What Not to Read: The Wussy Edition

I have read some really interesting books in the past few months, friends.  There's a caveat, though: most of these books, while excellent, were also hideous bummers.

Here's what I mean.


Wintergirls by  Laurie Halse Anderson 
This author did exactly one thing: blow me away.  Her use of metaphor and emotion in language was stunning and often beautiful, even though the content was harsh.  The protagonist is also the antagonist: a teenage anorexic.  It's horrid, scary stuff, and I was drawn in so completely that it left me empty.  I couldn't take it.  Beautiful, frightening, and gut-checking.  This book is not good.  It is awful and exquisite, and I could recommend it for those qualities, but good?  No.






The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky
I read this on the advice of a dear friend, and I did love the book.  Every word and gesture, every blunt truth and honest sadness.  I can completely understand why this book has developed a cult following, and if I were a teenager reading this, I would have been devoted to its perfection.  But I'm a mom.  And I was disturbed by mom things.  By teenagers who hate their parents or parents who don't notice their kids.  By children who explore (because that's what children do, right?  Only now, it scares me).





The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern
Oh, I'm only putting this out there because I feel like there was something lovely about The Night Circus, but I can't put my finger on it.  There's only so much redeeming you can do when the main characters are out to murder one another minus their own consent.  But it was magical, in a creepy way.  Still, I didn't want to be disturbed.  I wanted to be entertained.  Shallow?  Maybe.  As a book consumer, though, it's a valid desire.






The Fault in Our Stars by John Green
Love, love, loved this one, as have most others in the known literary world.  These characters were so complete, so real, that I felt like I knew them intimately.  Which, as it turns out, was a devastating effect, you know, because of the terminal cancer and all.  It's a true testament to good writing when you actually find yourself wanting to stay with the book even though you know it will hurt you in the end.  So, yeah: this one was perfect.  Still, I don't want to read any more like it for a good, long time.  Too many sad stories of families whose kids were invaded by bastardish cancer cells.  I don't want to think about it.   Let's move on.




The Hour I First Believed by Wally Lamb
Massive, scary behemoth that it was, I found much to love about this book.  I also found much to hate.  Much to question.  The main character in this book wasn't really lovable, but still, I couldn't not sympathize with him for all the absolutely shitty things he had to endure.  Some because of his own decision-making, but others?  Like the Columbine shooting?  His wife's incarceration?  His childhood?  Very ugly.  I wish I could sum it up more succinctly, but at almost 800 pages, the book defies narrowing.  It's just....big.  Depressingly large, both physically and mentally.  Now that I try, I can't remember what I liked about it.  Masterful writing, perhaps.  Compelling situations.  What else...?



So after all of those challenging and ugly things (which were mostly wrapped up in beautiful words), I've given up on literary endeavors for the time being.  I'm defecting to genre.  I can't help it, and judge me if you will, but I can't take the sadness of real life right now.  I find myself too wrapped up in what my children's futures hold to look bald-faced into the scarier parts of reality.  I know it could be rough.  I know it could get messy.  But I don't want to be disturbed right now. 

I want to relax and love my family in the present without imposing the possibilities of life on them. 

And that means that my reading choices will be geared toward the unlikely, the fantastical, the romantic, and the happily ever after. 

I just downloaded a romance about a cowboy and his big-city neighbor.  She moved to the wide-open spaces of Montana to escape the wilderness of her fallen-apart life.  I'm sure the cowboy will rescue her at some point.  Probably kiss her silly, too.

Bring it on, cowboy.

Bring it on.

More Summer Reading

When I'm not packing reminding myself that I should be packing for the move (less than two weeks away!), I'm doing one of  three things. 

1) Educating two little girls in the basic arts of personal hygiene.  (And wondering why it's so terrifying to stand directly under the spray of the shower...)

2) Keeping a baby boy away from the marshmallow bag.  (But understanding his obsession...)

3) Admiring my stack of novels to-be-read.

Because after I packed up all of our books in anticipation of possible home-buyers touring our dusty corners, I freaked.  There was nothing in the house under which to bury my procrastination when I needed to escape from my housely duties.  So I ordered lotsa books, and there they sit, decorating my night table once more. 

