... for the literate flightless marine bird.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
No Ruts Review #3: Nanny Returns, by Emma McLaughlin and Nicola Kraus
I was really undecided about what to read to complete the No Ruts Reading Challenge silver level. The point, of course, is to remember that everyone's experience with a book is different, so don't let the opinions of others overly sway you to or from any one book. One great example, for me, is Stephenie Meyer's Twilight series. I know a number of people who have just loved the entire series, and some who even went to a midnight release party for the final book, such was their enthusiasm. I loved the first book and devoured it in a weekend. I got about halfway through the second book before I got bored and quit, and I think I made it through a chapter or two of the third, at best.
So I went poking around the major book websites looking for something that attracted criticism. And on Barnes & Noble, I found it:
"I bought "Nanny Returns" because I enjoyed the "Nanny Diaries" so much. "Nanny Returns" was a very poor follow-up to the first book. It was hard to follow, poorly written, too much "stuff" going on in the book that didn't follow the story. I won't buy another book by these authors."
Like many people, I enjoyed The Nanny Diaries; I've also bought some of the authors' follow-up books and been sorely disappointed. Actually, I bought one other book by them - Dedication - but it felt like a lot more, and I, too, swore off the authors after reading it.
Nanny Returns takes Nan back to New York ten years after the end of the first book, where she is sucked back into the world of the X family, allowing the reader to see how it all turns out for Grayer, who turns up, rather mysteriously, on her doorstep shortly after she arrives. This sets the tone for the book: People show up to draw Nan into events, where her primary function is to serve as a witness for the reader. Ostensibly, she is there to help them out or provide some service, but each time, she seems to leave with instructions to follow, without any meaningful interaction from her. In short, everyone treats her the way Mrs. X did, and although much time has passed and Nan has great misgivings about what she sees and the actions she is asked to take (and even she sometimes questions why she is there to begin with), she continues to show up whenever she is ordered to do so.
That said, a quick look at some of the characters' names tell you the authors aren't really reaching for believability here: Apart from the X family (X is their name), Grayer has a younger brother named Stilton, Nan has an old friend named Citrine, there's a child named Calliope somewhere in there, and another one named Itsy (child of Bitsy). You only have to read a character's name to know if he's on the side of middle-class normalcy or wealth, self-absorption, and immorality. In Nanny-land, there is no in-between: the characters are either caricatures of the rich, or they're regular people without an overabundance of money.
It's good that the names are such guideposts, because there isn't a lot of character development, and many of their actions lack logical motivation. They do things, they do other things ... things happen. Nanny needs to be there for the reader to narrate and pass judgment, but as far as the book goes, it's hard to really see why she's there at all. She is hired by a private school, which pays her vast sums of money to be a consultant, yet her entire function is to stand silently around the back of the room watching other people take outrageous, morally questionable stances. Occasionally, someone demands that Nan take some action that presents her with a moral quandary, yet her only real option is to accept it or quit: there is no middle ground and never attempts to find one.
Lots of the plot points are drawn from news, so if you've been following Vanity Fair magazine for the last few years, you will find yourself in familiar territory.
So, was the reviewer right? Yes. Nanny Returns is basically a throwaway - tossed together and not well written. The worst part? I enjoyed it every last minute of it, even though I saw the ending coming a mile away (hint). It's a fun beach read that you can amble through easily. The characters are familiar and it's fun to live their crazy, excessive lifestyle with them for a bit, even sitting in judgement of them at the same time. It's not real and clearly not meant to be.
So I went poking around the major book websites looking for something that attracted criticism. And on Barnes & Noble, I found it:
"I bought "Nanny Returns" because I enjoyed the "Nanny Diaries" so much. "Nanny Returns" was a very poor follow-up to the first book. It was hard to follow, poorly written, too much "stuff" going on in the book that didn't follow the story. I won't buy another book by these authors."
Like many people, I enjoyed The Nanny Diaries; I've also bought some of the authors' follow-up books and been sorely disappointed. Actually, I bought one other book by them - Dedication - but it felt like a lot more, and I, too, swore off the authors after reading it.
