The Help: Revisited

Berkley Publishing Group

The Help
Kathryn Stockett
2009

The Summary
"Three ordinary women are about to take one extraordinary step...

"Aibileen is a black maid in 1962 Jackson, Mississippi, raising her seventeenth white child.  She's always taken orders quietly, but lately it leaves her with a bitterness she can no longer bite back.  Her friend Minny has certainly never held her tongue, or held on to a job for very long, but now she's working for a newcomer with secrets that leave her speechless.  And white socialite Skeeter has just returned from college with ambition and a degree but, to her mother's lament, no husband.  Normally Skeeter would find solace in Constantine, the beloved maid who raised her, but Constantine has inexplicably disappeared.

"Together, these seemingly different women join to work on a project that could forever alter their destinies and the life of a small town--to write, in secret, a tell-all book about what it's really like to work as a black maid in the white homes of the South.  Despite the terrible risks they will have to take, and the sometimes humorous boundaries they will have to cross, these three women unite with one intention:  hope for a better day."

The Good
I finished reading The Help a few years ago and, during July, I decided to join my local book club in reading it again--and I'm so glad I did.  The Help is as incredible to me now as it was to me the first time I read it.  I picked up different nuances and I noticed I related to different experiences this time around, especially where Skeeter is concerned; however, I think I love it just as much now, if not more, as I did then.

Incredibly compelling and soundly written, The Help is poignant and heart-wrenching novel that kept me glued to the pages.  I enjoyed meeting Skeeter, Aibileen, and Minnie; I especially enjoyed seeing how these ladies from distant social classes and experiences managed to create a book that is surely extraordinary.

And, as terrible as some of their stories veered, as heart-breaking as their histories are, I loved reading about them.  Their stories are compelling and beautiful, real and raw and, simply put, amazing.  I loved reading it, and I loved feeling connected to them.

Although Aibileen is still my favorite character, simply because she is an extraordinary woman, I found I connected more deeply with Skeeter during this second reading.  Having graduated from college since my first reading of The Help, I found I related more to Skeeter this time than I did the last.  That is, I recognize Skeeter's drive to do more with her life, yet she teeters between wanting to live her life--wanting to become an author--and hanging on to her family and struggling with the general expectations of Southern society.

It was a bit unexpected, maybe even a little jarring, to learn I see so much of myself and my personal experiences in Skeeter.  Although I was surprised by my connection to Skeeter, I don't think this detracted from the story in any way.  Rather, I found myself becoming more invested in the overall story and I certainly felt it more deeply.

I fully enjoyed rereading The Help.

The Bad
The Help is frequently written with a heavy emphasis on dialect and accent.  If you're not familiar with the region or it's verbal quirks, it might prove a little difficult to read.  On the other hand, if you're a Southerner or if you've ever lived in the South, reading this novel will be a piece of cake.

The Ugly
Racism.

Read Harder Challenge 2017: Part 4

This month, I finished a few more challenges, including:

• Read a book by an immigrant or with a central immigration narrative.
• Read a book published between 1900 and 1950.
• Read a collection of poetry in translation on a theme other than love.

Balzer + Bray

First up, I read American Street by Ibi Zoboi, which follows Fabiola as she adjusts to life in America with her rowdy cousins and her reclusive aunt.  When she arrives in Detroit, she is confronted by a terrible crossroads that will change her life and haunt her as she goes in pursuit of the American Dream.  A fascinating inspection into the immigrant experience, American Street  was made all the more compelling by the fact that the author, like Fabiola, was emigrated from Haiti when she was only a child.

Overall, I liked American Street.  It's a good, solid book with interesting characters, a wonderful narrator, and a heart-wrenching story.  However, I often found myself divided, because I both loved and hated this book.  It inspired a lot of emotions, not all of them good, but it also made me think and it made me feel and it compelled me to read on through Fabiola's story even when I felt my interest waning.

But, most of all, I loved the hints of magical realism seeded throughout the story.  Fabiola has very strong beliefs and she particularly believes in the ilwas of Vodou, which adds a layer of mystery, a thin veil of magic that enriches her story.  You don't really discover if Bad Leg is really Papa Legba, or if he really is just some junkie off the street, like Fabiola's cousins say, but it's that uncertainty that imbues a certain strength in Fabiola's belief and offers uncommon insight into the landscape of Vodou.

Barnes and Noble

Next, I conquered A Princess of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs, who also happens to be author of Tarzan of the Apes.  I picked up A Princess of Mars because I had it on my shelf and, more to the point, it seemed like an acceptable escape from reality; however, I wasn't always enchanted with the story.  I mean, it was really just mindless fun.

Originally serialized in 1912, A Princess of Mars is the first of many novels of the Barsoom Chronicles penned by Burroughs.  It follows John Carter, a former military man from Virginia, who finds himself ambushed in Arizona--and transported to a different world.  Mars (known as Barsoom to the native peoples) is a seemingly desolate land populated with dangerous creatures and war-like citizens, and Carter must find a way to survive if he eventually hopes to return to his home world.

For much of the story, it's really just Carter being really impressive with his super-strength and incredible agility and uncanny ability to learn languages--that is, unless he's rescuing the damsel in distress or endearing himself to the local wildlife.  Something interesting or incredible usually happens at the end of every chapter, so it's a bit of a page turner when Carter isn't boring you with facts that are obviously wrong or making you laugh with physics that could obviously never happen.

New Directions

Last, I checked out Paris Spleen by Charles Baudelaire.  Paris Spleen is a short collection of poetry originally written in French in 1896 by Charles Baudelaire--and none of his poems are about love.  I found it exceedingly difficult to find a collection of poetry that didn't talk about love, because everyone likes to talk about love and relationships and affection.  They're warm, fuzzy feelings to which everyone can relate.

But Baudelaire doesn't base his poetry on warm, fuzzy feelings; instead, he examines a darker side of human life.  He looks at the every day pleasures of intoxicating drink, sensuous women, and fine art; however, he also shines a lot on oppression, city squalor, mistreatment, malice.  His work couldn't be farther from warm, fuzzy feelings, like love.

It worked for my Read Harder Challenge, but, I will admit, it's definitely an acquired taste.  Baudelaire is really something else.

American Street

Balzer + Bray

American Street
Ibi Zoboi
2017

The Summary
"On the corner of American Street and Joy Road, Fabiola Toussaint though she would finally find une belle vie - a good life.

"But after they leave Port-au-Prince, Haiti, Fabiola's mother is detained by U.S. immigration, leaving Fabiola to navigate her loud American cousins, Chantal, Donna, and Princess; the grittiness of Detroit's west side; a new school; and a surprising romance, all her own.

"Just as she finds her footing in this strange new world, a dangerous proposition presents itself, and Fabiola soon realizes that freedom comes at a cost.  Trapped at the crossroads of an impossible choice, will she pay the price for the American dream?

"In her stunning debut, Pushcart-nominated author Ibi Zoboi draws on her own experience as a young Haitian immigrant, infusing this lyrical exploration of America with magical realism and Vodou culture.  Unflinching yet filled with joy, American Street is an evocative and powerful coming-of-age story."