They are a work of art. 

And not just in the literature-as-art field.  I mean, the actual stack of books appeals to my senses artistically.  If there's anything I love more than a well-stacked tower of books (besides a child who will willingly step under a shower-head), I don't know what it is. 

Well, a chocolate donut, maybe.

BUT THAT'S ALL. 

Right.  I'm very digressive today.  Let's talk about BOOKS.



Rules of Civility by Amor Towles

Oh, this book -- I adored it.  I haven't read much fiction set in this time and place -- 1938, Manhattan -- so the novelty was probably part of my appreciation.  But not all!  Towles writes beautifully in this book about Katey Kontent, a Brooklyn-born New Yorker.  She is smart, surprising, and glamorous, despite having not even a spare nickel to her name, and somehow rises through the ranks of New York society through one, chance meeting.  The story itself is understated; there is a lot of setting and character, all jazzy and polished.  But the undercurrents in the characters's lives are where the dirt of real-life shows through.  It makes me want to wear silk stockings and pearls, and smoke cigarettes across from a dapper gentleman in a tuxedo while we sip martinis and laugh at the bourgeoisie.  (Of which we are closeted members.  But the pearls ane martinis cover nicely!)  This was the best book I've read all summer.  So far.




Major Pettigrew's Last Stand by Helen Simonson

I may be the last person on the planet to have read Major Pettigrew, but it's not my fault.  It's the kids' fault.  Yeah....  Anyway, this book is lovely and quaint and hilarious, in the staid, embarrassed sort of British hilarity that follows people of a certain importance, of which Major Pettigrew is (or feels himself to be) one.  He is a darling older gentleman who is very set in his ways, and would seem to be the last inhabitant of his bucolic village to embrace the influx of immigrants.  Nevertheless, he befriends a beautiful, widowed, Pakistani shopkeeper, and chaos ensues.  Oh, Major Pettigrew -- I love your wit and your unintentional humor and your bravery.  I would very much like to have a cup of tea with you, kind sir, as long as you can tolerate my newfangled dependence upon technology.  iPhones are welcome at afternoon tea, right?





World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War by Max Brooks

Wait, maybe this is the best book I've read all summer.  Except, I rather read it in the late spring, but cannot stop thinking about it.  A ZOMBIE NOVEL, of all things.  This is another one that I'm the last to know about, but it was worth both the wait, and the trepidation at handing it over to the cashier.  Does she think I'm some sort of ComicCon weirdo?  Does she think I don't know good literature?!  I KNOW GOOD LITERATURE!  If you don't think reading about the Zombie Wars sounds like the perfect summer reading, though, you're totally wrong.  Not only is this book excellently crafted -- in the style of a documentary, interviewing those affected by the world war -- but it's so well done that it comes off as completely plausible.  I stayed up WAY past my bedtime to turn these pages.  Plus, the cussing by military interviewees lends a credibility that nicely boosts the logistics of Zombie battles.  I know you're thinking you'd have to suspend a jillion tons of disbelief, but you won't -- it's so realistic and believable.  And that's why I sleep with a sawed-off length of PVC pipe next to my bed, now.  I really can't recommend this book enough.  If for no other reason than to prepare you for the Zombie Apocalypse and GO GET A FLATHEAD SHOVEL, for pity's sake.




So what are you reading this summer?  Anything glamorous?  Humorous?  Zombie-ous?

Heavenly Summer Reading

Do you guys do summer reading lists or programs or anything?  In the past, we've not really followed any plans in particular, mostly since summer stayed fairly equal to the rest of the year in our pre-school lives.  Now, though, with Kindergarten under our belts, I'm excited for the free time we're finding hidden throughout our days. 

Beyond lazing around on the floor doing art projects and chasing the neighbor-boy around the street, we have a lot more time to read.  Days are freer.  Nights are lazier.  We're basking in the nothingness of summer while trying to keep the (dadgum) house clean for potential buyers. 