Nanny Returns takes Nan back to New York ten years after the end of the first book, where she is sucked back into the world of the X family, allowing the reader to see how it all turns out for Grayer, who turns up, rather mysteriously, on her doorstep shortly after she arrives. This sets the tone for the book: People show up to draw Nan into events, where her primary function is to serve as a witness for the reader. Ostensibly, she is there to help them out or provide some service, but each time, she seems to leave with instructions to follow, without any meaningful interaction from her. In short, everyone treats her the way Mrs. X did, and although much time has passed and Nan has great misgivings about what she sees and the actions she is asked to take (and even she sometimes questions why she is there to begin with), she continues to show up whenever she is ordered to do so.
That said, a quick look at some of the characters' names tell you the authors aren't really reaching for believability here: Apart from the X family (X is their name), Grayer has a younger brother named Stilton, Nan has an old friend named Citrine, there's a child named Calliope somewhere in there, and another one named Itsy (child of Bitsy). You only have to read a character's name to know if he's on the side of middle-class normalcy or wealth, self-absorption, and immorality. In Nanny-land, there is no in-between: the characters are either caricatures of the rich, or they're regular people without an overabundance of money.
It's good that the names are such guideposts, because there isn't a lot of character development, and many of their actions lack logical motivation. They do things, they do other things ... things happen. Nanny needs to be there for the reader to narrate and pass judgment, but as far as the book goes, it's hard to really see why she's there at all. She is hired by a private school, which pays her vast sums of money to be a consultant, yet her entire function is to stand silently around the back of the room watching other people take outrageous, morally questionable stances. Occasionally, someone demands that Nan take some action that presents her with a moral quandary, yet her only real option is to accept it or quit: there is no middle ground and never attempts to find one.
Lots of the plot points are drawn from news, so if you've been following Vanity Fair magazine for the last few years, you will find yourself in familiar territory.
So, was the reviewer right? Yes. Nanny Returns is basically a throwaway - tossed together and not well written. The worst part? I enjoyed it every last minute of it, even though I saw the ending coming a mile away (hint). It's a fun beach read that you can amble through easily. The characters are familiar and it's fun to live their crazy, excessive lifestyle with them for a bit, even sitting in judgement of them at the same time. It's not real and clearly not meant to be.
Monday, August 30, 2010
No Ruts Review #2: Shades of Grey, by Jasper Fforde
I really have no excuse for not having read Jasper Fforde previously. For several years, an unopened copy of The Eyre Affair languished, unread, on my shelf, until I finally banished it to Half-Price Books during one of my shelf-cleaning fits. I picked up Shades of Grey in a bookstore last December, right when it came out, as the premise so piqued my interest - and yet it, too, sat forlornly on my bookshelf.
I was somewhat irked to discover, shortly after purchasing the book, that it is the first of a planned trilogy: I signed up for one book, not a commitment, and this may account for part of my reluctance - I'm not really good with commitment. Sorry, book, I'm just not that into you.
But I needed an author I'd never read before to complete level 1 of my No Ruts Reading Challenge, so Fforde seemed to be just the ticket - someone I have not only not previously read, but for some reason, have been studiously avoiding despite the fact that his novels clearly hold some appeal for me.
Please excuse me, as I am about to have a brief teenage girl moment:
OMG I totally am SO IN LOVE with Jasper Fforde! He's the dreamiest! Mrs Jasper Fforde <3 <3!!
/teenage girl
I don't even know where to begin with Shades of Grey, a dystopian novel set in some indeterminate future time, when the world, which is familiar and yet decidedly unfamiliar, is completely stratified according to one's ability to see color. One's ability to marry is decided based on color perception; so is the type of job one can hold, and the rules that govern the Collective, developed by the all-knowing historical figure Munsell, regulate everything from what people can wear ("I donned my Outdoor Adventure #9") to when they can have children (an "egg chit" is required). Postal codes are handed down from generation to generation and are tattooed upon each person. Spoons are family heirlooms, as their production is banned, possibly due to an oversight by Munsell, or possibly because the great Munsell, in his unknowable wisdom, had his reasons for excluding them. Failure to follow the rules results in Reboot.