The Good
I read American Street as part of my Read Harder Challenge, and I can't say I regret my decision.  American Street is a provocative, thoughtful novel that portrays both immigrant experiences and, in some cases, daily life in urban areas.  It's beautifully written, well-paced, and fascinating; it's a book that makes you think, makes you feel.

I loved the hints of magical realism seeded throughout the story.  Fabiola is a very spiritual person.  Her beliefs are strong, and her faith in the ilwas of Vodou is even stronger--and, as time goes on, she begins to spot the ilwas work in her daily life.  I found this added a layer of mystery, a thin veil of magic that enriches her story.

Granted, you don't really discover if Bad Leg is really Papa Legba or just some junkie off the street, like Fabiola's cousins claim, but it's that uncertainty that imbues a certain strength to Fabiola's belief and offers uncommon insight into the landscape of Vodou.  It's magical, yet it's firmly grounded in reality as to relate to readers, to connect on a deeply personal level.

The Bad
Personally, this book made me miss being where I am.  I mean, I couldn't stand the cold, gray landscape Fabiola describes.  It felt cruel, sterile and cold.  It made me want to go outside and climb into a tree to really appreciate the cool, green shade.

The Ugly
Fabiola endures so much for a girl her age.  She survives the earthquake that destroyed Port-au-Prince in 2010; she is forced to travel to Detroit alone, because her mother is detained by customs; she must acclimate to a new school, a new culture--and no one, not even her aunt and cousins, seem willing to help her.

And that's just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to this book.

This book does not pull punches.  I'm not even joking.  It's violent, it's hurtful, it's bloody, it's dark, it's tragic--and it really doesn't get any better.  Fabiola is thrust into a new world, moving from her impoverished community in Haiti to a violent neighborhood in Detroit.  She's confronted with some very harsh realities that will, ultimately, break her heart.

I realize this book actually shows some of Zoboi's experiences (if you read the author's note, you'll see just how autobiographical Fabiola's story really is); in fact, it might encapsulate the reality of American life in impoverished urban areas.  However, I did not like the violence or the bloodshed or the drugs or the hard truths that American Street makes you confront.

I mean, for some people, American Street may very well be a portrayal of real life.  I may not have had to deal with many of the things Fabiola encountered--drugs, alcohol, gang violence, prescription abuse--but I know they aren't uncommon experiences, even in more rural regions where I live.  So reading American Street is an uncomfortable wake up call, it's a slap in the face because you can't look away from the glimpse of reality it presents.

I felt divided while I was reading this book, because I both loved and hated it.  It inspired a lot of emotions, not all of them good, but it also made me think and it made me feel and it compelled me to read on through Fabiola's story even when I felt my interest waning--or my heart breaking.

It's a very good book, but know you're getting into a world of heartache before you pick it up.

Read Harder Challenge 2017: Part 3

I finally finished the next part of my Read Harder Challenge.  I finished:

• Read a book about books.
• Read a book that is set within 100 miles of your location.
• Read a collection of stories by a woman.

Simon & Schuster

Starting out, I finished reading The Bad-Ass Librarians of Timbuktu by Joshua Hammer, which details events beginning in 2012 when more than 350,000 manuscripts--many of which had been painstakingly collected by Abdel Kader Haidara--were endangered by Al Qaeda militants seizing control of Mali.  In his book, Hammer details how Haidara and other manuscript collectors managed to find, preserve, and rescue hundreds of thousands of manuscripts, before smuggling them out of the country under the noses of Al Qaeda.

As the summary attests, it's indeed a "brazen heist worth of Ocean's Eleven."  Personally, I found it fascinating to learn how Haidara became involved in the manuscript preservation business and how he and other librarians managed to steal away more than 350,000 manuscripts from Timbuktu.  I mean, the number is simply mind boggling.

Moreover, I was consistently fascinated by the history and culture of Timbuktu and Mali as a whole.  Hammer offers a rich variety of details, discussing the medical, cultural, historical, scholastic and artistic impact of Timbuktu.  Although his work can grow a little dry, every chapter offers fascinating insight into the history of Timbuktu and, more importantly, provides readers with an eye-opening portrait of the conditions faced by Mali's residents when Al Qaeda invaded.

Cipher-Naught

Next, I checked out Beauty and the Mustache by Penny Reid.  Set in Tennessee, Beauty and the Mustache is a short, sweet little romance--which kicks off the Winston Brothers series and continues the Knitting in the City series, both by Penny Reid--that brings together Ashley Winston and Drew Runous.  After spending more than 8 years away from home, Ashley is forced to return to Tennessee to help take care of her ailing mother.  Expecting the same rough treatment from her brothers as from years before, she's surprised to learn they've changed.  She's even more surprised to meet their friend Drew, especially when she realizes he's exactly her type.

Overall, I really enjoyed reading Beauty and the Mustache.  Like I noted above, it's a short, sweet little romance and it's absolutely adorable.  It's sometimes bittersweet, sometimes tragic, but I immensely enjoyed reading Penny Reid's novel.  I found I connected to Ashley, our main character and narrator, on a personal level and I admired her sharp, sarcastic sense of humor, her intelligence, and her ability to go toe-to-toe with Drew's philosophical meanderings.

However, I will note I was bothered by one thing:  I did not like the setting.  I love the Smoky Mountains, don't get me wrong; however, I simply didn't like the narrator's inability to describe her surroundings.  I was incredibly disappointed by the setting descriptions, which were seriously lacking.  I wanted to hear more about the winding roads, the multitude of trees, the softly sloping mountains in the distance, or the way the hills fade against the horizon, deepening to a slate blue before disappearing altogether.

I wanted to hear about places I've known or seen, but, sadly, I didn't get that chance.  It was slightly disappointing.

Anchor

Last, I read Moral Disorder by Margaret Atwood.  I think I might have fudged the challenge parameters with this one, since it's really just a single novel; however, as it's labeled with "Other Stories," I assumed it would do the trick.  It centers around one woman--Nell--but it's a compilation of many short stories from different points in her life.

It begins with "Bad News," toward the tail end of Nell's life, but it jumps through time with each story and catapults Nell into the past, showing readers glimpses of her childhood and her adolescence and, finally, her transition into adulthood.

Truthfully, I didn't enjoy reading Moral Disorder that much.  Atwood is a fantastic writer and her prose packs a punch when she wants it, but, personally, I found I couldn't always connect with the stories in Moral Disorder, I couldn't always connect to Tig and Nell.  Granted, when I did connect with one of these stories, it moved me deeply and I worried for Nell, like I'd worry for a friend; however, I found it was a rather unremarkable journey for me overall.

The Bad-Ass Librarians of Timbuktu: And Their Race to Save the World's Most Precious Manuscripts

Simon & Schuster

The Bad-Ass Librarians of Timbuktu:  And Their Race to Save the World's Most Precious Manuscripts
Joshua Hammer
2016

The Summary
"To save precious centuries-old Arabic texts from Al Qaeda, a band of librarians in Timbuktu pulls off a brazen heist worthy of Ocean's Eleven.

"In the 1980s, a young adventurer and collector for a government library, Abdel Kader Haidara, journeyed across the Sahara and along the Niger River, tracking down and salvaging tens of thousands of ancient Islamic and secular manuscripts that were crumbling in the trunks of desert farmers.  His goal was to preserve this crucial part of the world's patrimony in a gorgeous library.  But then Al Qaeda showed up at the door.