So books have become my favorite part of summer so far, and we're only two weeks into our break.  The other day, I stopped by the bookstore with a plan to give myself some fabulous new novels, but instead, I accidentally walked out of the store with a short stack of books for the girls.  I should be using the library, but the thought of three kids + the library is overwhelming my sensibilities.  Instead, I'm racking up a large book bill.  But that's not the point.  The point is, I came home with a summer reading bundle.  Here's what's on our shelf:

1. Matilda by Roald Dahl.  This one is going to be saved for last, I think, because Lauren is still a little antsy during chapter books.  Matilda, if I remember right, has some heavy themes that might take more concentration.  Plus, she's heard about Miss Trunchbull -- I think she saw parts of the movie at my aunt's house awhile back -- and bad-ladies scare her.  In book form, her fear might not be so bad, but if it doesn't work for Lauren, I still think Mia will enjoy it for some special Mama & Mia time.

2. The Sisters Grimm: The Fairy Tale Detectives by Michael Buckley.  This book caught my eye because it's part of a big series.  Two sisters become detectives on adventures which last through at least 10 books: perfect for my two girls, I think.  We're reading it right now, and it's caught our imaginations and attention very well!

3. Beezus and Ramona by Beverly Cleary.  We finished this book in a few days, so I'm fairly sure we'll be reading more of the series soon to keep our summer entertaining.  Lauren LOVED Ramona and her loud, sticky, stubborn ways, while Mia laughed at how much Ramona irritated Beezus.  But the message behind the story -- that it's okay for sisters to not always be best friends -- made me say oh, thank goodness.  It was really JUST what my tired-mama ears needed to hear.  Thanks, Beverly Cleary :)

4. The Penderwicks by Jeanne Birdsall.  I know almost nothing about this book, but it looked like a good one!  It won a National Book Award, though, and has gotten wonderful reviews, promising excellently crafted writing and an engaging, humorous plot for all ages, parents included.  The Penderwicks are four sisters who travel to an estate in Massachusetts for a summer vacation, and get themselves into charming adventures while there.  I'm really excited to read this book with the girls!

So what do you think?  Will you be reading anything in particular this summer with your kids?  Have you read any of our choices?  And do you think it's okay for me to start reading The Penderwicks tonight by myself so I don't have to wait any longer?

Reading Circles: The Giver {Part 3}

Have you been itching to discuss and learn how an author can make a story flow?  How they tug us in and keep us turning pages?  Join us at Bigger Picture Blogs every Friday for Reading Circles!  Jade is walking us through our first book selection right now -- The Giver by Lois Lowry -- and we'd love to have your input!

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Now, I admit: I had BIG trouble staying within the selected chapters this week, which is proof of a story well-told, I suppose.  Gripping and tense and leading.  These are all words I'd use to describe chapters 7-10.  (And, ahem, chapters 11-15.  *Cough*)

Jade asked us to find the point of no return -- the place that signaled an investment too deep for the main character to withdraw from.  Jonas' point of no return is probably at the ceremony, when he became the next receiver of memory.  With that knowledge, his life comes to a right angle and moves entirely away from anything he'd ever expected.  He is on a completely separate path now,  heading into something unknown.  Something shadowy.  Definitely a turning point in his young life.

But for me, the reader, the turning point was a little bit different.  Because I know there's something different about Jonas, I expected his ceremony to be a surprise for him.  I expected him to be set apart from the rest.  So the ceremony, while engaging from the standpoint of discovering more about the community's jobs as well as Jonas' emotions, wasn't a turning point for me. 

It was later, when he came home with his information packet, and read through the cryptic list of instructions.  You are exempted from rules governing rudeness.  You are not permitted to apply for release.  You may lie.  These statements made me nervous for Jonas: would this job make him WANT to apply for release?  And his world has been so defined by politeness and honesty that to suddenly be allowed rudeness or dishonesty seems like a giant leap out of his circle of comfort. 