While the rules for living in Chromatacia are extensive, the technology is simplified, reduced as it has been by numerous Leapbacks, during which technologies are reviewed and often removed from general use. So it is that the population communicates by telegram and travels by Ford Model T - when available.
Enter Eddie Russett, from a red-seeing family, who holds a simplistic worldview, and hopes to marry into the prestigious Oxblood family and inherit their string factory one day*. Instead, he is sent with his father to the outer fringe district of East Carmine, where he encounters Jane, an intriguing Grey with a lovely nose and a defiance for the Rules. Eddie begins to upset the order of things by asking simple questions and making small suggestions (he hopes to be recognized for implementing an "improved queueing method") and finds his situation increasingly more challenging as those who understand the system manipulate it to their advantage - and his disadvantage.
Although Eddie's view of his world is initially as simplistic as its technology and rules appear to be, as the book progresses, he realizes that under the surface, everything is infinitely complex - and he doesn't have to look very hard to see that, he just has to look for himself, rather than accept what he is told. Some people have no place in the world - the Word of Munsell makes no mention of them - so they are simply ignored as Apocrypha, even when, in one particularly memorable scene, an Apocryphal Man steals dinner off the table in front of them, and they must all pretend that No One did it - the Rules provide no other answer.
Shades of Grey immerses the reader in a unique and incredibly detailed universe, providing remarkable and often very funny insights (Apocryphal Man: "Almost anything can be improved by the addition of Bacon.") as the reader navigates the social minefields along with Eddie. The history, incompletely drawn, keeps the reader wondering what happened in the past that so changed our world - why are there Vermeers in the living rooms of the Greys? The world of Chromatacia is a puzzle that taunts the reader to solve it and keeps the answers tantalizingly just beyond reach.
Although I initially avoided Shades of Grey because I wasn't sure I was up for a Trilogy, as soon as I had turned the last page, I went online to see when the next installment will be available. That, too, is a mystery - I'm thinking I may dive in to one of Fforde's other series while I wait - I hear brand-new copies appear at Half-Price Books from time to time.
*Constance Oxblood is stringing him along.
I was somewhat irked to discover, shortly after purchasing the book, that it is the first of a planned trilogy: I signed up for one book, not a commitment, and this may account for part of my reluctance - I'm not really good with commitment. Sorry, book, I'm just not that into you.
But I needed an author I'd never read before to complete level 1 of my No Ruts Reading Challenge, so Fforde seemed to be just the ticket - someone I have not only not previously read, but for some reason, have been studiously avoiding despite the fact that his novels clearly hold some appeal for me.
Please excuse me, as I am about to have a brief teenage girl moment:
OMG I totally am SO IN LOVE with Jasper Fforde! He's the dreamiest! Mrs Jasper Fforde <3 <3!!
/teenage girl
I don't even know where to begin with Shades of Grey, a dystopian novel set in some indeterminate future time, when the world, which is familiar and yet decidedly unfamiliar, is completely stratified according to one's ability to see color. One's ability to marry is decided based on color perception; so is the type of job one can hold, and the rules that govern the Collective, developed by the all-knowing historical figure Munsell, regulate everything from what people can wear ("I donned my Outdoor Adventure #9") to when they can have children (an "egg chit" is required). Postal codes are handed down from generation to generation and are tattooed upon each person. Spoons are family heirlooms, as their production is banned, possibly due to an oversight by Munsell, or possibly because the great Munsell, in his unknowable wisdom, had his reasons for excluding them. Failure to follow the rules results in Reboot.
While the rules for living in Chromatacia are extensive, the technology is simplified, reduced as it has been by numerous Leapbacks, during which technologies are reviewed and often removed from general use. So it is that the population communicates by telegram and travels by Ford Model T - when available.
Enter Eddie Russett, from a red-seeing family, who holds a simplistic worldview, and hopes to marry into the prestigious Oxblood family and inherit their string factory one day*. Instead, he is sent with his father to the outer fringe district of East Carmine, where he encounters Jane, an intriguing Grey with a lovely nose and a defiance for the Rules. Eddie begins to upset the order of things by asking simple questions and making small suggestions (he hopes to be recognized for implementing an "improved queueing method") and finds his situation increasingly more challenging as those who understand the system manipulate it to their advantage - and his disadvantage.