"The Bad-Ass Librarians of Timbuktu tells the incredible story of how Haidara, a mild mannered activist and historian from the legendary city of Timbuktu, became one of the world's greatest and most brazen smugglers by saving the texts from destruction.  With bravery and patience, he organized a dangerous operation to sneak all 350,000 volumes out of the city to the safety of southern Mali.  This real-life thriller is a reminder that ordinary citizens often do the most to protect the beauty and imagination of their culture.  It is also the story of a man who, through extreme circumstances, discovered his higher calling and was changed forever by it."

The Good
I enjoyed reading The Bad-Ass Librarians of Timbuktu.  First and foremost, I had the chance to learn about some amazing librarians who did extraordinary things (I always like learning about librarians); second, I learned so much about Timbuktu and Mali, which I enjoyed.  I love learning about different regions and locales, and I was positively enchanted by Mali and the beautiful manuscripts Abdel Kader Haidara uncovers.

I love books.  I especially love old books.  They're beautiful and precious, and I was enthralled by the simple history and content of the hundreds of manuscripts that Haidara saved.  Joshua Hammer had a way of describing the manuscripts that made me want to reach out and hold them, to run my fingers over the pages and see the full-colored details painstakingly drawn upon their pages.

I was dying to view one for myself and feel the weight of history in my hands.

It's a consistent feeling throughout the book.  Hammer gives these manuscripts--and the men and women who saved them--a great significance.  They feel important, crucial to the preservation of history and culture and memory.

You get the feeling that Hammer is passionate about this story.  He wants to tell readers about the incredible librarians who preserved history against all odds, about the city and country that suffered under Al Qaeda, about the small community that banded together to survive unspeakable tragedy.  Truly, it's awe-inspiring to read.

The Bad
No complaints.

It's a bit slow on the build up, but it's a fascinating and thoughtful inspection on a region of the world with which I'm unfamiliar.  I was excited to learn more about Mali's wonderful and colorful history, to hear more about Haidara's unprecedented rescue mission of more than 350,000 books and manuscripts.

The Ugly
The violence this region endured is staggering.

Mali, particularly Timbuktu, was a thriving haven for artists, musicians, tourists, religious leaders, educators, and historians.  Regular festivals were held in honor of local music and musicians, and museums sprang up to celebrate the social, scholarly, medical, and cultural history of Mali.  And yet almost over night everything changed with the arrival of Al Qaeda.

Strict religious and social laws, appalling punishments, brutal behavior, cruelty, and that's just the tip of the iceberg.  They killed and maimed those they believed broke their laws; they restricted local businesses and workers, imposing harsh strictures, and all but killed Mali's economy; they defaced monuments and burned books, art, and more, destroying anything they saw as challenging their leadership.  They effectively tried to erase Mali's history and impose their own.

It's horrifying to witness these things.  I mean, I found it heartbreaking to see Timbuktu have its entire culture and history reworked through a lens of bigotry and hate, to witness innocent people lose their homes, their businesses, their limbs and their very lives for a philosophy of violence.  It's painful, and it's what makes The Bad-Ass Librarians of Timbuktu such a hard book to read and discuss.

Rejected Princesses: Tales of History's Boldest Heroines, Hellions, and Heretics

Dey St.

Rejected Princesses:  Tales of History's Boldest Heroines, Hellions, and Heretics
Jason Porath
2016

The Summary
"Well-behaved women seldom make history...and these women are far from well behaved.

"Let's face it:  the list of historical women we learn about in school is lacking.  It's safe, it's censored, it's short.  And even when we learn about a true legend--say, Harriet Tubman--we get half the story (and it's usually not the half about her as a plantation-torching Union spy-master).  This is just the list of women we know about.  What of the women we don't?

"In place of complex, real-life heroines, we get sparkly, doe-eyed animated damsels who dominate children's minds everywhere.

"Rejected Princesses is here to provide an alternative to all that.

"In this fully illustrated, deeply researched, and totally entertaining collection, Jason Porath offers 100 women too uncompromising, too untoward, or too uncomfortable to fit the modern princess mold.  Gathering together a diverse set of some famous, some infamous, some forgotten, and some virtually unknown figures from history and myth, from all over the globe, this book presents the female role models we never knew we needed.  Yes, there are a few princesses, but there are also pirates, spies, journalists, activists, concubines, empresses, ninjas, pilots, samurais, mathematicians, sword-slingers, and war-lords too.

"These women were rebels and rulers, pioneers in their fields, and fighters for their causes (and sometimes for themselves).  In a time when women are still pushing for equal pay and equal opportunity, shouldn't we be putting brave women like Sybil Luddington, Hatshepshut, Nzinga Mbande, Josephine Baker, Khutulun, Rani Lakshimbai, Harriet Tubman, Emmeline Parkhurst, and Joan of Arc on equal footing with Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty?

"Women have always played a key, kick-ass role in revolutionizing our world.  The girls of today are the latest links in a long chain of geniuses, warriors, and fearless women.  It is the birthright of every woman to have a connection to that history.  Empowering, uproarious, and anything but traditional, Rejected Princesses seeks to provide just that."

The Good
I loved this book.

Yes, loved.

If it's not already apparent, I'm a bit of a history nerd and I love learning about quirky, unconventional history and feisty females who made their mark on history (see:  Bad Girls), so Rejected Princesses was the best of both worlds for me.

I imagine that many of the women featured in this book were too rebellious, too dangerous and, sometimes, too deadly to make it into high school textbooks; in fact, many of the women--whether resigned to the darkest parts of history or lingering at the edges of myth--were a pleasant surprise.  That is, I'd never read about them and I loved learning about them and the impact they made on history.

Here are some of my favorites:

• Khutulun
• Noor Inayat Khan
• Julie d'Aubigny
• Annie Jump Cannon
• Iara
• Mariya Oktyabrskaya
• Olga of Kiev
• Ching Shih
• Sybil Luddington
• Alfhild
• Mary Bowser
• Nanny of the Maroons
• Tomo Gozen
• Marjana

All of these women were incredible.  I mean, on this list alone you have fighters and warriors, spies and astronomers, pirates and Vikings, rebels and freedom fighters.  They're incredible.  Granted, I know some of them didn't exist (Marjana is a literary character, whereas Iara and, I think, Alfhild are myths and/or legends), but it was wonderful getting a glimpse into these individual cultures and their perceptions of women--and how these women flaunted conventions.

It was great.

And, of course, I can't forget the Night Witches from my list.  You can hear about me rhapsodize about the Night Witches here, so I won't go into much detail about them, except to say that they are without a doubt the most incredible pilots of World War II (I'm not joking) and, perhaps, some of the most incredible women about which I've had the pleasure to learn.

Overall, Rejected Princesses is a wonderful book.  Full of humor, colorful art, historical facts and, of course, incredible women, it's a great resource for those who wish to dabble in history--and it will show you just what it means to fight like a girl.

The Bad
No complaints.

I seriously want a copy for myself.

The Ugly
History is not always pretty--and, let's be honest here, it hasn't always been kind to women.  Some were burned at the stake because they were different; others were buried alive or faced a firing squad; some were even assassinated for their own violent reactions to society.  Not all these ladies had the luxury to happily retire.