It was at this point in the story that I was unable to put the book down.  From here, questions are answered at almost rapid-fire pace, while at the same time, more questions are opened up.  Each resolution is either couched in the tension of not understanding why, or in the need to learn more.  There's no down-time, yet nothing feels rushed.  Lowry's chapter endings are perfectly timed, and lead to a must-turn-the-page reaction.  Her conversations say only what they must, and convey mood as well as action.  Jonas trips over his words at times, obviously nervous (which makes me nervous), but still polite, as fits his background. 

I'm struck again by the writer's skill in laying the story out so simply.  It just is.  It seems completely plausible, so much so that -- more than any other dystopic story I've read -- I'm left thinking of the community as a wonderful place to live.  There is such peace and happiness, and that list of rules kind of jolts me sideways in my complacency.

From here, I am deeply invested in what happens next with Jonas.  I love how Lowry created him to drive the plot forward: he asks questions that lead in different directions than I thought the story would go.  He feels emotions that call into question the choices of -- shoot.  I think I'm getting ahead of chapter 10.  I should stop.

And the beauty of the writer's talent is such that I don't want to stop. 

Reading Circles: The Giver {Week 1}

For the next several weeks at Bigger Picture Blogs, Jade will be leading us through The Giver by Lois Lowry as we learn to read a book critically.  That is, we'll be trying to see what it is about a great book that makes it work.  If you're interested in reading along, please join us!  We hope to gain insight as writers into how an author sinks his or her literary claws into us and compels us to keep reading.  We hope the dissection of a good book can help us to become better writers, ourselves.  And we hope to have a ton of fun along the way. 

Week 1: Chapters 1-3
I was so excited to get started with both this project and this book in particular!  I've never read The Giver, and having heard wonderful things about it, I was ready.  It didn't hurt that I've been harboring a penchant for dystopia lately.  Give me a disturbing government professing to make everything better, add a brave soul seeking answers, and I'm there.

As soon as I sat down to read it, I found myself preparing to notice writing perfection around every corner.  Instead of my usual story-inhalation, I moved slowly, intending to take notes.  I wanted to capture the reasons behind the magic.  The way the story moved.  How the author shifted time and memory and plot. 

But that completely didn't work for me.  It was all I could do to stop reading at chapter three, and I had to physically lock my hands around the front and back covers -- sandwich-style -- to get away from the urge to continue. 

Crap, I thought.  I sped through it, and now I've learned absolutely nothing.  Gleaned no answers.  Learned no magic.  I put the book at the bottom of the stack on my nightstand, and fell asleep with thoughts of newchildren and comfort items vying for space next to my dreams. 

And Jade's questions have been on my mind ever since.  Questions about beginnings and hooking a reader.  And about building empathy and tension.  So with book in hand, I'm going to try to answer the questions to help myself start reading like a writer. 


1. Take a look at the very first sentence. How does it hook us and encourage us to read further? What about the first paragraph? What do we learn right away, or what information has the author decided to give us right at the start?
"It was almost December, and Jonas was beginning to be frightened."

Well, first off, the word 'frightened' tends to set off a little bell in my head like I'm a drooling canine in a laboratory.  I like to be tense.  I like to be worried.  And I super-like to be frightened, at least while reading, and as long as I know there'll be some resolution.  Which, luckily, is what most books usually do: resolve at the end. 

But it's more than that.  I want to keep reading after that first sentence because I want to know what the heck is about to happen in December.  And the rest of the paragraph is hook-ish because it immediately informs me of knowledge about Jonas' home: it's frightening when aircraft flies overhead.  It must not happen much.  Why?  Maybe the opening of this book is so great because it leads me to more questions than answers.  Immediately, I want to know why he's frightened, why December is significant, why planes are unusual in his town, why the plane was there -- twice, and why is that not okay?  So maybe hooking a reader quickly can be done by couching some questions in the first few sentences.  Not simple settings or character introductions, but questions.  Something to think about.


2. How does Lowry set the scene? Does she give us a lot of information up front, or does she release it slowly? When do you begin to figure out where this is set?