Although Eddie's view of his world is initially as simplistic as its technology and rules appear to be, as the book progresses, he realizes that under the surface, everything is infinitely complex - and he doesn't have to look very hard to see that, he just has to look for himself, rather than accept what he is told. Some people have no place in the world - the Word of Munsell makes no mention of them - so they are simply ignored as Apocrypha, even when, in one particularly memorable scene, an Apocryphal Man steals dinner off the table in front of them, and they must all pretend that No One did it - the Rules provide no other answer.
Shades of Grey immerses the reader in a unique and incredibly detailed universe, providing remarkable and often very funny insights (Apocryphal Man: "Almost anything can be improved by the addition of Bacon.") as the reader navigates the social minefields along with Eddie. The history, incompletely drawn, keeps the reader wondering what happened in the past that so changed our world - why are there Vermeers in the living rooms of the Greys? The world of Chromatacia is a puzzle that taunts the reader to solve it and keeps the answers tantalizingly just beyond reach.
Although I initially avoided Shades of Grey because I wasn't sure I was up for a Trilogy, as soon as I had turned the last page, I went online to see when the next installment will be available. That, too, is a mystery - I'm thinking I may dive in to one of Fforde's other series while I wait - I hear brand-new copies appear at Half-Price Books from time to time.
*Constance Oxblood is stringing him along.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Blacklisted? But I'm not even in Hollywood!
I have a zillion posts in the works right now, including:
But all of that is on hold today, because yesterday I discovered that I have officially been blacklisted. No, no, not the silent refusing-to-make-eye-contact suburban snub kind of blacklist - but a genuine "your name is on a list, we are going to silence you, and we want you to know it" blacklist.
Here's the deal: I was catching up on my blog reading yesterday, and I ran across a great post on another blog, whose name I won't tell you because I don't want all my outraged loyal readers to storm the URL with pitchforks. The topic of the post was inaccurate information on WikiAnswers. The author (let's call him Mr. McCarthy) discussed how this sort of thing can support the rationale of other holocaust deniers and other dangerous ignorance.
Well, I've got a few things to say about this subject, because having done some holocaust research while working on my genealogy, I've actually run across some truly scary ignorance on the internet.
So I type up a short comment - not the first time I've commented on a post on this particular blog - and hit "post."
And the blog replied, "Your comment has not been posted, as you are on this blog's blacklist."
Excuse me? I hit the "post" button again, and get the same answer.
Now, there are irritating blog commenters and spam commenters galore out there in the blogosphere, but I'm reasonably confident I've never included a link to a porn site, made inflammatory remarks, or otherwise abused this - or any - blog, so I scratch my head and wonder what I could possibly have said to have offended Mr. McCarthy to such an extent.
I start clicking through links to older posts on the blog, and the first one I run across that looks familiar is about one of those random websites where you enter your information and it tells you, which xyz you are most like - you know, which powerpuff girl or league of justice superhero*, etc. In this case, Mr. McCarthy entered a writing sample into an analyzer, which informed him that his writing most closely resembled that of Cory Doctorow.
So I entered one of my own blog posts into the analyzer, and lo! I'm Cory Doctorow too. But since that made me wondered if everyone was Cory Doctorow, I entered another blog post and apparently I'm Chuck Palahniuk too. I posted a comment with my own results and then promptly forgot all about it. I didn't even rent Fight Club.
Evidently, this was a very bad thing to do, an extremely offensive comment - but now I'm scratching my even more and trying to figure out the underlying logic, because even crazy people employ a certain logic and I always like to know what that is, or at least pretend I know so that I can feel that the universe and the people in it are rational in some way.
Could Mr. McCarthy be offended that I am like Cory Doctorow? Possibly ... although since he is also like Cory Doctorow, this seems unlikely. Maybe he now considers me the competition because we are both like Cory Doctorow? Again, possibly, although it seems to me that the bigger competitor in that three-way race is Cory Doctorow himself - he's winning, not me.
