, thought provoking, interesting plot, and best of all, a male protagonist in a YA book. That's a rare combination. It will keep me reading more by Kendare Blake, whether it has Cas in it or not.

Other reviews will give you plot summaries. What you'll get from me are just three words: read this book.

Inner Travel to Sacred Places, by Robet Dreyfuss

Sometimes, I open the pages of a book and find a friend. It may be the story that draws me in, or the way the author shapes his words. It may be an echo of a shared experience or memory, or just even the fragrance of what the author is trying to convey that binds me to a book. With Inner Travel to Sacred Places, I opened the book, and found all of the above. But even moreso, I reunited with a friend who left this world just over a year ago.  Through this book, written in the last year of his life, I reunited with my friend, Robert Dreyfuss; he welcomed me to his world, into his life, into his sacred places.

As I read Robert's words, I was carried along on his path for seeking his life's spiritual center. His journeys, beginning as a young boy battling severe asthma, who found himself atop a boxcar in Denver, trying to escape home, fascinated me. Knowing Robert personally, it was easy to recall some of the stories I'd heard him tell in person, especially of those early, heady days in Boston, or of his travel overland, from Europe to India for a gathering with Meher Baba. As I read, I could hear his voice in my memory telling the story in Mandali Hall, of the struggles and situations that were scattered along his path on the trip,of his heart's breaking to learn the gathering was cancelled, and then the complete joy of his meeting with his beloved master. I remembered the hilarity in telling of crossing the Deccan Plateau in a 'throne" atop a truck. I found myself taking a few side trips, as I read, for Robert's road crossed my own in from the late 70's onward. I delighted in meeting up with dear ones, old friends, and family. There were even a few episodes where I was witness to some of the scenes, though an "extra", an unnamed player on the stage.

I knew Robert had some significant health issues in his life. In fact, years ago, when discussing my career change into health care, he said to me (of chronic illness), "It can only beat you if you let it." When I developed a serious medical condition myself, I took those words as a mantra. Robert's skill as a practitioner of Chinese medicine was legendary, and was probably part of what kept him going, against many odds, as his health continued to challenge him.

One of the surprised for me was a glimpse of the artistic Robert that I hadn't really known. Sketches and snippets of poetry grace the pages, as well as a wonderful photo of art in movement --Robert practicing T'ai Chi in the Ellora Caves).  Readers journey to some other places that were of spiritual significance to him. I appreciated how Robert threaded his love for Meher Baba into a world view which took him from Machu Picchu and to the feet of the Dalai Lama. This was not a story of simply one trip, but of the journey of a lifetime.

My thanks to the publisher, Sheriar Foundation, for sending me this book to read.

*There's also a new book out of his verse, Blue Ridge Sonatas which I hope to read soon.

Time Travel

Grandma Ida (Adella) with Uncle Ed's 1957 TR3

My task of late has been to catalog, sort, document, and discard. We're downsizing. So that means we no longer have the luxury of storing a lifetime of memories for somewhere between 9 to 13 people, depending on how you shuffle the family deck. Some things are wonderful to find: samples of handwriting of the grandparents I never knew; a fan letter to my dad who was a child vaudevillian and movie star, the Triptik from a journey we took driving across the country in 1961. There are pictures that really do light the corners of my mind. Some things are easy to say goodbye to -- there are photographs (and faces) I never need to see again. But some things are a little heartbreaking, such as the box of newspaper front pages my mother kept for the significant days in her life (marriage, birth of children, sibling's weddings) or significant events in history (D-Day, JFK's assassination, Hurricane Hugo papers from ground zero here in Charleston.)

We built this house in 1997. When we built, by code, we had to elevate above the highest flood point recorded for our location. This was not to allow for storage of precious, irreplaceable mementos, but to keep our home out of flood-waters, should the lowcountry of Charleston be inundated again. Apparently, at some point after 2000 (last headline was from January 2000), my mother shuffled the box of newspapers, as well as 4 or 5 boxes of photographs, letters, and other memories to the space under the house. Under the house there is no climate control, and there are a plethora of things that like to eat paper. Plus we've had a flood, or maybe two floods. I don't remember. But finding a box of half eaten, pulped papers was really a down moment in this downsizing. I'm glad she wasn't around to see, because it would have been even harder for her.

The last week or so, I've stopped cataloging the personal library,which is up to 2907 and still going. (For the record, I did not include the 3 boxes of books which were also pulped and mildewed in the basement.) I've turned instead to try and make some order of the 30 photo albums and 6 cartons of photographs my mother had. The woman loved pictures as much as she loved books. And like her book collection, she often had photo duplicates (even triplicates, and for some special ones, 6 or 7 copies.) Sometimes things were well ordered, but other times, 1921 would be mixed with 1965. Talk about disconcerting.

The plan is to decrease the number of albums, eliminate duplicates, scan most of the photographs, and keep some significant ones in hard copy. I'm sorting through, having a lovely time, feeling a little like Pooh's Rabbit, with all the friends and relations. I actually have been through the photographs enough with my mom in the 50+ years we had together, so that I can easily recognize faces of family I never met, or who I last saw when I was 2 or 3. But there are some that stump me totally. I'll look at a face and try to figure out which side of the family looks back at me. I find that my impulse with those is to think, "I have to ask Mama who that is", then sigh, and shift the photo to the pile/folder labeled "Who are these people?"

So if you ask me what I'm doing for the holidays, don't be surprised if you hear me say I'm time-travelling. In my case, my T.A.R.D.I.S is a photo album. And as the good Doctor would say, "Pictures are cool."