Very quickly, she mentions 'the community,' which makes me feel like the characters will be fairly centralized in a controllable location.  She might as well have said 'compound'.  At least that's the impression I got.  This was backed up on the second page when loudspeakers broadcast 'orders' for the citizens to head into the nearest building.  There seems to be an aura of control above it all, and not much of it lies in the citizens' hands. 

I'd say she releases it...shoot.  I don't know.  She releases the information exactly when she needs to.  No teases are bandied about unnecessarily, which really bugs me about some authors.  They seem to be creating hooks simply because they expect readers to follow blindly, that their urge to be in-the-loop will make them forgive lazy character development or tacky adjectives.

Lowry makes the intrigue effortless and painless.  I'm not frothing to know the crux of the entire story yet because information is so steadily and calmly relayed.  Each sentence leads to the next.  (Duh.  But you know what I mean, right?)  She shows us a bit about the community and the overarching sense of being controlled by some authority, and then skips over into Jonas' family life.  Each interaction gives me more clues about the world Jonas lives in. 


3. How does Lowry encourage us to empathize with the main character, Jonas? What are the first things we learn about him? How does Lowry show us, rather than tell us, what kind of person Jonas is?

We learn that he is very intuitive about his feelings.  And because he's so capable of unraveling whether he feels frightened or eager or nervous about what's about to happen, I automatically feel the same way he concludes he feels: apprehensive.  Discussing his feelings so in-depth seems to be one way that Lowry has tickled my empathy-bone.  Maybe. 

And I guess I feel empathy for him because he seems so nice.  Lowry shows him interacting with his sister respectfully and lovingly.  He listens to his parents without malice.  He comes across as very... docile.  Which makes me wonder how he'll be as the book's hero.  Because isn't he? 


4. What is the conflict he faces, or what causes the reader to feel tension? How quickly is this tension and conflict introduced?

Jonas is worried about the Ceremony of Twelve, but honestly, that doesn't make me feel too much tension -- just interest.  The tension, for me, came when Lowry started writing about newchildren and birthmothers and rules governing both.  The fact that birthmothers are given that title as a job description -- like human incubators -- and donate their babies to the worthy citizens of the community, who are allowed to have one girl and one boy child per family...it all made me sit up a little straighter.  I was squinting at the page, re-reading sentences to make sure I had it right:

Nurturers who had cared for them since birth.

Newchild twenty-three.

We have him in the extra care section for supplementary nurturing, but the committee's beginning  to talk about releasing him.

Maybe he has the same birthmother as you.

I think newchildren are so cute, Lily sighed.  I hope I get assigned to be a Birthmother.

...the birthmothers never even get to see newchildren.

It's all got me very tense.  And perhaps this isn't even important for the plot development, maybe it's only meant as background into how the community lives, but...I've latched onto it and am sufficiently tense.  If this is the tension I'm supposed to be noticing, it's been introduced slowly.  Delicately.  A word or two in the first chapter.  A few sentences in the second chapter.  A great discussion in the third chapter.  It's built. 

But now I'm worried that I'm only attracted to this tension because of my sweet babies...


And there's another question about foreshadowing that I want to answer very simply: THE APPLE!  It's the reason I wanted so badly to read into chapter four.  But I was a good girl.  I followed the rules.  I am docile.

Maybe I'm like Jonas...maybe I'm a hero, too....

We Will Read

I putter through the living room and kitchen, removing toys and clothes from their unlawful resting places while the kids splash in the bathtub.  It’s bound to be a slippery mess in there, but I savor the few minutes of space. 

Some nights, I claim victories that speak only to hygiene, and I fear this night will be one of them.  The girls will be washed, brushed, and dressed before I’ll rush them into their beds.  Anything frivolous will have to be tossed overboard so the day’s weight won’t capsize my barge.  Because ‘barging’ is exactly what I end up doing: plowing dutifully forward without slowing or noticing the beauty of the waves. 

In the hallway, I trip over a stack of books and actually smile at the toppled pile.  Having children who are both willing and able to read – alone – just might be my most hoped-for dream.  I look backwards into my own childhood and see adventures and emotions and discoveries that happened for me within the pages of books, and I want that for my own children, too.  Although she’s still some months away from being able to immerse herself in an exciting chapter book, my kindergartner is reading beginner stories with pride.  The stack of books is a happy reminder of her progress. 