Kingdom Come

DC Comics

Kingdom Come
Mark Waid
Alex Ross
Todd Klein
1996

The Summary
"Winner of five Eisner and Harvey Awards, Kingdom Come is the best-selling graphic novel from acclaimed writer Mark Waid and superstar painter Alex Ross.

"Set in the not so distant future, the DC Universe is spinning inexorably out of control.  The new generation of heroes has lost their moral compass, becoming just as reckless and violent as the villains they fight.  The previous regime of heroes--the Justice League--returns under the most dire of circumstances, setting up a battle of the old guard against these uncompromising protectors in a battle that will define what heroism truly is."

The Good
First off, Kingdom Come is perhaps the most beautiful and breathtakingly intricate comic I have ever read.  I didn't realize, until my brother pointed it out to me, that Alex Ross actually created individual oil paintings for each of the panels.  So all that detail you see there on each page?  That's from one man taking his time, painting each shadow and line on a canvas.

There's beauty to be found in that much detail.  There's a realism and depth that's absolutely magnificent, that puts Kingdom Come into a class of its own.

Second, it's also one of the more confusing.  Despite it's deep philosophical reach, I have to say I loved it.  I was a bit confused by Batman's motivations and, honestly, I still don't think I understand what happened to the superheroes--like, why did the Justice League suddenly split up?  Why are there so many heroes and what happened that drove some of them to the brink of insanity?  Why did things have to go such extremes?  And what, exactly, is the Spectre doing--and where does Norman McCay fit into the grand scheme of things?

I'm sure the answers are buried in the story somewhere and, I think, I understand the basic premise of the story, but, regardless, I enjoyed it overall.  The story sheds light on aging superheroes, putting faces on a new generation of superhumans and creates a fascinating world that's hanging by a thread--a complex, precarious world that pits humanity against the superheroes that both save and endanger them.

Honestly, Kingdom Come is difficult to describe.  It's one of those you need to read to see and believe.

The Bad
Like I said, Kingdom Come is a bit confusing.  It's mostly the philosophical musings of the characters that throws me for a loop and the thinly veiled religious undertones that proved more puzzling than anything.  Otherwise, no complaints.

The Ugly
I haven't known much about Captain Marvel--well, I'm more familiar with him as Shazam, his newer DC moniker--but I feel truly bad for the guy.  I mean, here's a superhero who suddenly fell into the clutches of Lex Luthor I don't want to give anything away, but, just know, his story may break your heart.  I mean, he isn't a villain, not like  you might think.  His history and his fate are, truthfully, shattering.

Read Harder Challenge (Part Eight)

This week, I'm just barely eking by with my Read Harder Challenge.  After reading these last books, I have officially finished my list:

1. Read a book that is set in the Middle East
2. Read a nonfiction book about feminism or dealing with feminist themes
3. Read a food memoir

Little, Brown and Co.

To start off, I finally finished reading I Am Malala by Malala Yousafzai.  It only took my 6 months, but I finished it and, honestly, I'm glad I did.  It's a fascinating story that's both heartbreaking and incredibly informative, offering insight into the various cultures and relations of Afghanistan.  Although her story is grim, it's simultaneously uplifting.  Personally, I enjoyed reading about her and her father's endeavors to bring education to local children--and particularly to the young women of the community.

Malala is a skilled narrator.  She's bright, she's hopeful, she's very detailed and she's very intelligent.  Although her book is a translation, which is sometimes apparent, I felt like I could read and relate to her feelings.  She does a fine job of connecting to her readers, detailing her thoughts and feelings--and making her voice heard.  She makes a compelling argument for education, for giving women equal education opportunities.  Truthfully, you can see why Malala Yousafzai is a Nobel Prize Laureate.

I also had the opportunity to read a short (and rather famous) essay by Virginia Woolf:  A Room of One's Own.  As an avid reader and, ahem, English major in college, you would think I'd have taken the opportunity to read A Room of One's Own, but, until this year, I had yet to make more than a cursory acquaintance with Woolf's work.  Unfortunately, I wasn't enamored by her essay.

Harcourt Inc.

A Room of One's Own makes some very valid points.  It's important to read and, after reading it, it's something that all young women should have a chance to read at least once in their life.  However, I had a hard time reading Woolf's essay, because I just couldn't seem to focus on one thing before it jumped to another.  For instance, in the first few pages when Woolf described Oxbridge and her experiences at the esteemed university, I thought it took quite a long time to get to the point--and, confidentially, I found myself growing a little bored as I waited for her to come to a conclusion.  Not that her writing is bad, mind you; I just struggled to stay committed given her style of writing, so I'm not sure if that's so much her failing as my own.

The point is, I finished reading A Room of One's Own and I have a new appreciation for Woolf.  She's a talented writer, but, personally, I'm not so sure she's the writer for me.  I appreciate her work and I appreciate the significance of her essay, but I don't think she's the one and only feminist writer for me.

Last but not least, I read Julie and Julia by Julie Powell.  It's riotously funny, yet strangely poignant.  Oddly enough, it reminds me of Jenny Lawson and her memoir, Furiously Happy--yet just a tiny bit less chaotic.  Not by much, considering Julie Powell undertakes to make 524 different recipes, many of which take hours to prepare, in just one year in a crappy little apartment in Queens.  It's astonishing the things she (and her marriage) manages to survive, including:  biological clocks, frozen pipes, disastrous dinner parties, inane dead end secretarial jobs, break downs, Blanche days, and celebrity crushes.

Hatchette Books

It's really a pretty amusing book, especially if you decide to listen to it as read by the author (which I did); however, it's not quite the food memoir I expected.  In fact, Julie and Julia is more memoir than food.  Julie is hellbent on recreating all of Julia Child's recipes in Mastering the Art of French Cooking, vol. 1 and, in her journey, she learns how to make a variety of dishes and confronts some of the most trying times of her life.  While it features a lot of cooking, Julie and Julia feels like it's more about the experiences of cooking and the results, specifically what happens to the author as she slogs through more than 500 French recipes, than the actual cooking, but I can't say I minded.

Julie and Julia is strangely heartwarming and incredibly amusing.  To me, it strikes just the right balance that makes it a memoir worth reading, especially if you have the chance to listen to the author tell her own story.  It makes it memorable.  However, I will note that while I was listening to the audiobook I discovered I borrowed the abridged version.  I don't know if the audiobook had the full text, but I do know I missed a few things that might otherwise have filled in details or fleshed out the characters involved.  It was my only disappointment in an otherwise wonderful book.

Beloved Poison

Pegasus Books

Beloved Poison
E.S. Thomson
2016

The Summary
"Set in a crumbling 1850s London infirmary, a richly atmospheric Victorian crime novel where murder is the price to be paid for secrets kept.

"Ramshackle and crumbling, trapped in the past and resisting the future, St. Saviour's Infirmary awaits demolition.  Within its stinking wards and cramped corridors, the doctors bicker and backstab.  Ambition, jealousy, and loathing seethe beneath the veneer of professional courtesy.  Always an outsider, and with a secret of her own to hide, apothecary Jem Flockhart observes everything but says nothing.

