Lucky Us by Amy Bloom

I had to let this one marinate a little bit. There's a lot to consider within this book. Lucky Us centers on the concept of family, whether it is blood or created. The opening line is a great one: "My father’s wife died. My mother said we should drive down to his place and see what might be in it for us.” And indeed, young Eva, who only saw her  father on Thursdays when he came to visit Eva and her mother, take a road trip, where Eva meets her flamboyant older half-sister Iris.  but is also abandoned by her own mother. It's just the first of many episodes where family is created by those around you, and where characters shift and reshape themselves with chameleon-like ease.

The girls run away to Hollywood, where Iris has hopes of becoming a star. She is remade by the studio and her character is revealed bit by bit. The sisters gather and create a home and family, and though they flee California when scandal strikes, family tags along as they move to the east coast to recreate themselves in the New York area.  These characters are survivors, which is a good thing, as the life they create, and the characters they don do not always have an easy go of it. But, they're compelling, and the novel is well written and paced, so the ride is easier for the reader than for Iris and Evie. There was one thread of the story which, while I enjoyed very much, seemed somewhat disjointed -- more as a backstory for the reader than an experience for the two girls. It also involves a reinventing of a character, who seems minor but ends up quite significant. (I'm really trying to be mindful of not revealing spoilers as I write this.)

The title, Lucky Us, is a bit misleading. It reminds me, in some odd way of the line from "Young Frankenstein":  It could be worse. It could be raining. There's a lot in this book that could be worse, but a lot that it the raining. However, Bloom is excellent at her craft, so even when it's raining, the skill of the writing carries through until the sun comes out. Lucky us.

Fish gotta swim, redux

Dance has become a part of my life in these handful of years after the deaths of my mother and brother. It is something that moves my soul in a way nothing else has, and brings my joy of music right along with it. I stumbled into it, looking for a way to fulfill a promise to my mother, that when she was gone, I should do something to take care of myself now. And when I say stumbled, that's almost the truth. I went in search of a yoga class and found a dance class instead, but that's another story.  Yesterday, dance once again carried me into the realm of memory, this time, via a Nia routine that in many ways mimicked the swim of the dolphins.  It brought to mind two memories of my brother Erico, which are linked below:

Fish Gotta Swim -- Happy Birthday Eric

A birthday gift for us

I've often said that the heart is a marvelous thing; it keeps our loved ones alive and close, even if they are neither one nor the other. It may be an organ made of tissue and blood, but it is also made of memories.

An Audacious Alphabet, written and illustrated by Amy J Francisconi

Simply splendiferous! I love everything about it, from the bright yellow cover to the fact it was printed right here in Charleston! As to the tasty tidbits in between, wowza! Don't ask me to pick my favorite drawing, the other 25 favorites might have their feelings hurt.

That the author is a incredibly treasured friend makes no difference. This book is fun, funny, creative, and oh so clever. So happy our book loves brought us together to collide in the wondrous BookCrossing universe. Who'da thunk that I'd find a piece of my soul living up in Delaware?

This book has a permanent place in the czuk home.

The Serpent of Venice by Christopher Moore

Mixed feelings on this one-- Christopher Moore can make me howl with laughter, but this one combined so many elements (previous characters, CM books, several Shakespearian plays, several other literary and dramatic works, and an extreme sense of the absurd) that it took me a while to find the rhythm. I actually put it aside for a few days and then started over.

Previous characters: Pocket the fool, his assistant  Drool, and the monkey Jeff (also the ghost of Cordelia, last seen romping happily with Pocket in Moore's <i>Fool</i>.

Previous books: See above

Shakespearian plays: Merchant of Venice, Othello, with throwbacks to Lear

As to the others you'll have to discover for yourself.

But forget everything you know from your high school/uni English classes. This Venice has sea serpents in it. And it's a wild ride.

Delicious!: A Novel by Ruth Reichl

This book tickled me to the bottom of my foodie/cook/historian/mystery-lover/storie-within-a-story-fan/romantic heart. I've really enjoyed Ruth Reichl's memoirs, and her way of bringing her life vividly before the reader. In this, her first novel, much of the details that she perfected in her nonfiction also brings the scents and tastes of the story to life.

Billie has come to New York after her life on the West Coast proved too painful to stay there. As the new assistant to the editor Delicious!, a magazine for food lovers, cooks, and gastronomic adventurers, she thinks that perhaps she can find a new niche. Indeed, the magazine is filled with characters, as is her part-time job at a cheese shop. Life seems to be good, perhaps even great, though Billie, who has the ability to taste something and discern all the ingredients, and gives every indication of being a great cook herself, refuses to pick up a spatula, or a whisk, or anything that would necessitate cooking.