But on this exhausted evening, the books also pester me with awareness: we need to take time to read.  Every night.  Yes, even the nights that find me counting the minutes until silence will fall around me.

I bend to straighten the picture books and hear my conscience harping: exposing my kids to books and stories daily is one of the most important ways I can help foster a love of reading.  It is one of the most important ways I can help my six-year-old practice her newfound skills.  It is one of the most important ways we can be close and connected without relying on technology or outings. 

Reading is not frivolous, it’s vital. 

Up until this point in my life as a parent, I’ve mostly approached children’s books with entertainment in mind.  While I absolutely want my kids to come away from our reading sessions with enjoyment being  central to their experience, it’s also becoming clear that it can’t be my only motivation to get us reading. 

It’s been strange to realize that although books and reading are some of the great loves of my life, I’m finding it necessary to force the time to read together as a family.  There is always something – some obligation or chore or tiring activity – that makes reading together seem like an extra instead of a must.  I have lists of novels – classic children’s literature that sets my reader’s heart racing – but if I plow towards the end of each day with nothing but personal relaxation in mind, we may never get to read them together.

And my children may still grow to love reading even without my perfect attention to daily stories, but I don’t want to fall off the wagon and forget how much it actually soothes us all. 

So I pick up the stack of books, choose several that have cadence and art and beauty, and place them directly in the middle of the bedroom floor.  After baths and pajamas, we will read. 

I never want to be so rushed that I forget to show my kids how perfectly a book can put a period at the end of a busy day.

[Orignally published at The Joplin Globe.]

Bigger Picture Moments: Eating Bon-Bons

There are a few specific times in my day that can, if I feel inclined to make them, be used solely for laziness. 

For instance, when Lauren is away to preschool, Landon's morning nap is the most glorious stretch of silence -- perfect for doing nothing.  To shatter the quiet with clanging dishes in the sink or shoving around in the laundry room would ruin the effect, and I do love to hoard silence.  It's such a rare, perfect thing.

So yesterday, I hoarded.  While Landon slept for two and a half hours, I burrowed into the couch.  A blanket was tucked around me, forbidding me from escape.  There was a pillow on my lap, propping up my novel.  I'm convinced that my body completely shut down in this time, only expelling enough energy to turn a page or allow my eyes to focus. 

It was wonderful.

But then, Landon woke up: he nursed; we retrieved Lauren from school; she went to her room to play quietly; Landon napped again; I ate lunch and checked email, and then looked around myself.

My house was a disaster.  I had plans to make some french bread for dinner later but there was no counter space on which to knead dough.  I went into my bedroom to find my shoes and saw instead three loads of laundry I'd meant to fold. 

The grumpies overcame me.  Instead of using my morning hours to knock out some nastiness around this place, I'd done NOTHING.  And when Mia came home from school, Landon would be mostly awake for the afternoon and I'd have my hands so full of chores that I'd have almost no time to play.  To do art projects with the girls.  To experience my kids. 

No, while they ran around outside in the soft and perfect, warm afternoon, I'd be stuck inside, sulking.  Slamming things around in the kitchen with clumsy speed, hoping to have dinner ready before bedtime. 

I was mad at my hoarded free-time.  I know it's not socially cool (something I've never claimed to be anyway) to announce that me-time is selfish, but that's exactly how I felt yesterday. 

By the time Justin and I went to bed, I had gotten almost nothing done.  It was as if I'd literally sat around all day eating bon-bons and watching soap operas: the banal stereotype of stay-at-home moms.  That was me.

I lamented.  "I'm so mad at myself," I told Justin.  He sat on the edge of the bed where I was crumpled in a heap at the foot.  "There was so much I needed to do today, and I just...skipped it all.  You know what I did?  I read.  That's all.  For over two hours -- enough time to clean the whole house -- I read my book.  Ugh!  Why am I so lazy?!"

He raised his eyebrows at my whining.  "Well...I mean...just put the book down next time?"