"And then six tiny coffins are uncovered, inside each a handful of dried flowers and a bundle of mouldering rags.  When Jem comes across these strange relics hidden inside the infirmary's old chapel, her quest to understand their meaning prises open a long-forgotten past--with fatal consequences.

"In a trail that leads from the bloody world of the operating room and the dissecting table to the notorious squalor of Newgate Prison and the gallows, Jem's adversary proves to be both powerful and ruthless.  As St. Saviour's destruction draws near, the dead are unearthed from their graves while the living are forced to make impossible choices.  And murder is the price to be paid for secrets kept."

The Good
When I picked up Beloved Poison, I read the blurb on the back of the book written by Janet Ellis, author of The Butcher's Hook.  It said:

"Beloved Poison is a marvellous, vivid book with a thoughtful, engaging protagonist at its center--and a fascinating story to tell.  It's immaculately researched and breathtakingly dark.  Elain Thomson's descriptive powers are so great that I was surprised to see twenty-first century London rather than grimy, smelly St. Savior's around me when I--eventually--looked up from its pages."

I felt a familiar jolt of recognition that told me this would be a good book--nay, a great book.  And I was right.

Richly atmospheric, as the book jacket promises, Beloved Poison is a wonderfully descriptive novel that plumbs the depths of London's dark heart.  It sheds light on a horrifyingly brutal series of murders that will rock the denizens of St. Saviour's to their core, tearing back the veil on the social conditions of the poor and highlighting the grim realities of 19th century medical science.  Secrets, lies, and murder will abound.  It's all very horrible.

And yet I enjoyed it.  I enjoyed it very much.

Jem is one of the more intriguing characters I've read.  She's daughter to St. Saviour's apothecary, but she's been raised as his son--and no one, except a very few who may have their suspicions, knows of her identity.  She keeps her hair cut short, she walks and speaks as a man might, she wears clothes as a man would wear.  She's been given a startling taste of independence and, yet, she knows she would be condemned for her abnormal behavior.

Jem is a thoughtful, insightful narrator.  She's conflicted, she's intelligent, and she's unique for her ability to understand the minds of both women and men--as she has lived as both in her lifetime.  She's absolutely fascinating, and I was eager to learn more about her.  In my own way, I grew to love her and her story.  I couldn't wait to read more.

Although her investigation takes center stage, I found myself just as curious about her and her world as the identity of the killers.  Jem, like the coffins she discovers in the old chapel, is a puzzle.  She's complicated, yes, but I liked that Jem had so many layers to her character.  I liked that she was so continuously conflicted by her identity and her struggles as she straddled the world of both men and women.

As you read, you discover she must keep her gender a secret:  she hides behind her marvelously dark birthmark and a caustic wit, she masks any touch of femininity in her character, she learns to act as a man might and treat others as a man would.  She grapples daily with her own doubts and fears, facing the somber reality of Victorian social expectations and her unconventional upbringing.  She's often left wondering whether she's been ruined for her "unnatural" habits--or has she been given an unexpected taste of independence?

I loved it.  I loved the whole book.

The Bad
No complaints.

The Ugly
Although I loved this book, I did not love the violence or carnage or gore.  Or the sexual abuse and exploitation.  Or the callous disregard for human life.  Or, you know, the general uncleanliness practiced by medical professionals of the day.

Moreover, it's quite distressing to read about a man having his leg amputated without any anesthetic or hearing, in detail, about a necropsy. Or, and here's a familiar scene, watching a man inject himself with syphilis.  I remember witnessing something similar in The Anatomist's Apprentice by Tessa Harris and, you'd think, I'd be used to it by now.

But, no, it's no less jarring in Beloved Poison.

God in Pink

Arsenal Pulp Press

God in Pink
Hasan Namir
2016

The Summary
"A revelatory novel about being queer and Muslim, set in war-torn Iraq in 2003.  Ramy is a closeted university student whose parents have died, and who lives under the close scrutiny of his strict brother and sister-in-law.  They exert pressure on him to find a wife, leaving him anguished and struggling to find a balance between his sexuality, religion, and culture.  Desperate for counsel, he seeks the advice of Ammar, a sheikh at a local mosque, whose tolerance is challenged by the contradictions between Ramy's dilemma and the teachings of the Qur'an, leading him to question his own belief system.

"Alternating between quiet moments of beauty and raw depictions of violence, God in Pink poignantly captures the anguish and the fortitude of gay Muslims in Iraq."

The Good
God in Pink is an intriguing novel.  It's a powerful book full of tragedy, but similar moments of beauty.  It strikes a chord, I think, because it depicts a time of turmoil that I never saw or never remembered--and it isn't afraid to broach the subject of sexuality.  It takes on the hard subjects, it shows readers the violence that homosexuals faced in Iraq in 2003 and beyond.

It's one of those books that serves to kick you in the chest and leave you reeling.

The Bad
I did not like the ending of God in Pink.  I can't say I quite understood Ammar's change of heart, perhaps because I did not see the signs or, more notably, I did not understand the character from the very beginning; moreover, I was very disappointed with the fate of Ramy.  It kind of broke my heart that he couldn't be himself, that he couldn't fall in love with who he wanted--that he wasn't free to be who he wanted to be.

It broke my heart.

I understand why the story ended as it did, even if I didn't quite understand what happened to Ammar--what changed him in the first place that his true colors showed in the final chapters.  I understand why Ramy had to keep his feelings under wraps, but I wasn't pleased with it.  God in Pink is meant to make you think, to feel something powerful; however, it's also a tragic story with, in my opinion, a disappointing ending.

The Ugly
I struggled with this novel, because I was not comfortable with all the depictions of heinous violence and wanton savagery.  I understand that mindless cruelty, thoughtless barbarity is simply a fact; I understand that it happens, that it's not something you can ignore if you live on the planet Earth.  I know it exists, but it's still hard to read about terrible things happening to other people.

I didn't hate this novel, but I hated the cruelty and gratuitous violence.  It made me physically sick and, even though I was only a few pages from finishing, I had to put the book aside for a couple of days just to recuperate.

This is a magnificent book depicting life in war-torn Iraq for a gay Muslim man.  It's poignant and it's guaranteed to make an impact, but, at the same time, it will tear out your heart.  I recommend reading it with great caution, like I would for books like Native Son by Richard White, Beloved by Toni Morrison, or The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck.

Read it, but be prepared for acute emotional turmoil.

Unfinished, Six

Bantam

I didn't get very far with Them Bones by Carolyn Haines.  I picked it up as an ebook and started reading it on my tablet, but I couldn't stay with the story.  It intrigued me, I won't deny, but I couldn't seem to invest myself in the plot or even enjoy the characters.  For some reason, it just didn't seem right for me and, honestly, I didn't feel like trying to force myself to fall for a book that obviously wasn't for me.

I don't think I even managed to make it past the first chapter, so I don't have much to say about it.

-

I am an avid reader of Jana DeLeon.  I've read almost everything written in the Miss Fortune Mystery series (which includes Louisiana Longshot, Lethal Bayou Beauty, Swamp Sniper, Swamp Team 3, Gator Bait, Soldiers of Fortune, and Hurricane Force) and a handful of other novels; however, I think I'm finished with Fortune Redding.  At least, for the time being.