Then, suddenly, the magazine folds, the offices are stripped, and the only thing that remains is the "Delicious Guarantee", which since the inception of the publication,  has been the venue for readers to voice their complaints, problems, and dissatisfaction with recipes and articles published. Billie is retained as the sole employee, simply to deal with these calls and letters. In doing so, she stumbles upon a hidden room in the library of the old federal style house that used to be home to the magazine, and in that room stumbles upon one more surprise: WWII era letters from a young girl named Lulu to James Beard, who had written for the magazine.

It is these letters, and Lulu, that sealed the deal for me with this book. I learned all sorts of stuff about WWII cooking that I never heard before. (Milkweed pods taste like cheese? Who knew??) Billie heads off on a quest to find Lulu's letters, before the building is sold, and all is lost.

If Lulu isn't real, she should be. And did I mention there's a recipe for an incredible sounding ginger cake at the back of the book?

Many thanks to LibraryThing's Early Reviewer program and the publisher for sending this book along to me. This book is scheduled for publication May 6, 2014.

The Adventures of the Princess and Mr Whiffle: The Thing Beneath the Bed, by Patrick Rothfuss

Deliciously disturbing. I loved it. Pay close attention to the little details, and when you find yourself wondering why the spikes are on the inside of the wall, you're almost there. As the sticker on the front of the copy I read said, "This shit is not for kids". (Thanks to Pat Rothfuss for writing such a great story, Harriet McDougal Rigney and Maria Simons for turning me on to these books, Ross Newberry for letting me read his copy while I was standing with him in line to have Pat Rothfuss sign our books [they were sold out of the this one and I had the second], and Nate Taylor, the only one of this group I haven't met, for the wonderful illustrations.)

Reading in line for the author to sign (JordanCon VI April, 2014

"This shit is not for kids -- seriously"

Ruthe Rides Again (Reprinted from 6/5/2010)

It was no secret that my mother loved jazz and loved many of the jazz artists she met over the years, both those up-and-coming and the giants of jazz. Even her obituary mentioned her special relationship with some of these oh-so-very talented spirits. But there is no denying it -- she and Tootie Heath has a very special friendship. They sparked off each other, and Tootie made her light up like no one (outside of her family) ever did. Mention Tootie's name and her smile filled the room. In her later years, when she could not travel to the workshop any more, Tootie would call her just to tease and send love. Even when her hearing failed almost completely, she'd hold the phone, insisting she could feel his "good vibes" across the telephone lines. Then she'd give the phone to me to actually hear what he had to say and relay the message to her. "That's right. That's what I felt," she'd tell me. Last year, at the West Coast Memorial to her at Stanford, there was a fabulous, heart-felt musical tribute to her, and Tootie was an essential ingredient. And afterward, he mentioned in an article for the Stanford Jazz Workshop a little piece of workshop lore. In my first few years [at the workshop] I remember an ongoing competition I had with fellow faculty member Stan Getz. During this time, Jimmy's mother, Ruthe Nadel, was a regular attendee at the workshops and would make her way around campus on a powered scooter. As she was inside attending a class, she often left the key in the scooter parked outside. Stan and I would always race to see who could get to the scooter first. Sometimes I won, sometimes he beat me to it. Whoever got there first took the scooter for a short afternoon cruise around campus and tried to get it back before she got out of class and discovered it was missing. I know now that she must have known all along what we were doing. * Yes, she may have caught on, but I distinctly remember her commenting after one early workshop that her scooter just didn't work as well in Palo Alto -- the battery didn't hold a charge as long. But once she figured it all out, I'm pretty sure she left that key in there on purpose. Boys will be boys, you know. This past year, I've been sorting through my mother's belonging. For a little lady, she left a huge footprint, both in hearts and in detritus left behind. And as I've sorted, I've tried to honor her instructions with who to give a little remembrance to. And in the list of her favorite things, there was Tootie. When we heard that Tootie and his equally wonderful brother Jimmy were coming to town for Spoleto this week, my husband and I made a point of going to hear them talk. (Jimmy's got a new book out I Walked With Giants, which, if it's even a quarter as entertaining as the Heath Brothers are in person, will be a phenomenal read. Elder brother Percy went to that great fishing hole in the sky before I got to meet him, but the three of them, together, must have been amazing.) I gathered a few small tokens to remember Ruthe by, trying to make sure they were small and lightweight (flying these days makes packing so much fun). Then, I had an inspiration. It came to me quite clearly what I needed to bring to Tootie. I gathered it up and put it in the bag with the other goodies. So last night, at the Avery Center, I presented Tootie with his Ruthe Remembrances. We went through each item he seemed to genuinely be interested, both in the items and in why they were coming his way. For the last item, I had him close his eyes and put out his hands. And I placed the item in his palm. Tootie opened his eyes and laughed out loud. It may not be the keys to the kingdom, but it was the keys to the scooter. And he doesn't have to fight Stan for them. And somewhere out there, in that great beyond, I know there was a chortle of laughter and a smile to light up the heavens.