I rolled my eyes.  "But the thing is, I WANT to read.  I LOVE to read.  I'm ADDICTED to reading."

He shrugged.  Stepped over some dirty laundry on the floor.  Kissed my head on the way to brush his teeth. 

Later, we lay in bed.  Our lamps made the bed -- our hands, our faces -- warm and golden.  My feet were tucked under his calves and we both had books open on our tummies.  I closed the paperback cover, flipped the book over and glared at it.

"Finished?" he asked without looking up from his reading.

I sighed.  "Yep.  It's over now."

"See?"  He turned to face me.  "And you said you didn't get anything done today."  A smile quirked at the corner of his mouth.

I laughed; that tease of a smile filled me with promise.

Anyway, no bon-bons for me today.  Lauren and I are going to make banana bread.  I'm going to enlist her help to sort the laundry.  I'll let her play in the bubbles in the kitchen sink.  When Mia gets home, we'll read another few chapters of A Little Princess.

There are things to be done.  And motivation, too; a commodity. 

Let it be written: I will feel happy with this day at its end.  Then, I might search my shelves for a new book with which to reward myself.  Bon-bons before bed never hurt anyone.

We're seeing the Bigger Picture through simple moments -- moments that force us to stop and take notice of the ways our worlds are important, meaningful, and beautiful. Please join us at Undercover Mother today! Grab the button, link up, and read a few others to encourage them as they walk this journey of intentional living.

Library Bag Treasure

Do you remember my What We Found at the Library posts?  They were fun, and I sometimes miss them.  Not on the weeks when our library bag contains mostly duds, but since that happens so rarely, I'm constantly thinking, I need to tell someone about this good book!  And with the end of summer here (Yay, Fall!), this is the perfect time to reflect upon some favorites that have made for a good season of reading.

Or, I just want to share these gems with you and needed an excuse to do so!  So here...for your blast-from-the-Heavenly-past pleasure, is our recent library bag treasure:


Ladybug Girl and Bumblebee Boy, by David Soman and Jacky Davis

You know about Ladybug Girl, right?  The energetic little girl whose imagination is MUCH bigger than her namesake?  In her latest adventure, she tackles the thorny issues of learning how to play with other kids while sharing (but not forcing) her creativity.  I love these stories for lots of reasons: they illustrate a healthy imagination in real-life situations, the main character is feisty, and my daughters adore her.  But I think the best part about Lulu, Ladybug Girl?  Is her ability to learn and grow with her imagination, letting her take on all sorts of new adventures.  From making friends to keeping busy...Ladybug Girl is my hero.  I can't wait to read the rest!



The Curious Garden, by Peter Brown

This book is just so, so pretty.  The artwork is clear and bright and detailed without being cluttered, and sometimes there are no words on a page -- just pictures.  The girls have spent plenty of time staring at this book (until Mama takes it away to stare, herself...).  But the story is the sweetest thing.  A boy lives in a dreary city with no color, but he still loves to explore.  When he happens upon a patch of an old, dying garden, he brings it back to life and it takes on a life of its own.  It travels the city, spilling onto sidewalks and staircases...and it beautifies the whole land.  Gorgeous story, gorgeous artwork.  Gorgeous.



Miss Hunnicutt's Hat, by Jeff Brumbeau and Gail Marcken

Now, this book is a little cluttered.  But it works.  The pages are filled with eye-catching scenes in which a sweet-hearted lady defies the bossiness of her neighbors.  She's got a new hat, you see -- and it includes all the usual trappings: ribbons, bows, feathers...only the feathers belong to a real, live chicken.  The townspeople badger her and create quite a fuss, but Miss Hunnicutt is only strengthened in her resolve to wear what she likes.  It's a darling, hilarious story about being an original no matter the naysayers' opinions, and my daughters soaked it up. 



So, um....did you find anything good at the library this summer?  And am I crazy for loving childrens' books like I do?  And will somebody please get me a hat with a chicken on top?