Jana DeLeon

I tried to read Fortune Hunter, but after binge reading the Miss Fortune Mystery series, I can't say I was excited to return.  Fortune Hunter, like it's predecessors, is good, mindless fun.  It's a thrill-a-minute joy ride that takes you across the bayous of Louisiana at breakneck speed and it doesn't stop.  It's hilarious, it's fun, and it's packed with interesting--I'm being diplomatic here--characters.

Honestly, I had fun with Louisiana Longshot and I really enjoyed Gator Bait (it's probably my favorite), but I just can't take more of the sheer absurdity.  It's fun and it's funny, but, after a certain point, I just need a break from the insanity of Gertie, Ida Belle, and danger-prone Fortune Redding.

I might come back to the series one day.  For now, I just need some distance--and, maybe, an infusion of something more series.  Like Tolkien.  Or Tolstoy.

-

Feiwel & Friends

The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making by Catherynne Valente was an interesting book.  September, a very ordinary girl living in Omaha, Nebraska, finds herself transported to a mythical fairy world and throw into a not-so-ordinary adventure.  As I read the book jacket, it struck me as a fascinating story, especially when I heard about the villainous Marquess and the book-loving Wyvern and an array of strange, delightful creatures and characters, like the Green Wind.  I was uncommonly excited to read Valente's novel.

And then, suddenly, I wasn't.

I don't know if it just wasn't the right time for me to read The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making or if I was simply distracted by all the other novels I had in my TBR.  Regardless, I couldn't disappear into the world of Fairy, like September does, and I didn't find myself enchanted by the wondrous things she saw.  I couldn't stay committed to the story, so I simply put it aside to read another day.

-

I started Perfume:  The Story of a Murderer by Patrick Süskind with every intention of finishing it; however, it turned into a bit of a nonstarter, like Them Bones.  I didn't get very deep into Perfume, before I put it aside, but, honestly, I don't know why I did.  I mean, yes, it's a bit grisly at the beginning (and I don't imagine it gets any better), but, for some reason, I thought it had the most beautiful language.

That is, the most beautiful language considering it's about the makings of a homicidal maniac.

Penguin

If I hadn't had such a massive TBR (and another book on the back burner that I really wanted to finish) and if I hadn't had a due date, I might have spent a little more time getting to know Perfume.  Something about it enchanted me, something about the language and the dismal streets of eighteenth century Paris that had me hooked; however, I made the mistake of putting it down...and I didn't pick it back up.

It's a bit like Game of Thrones in that respect.  It's wonderfully detailed, it's fascinating, it's well-written, but I just can't seem to keep my attention focused on more than one book at a time.  One always ends up suffering.  In this case, it was Perfume.

I will note that I have every intention of finding Süskind's novel once more, after I finish reading I Am Malala and Julie and Julia and My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She's Sorry...among others.

Read Harder Challenge (Part Seven)

I finished some new books for my Read Harder Challenge, and I've completed more reading tasks:

1. Read a biography (not memoir or autobiography)
2. Read a dystopian or post-apocalyptic novel
3. Read a book about religion (fiction or nonfiction)

St. Martin's Griffin

First up, I finished Florence Foster Jenkins by Nicholas Martin and Jasper Rees, which inspired the recently released movie of the same name.  Florence Foster Jenkins was not a traditional singer.  At a young age, she was well known for her skill with a piano and her love--and, more importantly, support--of music; however, it wasn't until she was 76 years old that she undertook to become a concert singer.  She's best remembered for her concert at Carnegie Hall and her vinyl recordings, which introduced the world to her rather...unique voice.

I enjoyed reading Florence Foster Jenkins.  Drawing from multiple resources, including Florence and her common law husband, St. Clair Bayfield, Martin and Rees' book does an incredible job of shedding light on Florence, her work, and her time.  It's intriguing without becoming dull, amusing without ridiculing its rather unorthodox subject, and chock full of interesting historical facts about Florence and the New York artistic scene of the early 20th century.  Overall, I enjoyed it and I highly recommend for any readers to take a moment to listen to Madame Jenkins on YouTube to get a better idea of how her singing voice sounded.  You (probably) won't regret it.

Scholastic Press

Next, I completed Rook by Sharon Cameron.  The Sunken City--formerly Paris, the City of Lights--is a place of danger, desperation, and despotism.  Ruled by the corrupt Premier Allemande and the bloodthirsty LeBlanc, the Sunken City is brimming with discontent and revolution--and, at the heart of it all, is the mysterious Red Rook who spirits people from their cells and wreaks havoc against the Premier's puppet government.

A story packed with action and adventure, political intrigue and danger, Rook has quickly become one of my guilty pleasures.  I know it falls under the rather broad category of dystopian young adult fantasy (think Hunger Games, Divergent, The Maze Runner, Life as We Knew It or even The Giver), but I really enjoyed Sharon Cameron's novel.  I enjoyed the characters, the unexpected twists and turns, the ambiguous references to the past, the complicated political climate.  I wasn't a fan of the love triangle and, yes, I will admit that the story seemed to drag in a few places; however, altogether, I really liked it and I think it settles in nicely next to Cinder.

Last, I rounded out my reading with God in Pink by Hasan Namir.  Ramy is a young Muslim man living in Iraq in 2003, right in the midst of a war and a cultural revolution--and he also happens to be gay.  Struggling with what he knows his brother would term a "sexual deviancy," Ramy tries to balance his feelings with his obligations to his family and his faith.

Arsenal Pulp Press

Truthfully, I struggled with this novel, because I was not comfortable with all the depictions of heinous violence and wanton savagery.  I understand that mindless cruelty, thoughtless barbarity is simply a fact; I understand that it happens, that it's not something you can ignore if you live on the planet Earth.  I know it exists, but it's still hard to read about terrible things happening to other people.

I didn't hate this novel; rather, the opposite.  I thought God in Pink was a magnificent book depicting life in war-torn Iraq for a gay Muslim man.  It's poignant and it's guaranteed to make an impact, but, at the same time, it will tear out your heart.  I recommend reading it with great caution, like I would for Native Son by Richard White, Beloved by Toni Morrison, or The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck.  Read it, but expect deep emotional turmoil.

Furiously Happy

Flatiron Books

Furiously Happy:  A Funny Book About Horrible Things
Jenny Lawson
2015

The Summary
"In Furiously Happy, #1 New York Times bestselling author Jenny Lawson explores her lifelong battle with mental illness.  A hysterical, ridiculous book about crippling depression and anxiety?  That sounds like a terrible idea.

"But terrible ideas are what Jenny does best.

"As Jenny says, 'Some people might thing being "furiously happy" is just an excuse to be stupid and irresponsible and invite a herd of kangaroos over to your house without telling your husband first because you suspect he would say no since he's never particularly liked kangaroos.  And that would be ridiculous because no one would invite a herd of kangaroos into their house.  Two is the limit.  I speak from personal experience.  My husband says that "none" is the new limit.  I say he should have been clearer about that before I rented all those kangaroos.

"'Most of my favorite people are dangerously fucked up but you'd never guess because we've learned to bare it so honestly that it becomes the new normal.  Like John Hughes wrote in The Breakfast Club, "We're all pretty bizarre.  Some of us are just better at hiding it."  Except go back and cross out the word "hiding."'