Lucy and Lenae's Awesome Reading Adventure (Where Sarah Tags Along Jauntily)

I have a confession to make: I've never read The Chronicles of Narnia.  And since seeing the well-done movies, I really don't have a pressing desire to do so.  (Please don't hate me, Lenae...)  So when Lucy and Lenae announced that they were going to begin the grand adventure of reading C.S. Lewis' Space Trilogy together, I found myself wanting to participate purely for redeeming reasons.  Also for party-crashing reasons.  Also for entertainment reasons.

In short: I have my reasons. 

And today begins the first installment of their read-along fun!  (Read more about the plan here.  Also here.)

The official 'assignment' is to blog about the first three chapters, and I'll do that -- but not because I want to.  What I want to do is blog about chapter 7 or 8 or 9 or 11...you get my drift?  Yes, I'm a reader-aheader.  In my defense, I didn't know ahead of time how far I was supposed to read.  Also, I love to read.  Also, I can't help it if I read fast.

In short: I'll blog about the first three chapters of Out of the Silent Planet now.

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You know that feeling you get when you realize that you're surrounded by incredibly smart people and they think you understand what they're saying, but you're really lagging so far behind that you're only beginning to grasp the things they said a few conversations ago, yet they plow forward intelligently, hopefully ignorant of your stupor?

That's kind of how I felt for the first few pages of Out of the Silent Planet.  Don't be discouraged -- there's nothing difficult about this book.  It's just that it's written so fully and brilliantly (and old-fashionedly) that my mind had to shed some lazy pounds before it could keep up.  When I begin an old Austen or Bronte-type novel, I have to undergo the same transformation; there's a quick curve to summit before my modern mind can proceed.  It only took a few pages though, and then --

Wow.  What I love the most about picking up a new book is being surprised at its beauty.  Like, picking up a science fiction book, I wasn't fully prepared to be awed by the way the words fit together, you know what I mean?  But C.S. Lewis -- I guess he's famous for a reason.  Listen to this:

If he had chosen to look back, which he did not, he could have seen the spire of Much Nadderby, and, seeing it, might have uttered a malediction on the inhospitable little hotel which, though obviously empty, had refused him a bed.

This particular quote -- as well as the whole book so far, really -- is not all flowery or full of emotional wording, but I immediately get a sense of frustration and politely disguised anger.  It (and the paragraph in which it's couched) tells me about the main character (Ransom) and how he's feeling on this dark night, without saying: Ransom was highly irritated after being turned away from the single hotel in the area.  But none of that is what draws me to Lewis's sentence: I just think such a complex series of adjoining thoughts is fun to read.  (Look at all those completely legal commas!)

And the cool part is, from what I've seen, the book is full of such gems.  Here's another favorite:

Whatever the process of thought may have been, he found that the mental picture of himself calling at The Rise had assumed all the solidity of a thing determined upon. 

All the solidity of a thing determined upon.  That there's a mighty good phrase, ain't so?  Plus it makes me think of Ransom as a slightly impulsive fellow, and I know that will make for a good character trait, especially when it's combined with his other qualities -- intelligent, unassuming, rumpled, etc. 

I'll let Lucy and Lenae regale you with more in-depth plot outlines thus far, but here's what I know, in a pinch:

Ransom, a mere pedestrian wanderer, was abducted by some sketchy dudes (one named Devine which makes me think of de-vein, as in, peeling that nasty string from the back of a shrimp) of whom we know only a little bit, and that little bit isn't good.  These sneaky characters drugged him and conked him over the head before depositing him into a space ship of all things, and are headed to....we don't yet know where.  But at the close of Chapter 3, poor, naked Ransom (well, it's HOT in the space ship, you see?) is exclaiming about the size of the moon as seen through the ship's window. 

Only it's not the moon.  It's the earth.  Something which, at the point of this book's conception and publishing, has never before been seen from an extra-terrestrial perspective.  Of course Ransom wouldn't know the earth when he saw it.

Which makes me wonder:

What completely unknown things will Ransom (and therefore, the reader) witness when he reaches his unwitting destination?

Stay tuned....

(And head to Lucy's to link up your own thoughts if you want to read along!)