"Furiously Happy is a book about embracing everything that makes us who we are--the beautiful and the flawed--and then using it to find joy in fantastic and outrageous ways.  Because, as Jenny's mom says, 'Maybe "crazy" isn't so bad after all.'  Sometimes crazy is just right."

The Good
Furiously Happy is uproariously funny, brutally honest, completely candid, and absolutely absurd.  Jenny Lawson has a quirky sense of humor that sometimes borders on vulgar--no, rather she cross the line on vulgar and waves at you from the other side--but the shock value in her stories keeps them interesting and her ability to capture an unusual story, a tragic event, or a strange set of circumstances, makes her second book thoroughly hilarious and patently insane.

Lawson has a unique way of telling a story.  She frequently deviates from a set path, skipping merrily along, before she reverts back to the original narrative.  She distracts herself with new stories, but she has ADD, among other disorders, which explains quite a lot--and, I think, tends to make her storytelling interesting.

Her history might be a little fractured by her inability to stay focused, but I think she perfectly conveys herself and her story.  She shows her audience her real self and adequately characterizes her family and friends.  She really brings everyone to life, showing off their unique characteristics and attitudes, and offers extraordinary stories.

Like how her husband bought her a mounted bear head, which is when she learned he really did love her.  Or how her father stumbled across a stuffed giraffe and discovered a tribe of individuals with a love for ethically achieved, taxidermied animals, just like Jenny.  Or her strange penchant for hosting midnight cat rodeos.  Or her unusual encounter with a doctor who removed her gallbladder (an experience which, she claims, proves she's turning into a zombie one organ at a time).

I mean, you can't not laugh at the ridiculous, sometimes terrible things that happen to her and the equally terrible ideas that strike her fancy.  Altogether, it's a hilarious and irreverent romp through mental disorder, family drama, and horrible things that are inadvertently funny.

The Bad
I've already admitted it, Furiously Happy is an odd story.  Sometimes fragmented and just plain weird, it's a strange, scintillating and comically absurd memoir--but I absolutely loved it.  Lawson isn't a perfect author or even a perfect person, but I found her quirks, her struggles, and her unusual conversations with her husband and friends to be appealing.

It's funny, and it's relateable.

The Ugly
Mental illness isn't a pretty thing to witness.  Lawson had a way of making me laugh, which sometimes lessens the impact of witnessing her struggle with mental illness, but, as she points out, it's still "no fucking picnic."

George

Scholastic Press

George
Alex Gino
2015

The Summary
"When people look at George, they think they see a boy.  But she knows she's not a boy.  She knows she's a girl.

"George thinks she'll have to keep this a secret forever.  Then her teacher announces that their class play is going to be Charlotte's Web.  George really, really, REALLY wants to play Charlotte.  But the teacher says she can't even try out for the part...because she's a boy.

"With the help of her best friend, Kelly, George comes up with a plan.  Not just so she can be Charlotte--but so everyone can know who she is, once and for all."

The Good
I read George as part of my Read Harder Challenge of 2016 and I found I really enjoyed reading Alex Gino's novel.  More than I thought I would, admittedly.  It's a sweet little story about George, a boy who would rather be a girl, and his struggle to find acceptance when he reveals to his family--and the rest of his school--the truth about his gender identity.

George is actually a novel for younger readers, so I think Gino's novel reflects the audience age; however, I think it's accessible to a wide variety of readers.  I'll admit, I was a little hesitant to read Gino's novel, because I had my own preconceived notions with which to contend, as well as other doubts that occasionally plagued me in considering this novel.  Given the debate in the media over which bathrooms transgender individuals should and shouldn't use, I really didn't want to read a book that was full of ugly prejudices or a novel that would dwell upon hurtful things.

I was afraid to read a depressing novel.

Luckily, I didn't.  George is surprisingly upbeat, and I found it was rather fun to follow his journey from George to Charlotte, how he managed to fulfill the slogan on the back cover:  "Be Who You Are."  It has a positive message, and it's appealing because it doesn't get bogged down by hateful language; rather, it focuses on George's journey and her success in embracing her own identity.

One of the things I noticed about this book was how George, who did not describe or identify himself as a boy, is consistently referenced with feminine pronouns.  I thought it was a nice touch, because it seemed to make an impact, seemed to impart the importance of a person who is transgender to identify with the gender they choose.  It's an intriguing and eye-opening concept that, I thought, adequately conveyed some of the struggles the George encounters.

Overall, I thought it was a wonderful book that illustrates the struggles of a transgender girl.

The Bad
Although I think George is accessible to readers of all ages (and genders), it's a novel that's likely to appeal to a younger audience.  The language, tone, and story reflect the age of the reader and the age of George.  While I know that may not be appealing to all readers, I didn't find it to be much of a deterrent when I jumped into the story.

Honestly, I couldn't put it down once I picked it up.

The Ugly
Bullying.

I couldn't help feeling sorry for poor George and all the ridicule, derision, and cruelty he had to endure from a couple of his classmates.  It was heartbreaking.

Read Harder Challenge (Part Five)

This week, I completed three more challenges:

• Read a collection of essays
• Read a book under 100 pages
• Read a book by or about a person that identifies as transgender

Vintage Books

For my first challenge, I had to read a collection of essays.  At first, I picked up Consider the Lobster by David Foster Wallace, but I quickly changed my mind after attempting to read the first essay.  (Way too dense, and way too much porn for my taste.)  So, in my second attempt to finish this challenge, I read I Feel Bad About My Neck:  And Other Stories on Being a Woman by Nora Ephron--and am I glad that I did.

I absolutely loved reading Nora Ephron's essays on what it means to be a woman and, more importantly, what it feels like to have to deal with time, age, facial products, and oversized purses.  I laughed liberally throughout reading this book.  Her experiences are universal and her humor is outrageous.  Even if I couldn't relate to every experience, her essays had a way of picking out the familiar, like frustrations with wrinkles or hair dye, hatred of purses because they have a way of eating change and spitting up tic-tacs, or fighting over directions with a spouse.

It's a short read, but it's an incredibly fun journey.  I enjoyed every story in Ephron's book, but I especially enjoyed her wit and her candor and her humor as she recounted her many, familiar experiences.  She managed to connect with me as a reader and as a woman, and I appreciated her book for that.

Next, I quickly read Young Goodman Brown by Nathaniel Hawthorne.  Although it probably constitutes as a short story rather than a "book," which the challenge calls for, I thought it would be a good place to start.  I don't often read short books or novellas, and I had a dickens of a time trying to find a book under 100 pages.  Even How to Train Your Dragon, which took me part of a day to read, was over 100 pages.

So...short story it is!

Wildside Press

The plot of Young Goodman Brown is simple:  Goodman Brown takes leave of his wife, Faith, for some unknown errand in the forest, whereupon he meets a stranger in the forest carrying a black serpent-shaped staff.  He stumbles across various townspeople who travel the forest with him, until he reaches an altar in the middle of the wood where new acolytes are being brought into the fold--and one of them is his wife, Faith.  Events transpire which test his faith, causing him to live the rest of his life distrustful of his neighbors--and then he dies.

If you were hoping for a surprise, I'm sorry if I ruined the story for you, but I have to say that I didn't understand the point of this story.  On the one hand, Hawthorne sets up the episode as a potential dream, so I have no way of knowing whether or not his entire ordeal is real--which means a dream completely ruined his life.  On the other hand, if it is real, he has the ability to see the hypocrisy and sins of his neighbors, which also ruined his life.

I didn't like it.  I'm fairly certain that Faith was supposed to represent his actual faith and, when he lost her in the dream, he lost her in real life.  And I'm pretty positive that the traveler with the serpent staff is the devil, since all the evil people know him and Goodman--a good man--has the good sense to fear him.  There's so much metaphor and symbolism in, like, 12 pages that it's almost sickening.

Scholastic Press

Last, I read George by Alex Gino as part of my reading a book by or about a person who identifies as transgender.  I don't know anything about the author, but I do know that the book is about George, a little boy who would rather be a girl and who desperately wants to play Charlotte in the school play of Charlotte's Web.

One of the things I noticed about this book was how George, who did not describe or identify himself as a boy, is consistently referenced with feminine pronouns.  I thought it was a nice touch, because it seemed to make an impact, seemed to impart the importance of a person who is transgender to identify with the gender they choose.  It's an intriguing and eye-opening concept that, I thought, adequately conveyed some of the struggles that George encounters.

I actually enjoyed reading George more than I thought I would.  I'll admit, I was a little hesitant, because I had my own preconceived notions with which to contend, as well as others.  Given the debate in the media over which bathrooms transgender individuals should and shouldn't use, I really didn't want to read a book that was full of ugly prejudices or a novel that would dwell upon hurtful things.  I was afraid of finding a depressing novel.

Luckily, I didn't.  George is surprisingly upbeat, and I found it was rather fun to follow his journey from George to Charlotte, how he managed to fulfill the slogan on the back cover:  "Be Who You Are."  It has a positive message, and it's appealing because it doesn't get bogged down by hateful language; rather, it focuses on George's journey and her success in embracing her own identity.

Read Harder Challenge (Part Four)

I have three more books to add to my list for the Read Harder Challenge:

1. Read a nonfiction book about science.
2. Read a book originally published in the decade you were born.
3. Read a book with a main character that has a mental illness.

First on my list is How to Read the Solar System:  A Guide to the Stars and Planets by Chris North and Paul Abel, who host The Sky at Night on BBC.  I'm actually really glad I finished this book, because it offered me insight into the solar system that I certainly didn't have prior to reading North and Abel's book.  While it is a bit dry and quite dense, I should point out that How to Read the Solar System is not a bad book.

Pegasus Books

I mean, I was sometimes very bored when the authors went into great detail about indicating how amateur astronomers should find a specific location in space--like how to find a particular moon by Jupiter, or which filter to use use in order to observe the sun (helpful, if I understood where one might find such filters.  Or if my telescope worked properly), or pinpointing the exact degree to which one might adjust a telescope to find Venus--and I found myself losing interest.  Quickly.

I'm not saying it wasn't a good book.  I learned something interesting about each of the planets and the different heavenly bodies that inhabit space, which was an important aspect of reading this book.  For instance, I learned that Io, one of Jupiter's dozens of moons, has tectonic activity (specifically cryovolcanic activity, since it's an icy wasteland); sound waves travel faster through plasma, which gives scientists the opportunity to measure the internal activity of the sun (since it's made up of plasma); and meteor showers are essentially the debris left behind by comets, like a dust storm that the Earth passes through during its orbit.

I enjoyed actually learning something new, even if it's not quite as useful as one might hope.  Like I said, it's not a bad book.  Just a little dry and dense and, dare I say it, pedantic.  It's not something I would read twice, but it's a vast well of information that's sure to hold appeal for readers who greatly enjoy science, astronomy, technology, and even mathematics.  It's definitely worth checking out, especially if you're curious about the solar system and the explorations humankind has made.  More importantly, it gets a point in my book for having an index, so I was able to easily look up the most intriguing bits of information.

Next, I looked at The Professor and the Madman by Simon Winchester, which was more in line with my purview.  Titled The Surgeon of Crowthorne when it was originally published in Britain, Winchester's book underwent a slight change when it migrated over to the United States, becoming The Professor and the Madman--which was accompanied by the glorious subtitle, A Tale of Murder, Insanity, and the Making of the Oxford English Dictionary.  I mean, how could I not be the tiniest bit enticed?

HarperPerenial

The Professor and the Madman is a story about the formation of the Oxford English Dictionary (OED), specifically one of the most prolific contributors in its history:  Dr. William Minor.  Minor was an American surgeon during the Civil War, who was eventually convicted of murder and put into a sanitarium; however, during his stint at Broadmoor Criminal Lunatic Asylum, he stumbled across a call for contributors to the dictionary.  Contacting Professor James Murray, who oversaw the entire project, he began to offer definitions for the OED and sent thousands of papers slips to Oxford, before his death in 1920.

As crazy as it might seem, it's all very true.

Like Erik Larson--who has written Devil in the White City, Dead Wake, and Thunderstuck--Winchester has a narrative quality to his work that makes it appealing without compromising the facts.  Winchester pulls from a variety of resources, including medical documents from Broadmoor (an infamous mental institution for the criminally insane in Crowthorne), correspondence between Professor Murray and Dr. Minor and other important individuals, as well as historical texts.  He uses information to benefit the story, supplying an electrifying narrative and, simultaneously, feeding his readers the true and unaltered facts.  It's all very, very good.

As for my final book, I read The Lives They Left Behind:  Suitcases from a State Hospital Attic by Darby Penney and Peter Stastny.  Although I suspect this final category--which recommends reading a book with a main character who has a mental illness--is referring to a fictional novel rather than a nonfiction narrative, I decided to run with the ambiguous wording and read something not about one character with mental illness, but ten.

The Lives They Left Behind explores the lives of Willard State Hospital patients who were admitted to the hospital during the late 19th and 20th centuries.  Penney and Stastny provides an in-depth look at some of the permanent residents at Willard, as well as offers a glimpse at the big picture of mental/psychiatric care during its formative years.  The book also provides photographs and illustrations that further illuminate the care patients received, and what sort of trials they went through with (or, in some cases, without) mental illness.

Bellevue Literary Press

Altogether, I found it to be a fascinating book.  It's an examination of psychiatric care that provides statistics, which can prove a bit dull, but it also connects on an emotional level and delivers nuggets of truth that are sometimes like a punch in the gut.  It's a tough read sometimes.  For instance, I had a hard time reading about the electroshock therapy that often caused patients to have convulsions, or the medications that were prescribed that often did more harm that good--or, worse, how some patients were treated even if they didn't suffer from a psychiatric disease.

Patients, like Ethel Smalls or Margaret Dunleavy, were most likely suffering from other conditions rather than mental disorder.  Ethel Smalls likely suffered from PTSD after losing her children and being on the opposite end of her husband's temper, enduring years of abuse that left her in a fragile state.  Likewise, Margaret Dunleavy was hospitalized after an uncharacteristic outburst due to a personal tragedy and chronic pain.  Neither woman displayed the usual characteristics of mental disorder, rather they were hospitalized because they were inconvenient.  It's a heartbreaking fact behind the stories of many patients.