Maybe the problem isn't Doctorow, but Palahniuk. I don't know much about Palahniuk, so I looked him up on Wikipedia. Author of Fight Club, often misanthropic or absurdist. Hey, cool - I'm like this guy! Is that bad? Well, according to Wikipedia, he's attracted some criticism too, including, memorably, trafficking "in the half-baked nihilism of a stoned high school student who has just discovered Nietzsche and Nine Inch Nails." Ouch, Laura Miller at Salon.com.
Well, Mr. McCarthy, if that's what it takes to offend you ... I'm glad I did it! Suddenly, I'm a misanthropic, absurdist, half-baked nihilist and better yet, it must be true because I've actually offended you with it! I'm somebody!
I so want to thank Mr. McCarthy for getting me to actually look up Chuck Palahniuk and understand my own hidden depths as an author. But how? It's not like I can post a comment on his blog, right?
Then I see it: A little widget on the side of the blog announcing that more than 2,000 spam comments have been foiled by a WordPress plugin. I run a quick Google search on the widget, and I'll be darned - there are several people who have posted to helpboards because of errors in blocking legitimate comments. One of those errors occasionally results from use of proxy servers by the commenter.
I don't really understand this, so I ask my husband, "Do we use a proxy server?"
"Well, we have a firewall. Some systems might interpret that as a proxy server, sure."
So, in a nutshell, our firewall, which we use to protect our computers from troublemaking miscreants on the internet, is used by a blog plugin to identify me as a troublemaking miscreant, and thus I cannot post a comment on a blog post about troublemaking miscreants on the internet.
Thank you, Mr. McCarthy.
* Bubbles and Batman.
- Three more No Ruts Reviews
- Three other book reviews
- some incredibly cool genealogy discoveries
- some California adventures from our recent vacation
- some more house hunting whining
But all of that is on hold today, because yesterday I discovered that I have officially been blacklisted. No, no, not the silent refusing-to-make-eye-contact suburban snub kind of blacklist - but a genuine "your name is on a list, we are going to silence you, and we want you to know it" blacklist.
Here's the deal: I was catching up on my blog reading yesterday, and I ran across a great post on another blog, whose name I won't tell you because I don't want all my outraged loyal readers to storm the URL with pitchforks. The topic of the post was inaccurate information on WikiAnswers. The author (let's call him Mr. McCarthy) discussed how this sort of thing can support the rationale of other holocaust deniers and other dangerous ignorance.
Well, I've got a few things to say about this subject, because having done some holocaust research while working on my genealogy, I've actually run across some truly scary ignorance on the internet.
So I type up a short comment - not the first time I've commented on a post on this particular blog - and hit "post."
And the blog replied, "Your comment has not been posted, as you are on this blog's blacklist."
Excuse me? I hit the "post" button again, and get the same answer.
Now, there are irritating blog commenters and spam commenters galore out there in the blogosphere, but I'm reasonably confident I've never included a link to a porn site, made inflammatory remarks, or otherwise abused this - or any - blog, so I scratch my head and wonder what I could possibly have said to have offended Mr. McCarthy to such an extent.
I start clicking through links to older posts on the blog, and the first one I run across that looks familiar is about one of those random websites where you enter your information and it tells you, which xyz you are most like - you know, which powerpuff girl or league of justice superhero*, etc. In this case, Mr. McCarthy entered a writing sample into an analyzer, which informed him that his writing most closely resembled that of Cory Doctorow.
So I entered one of my own blog posts into the analyzer, and lo! I'm Cory Doctorow too. But since that made me wondered if everyone was Cory Doctorow, I entered another blog post and apparently I'm Chuck Palahniuk too. I posted a comment with my own results and then promptly forgot all about it. I didn't even rent Fight Club.
Evidently, this was a very bad thing to do, an extremely offensive comment - but now I'm scratching my even more and trying to figure out the underlying logic, because even crazy people employ a certain logic and I always like to know what that is, or at least pretend I know so that I can feel that the universe and the people in it are rational in some way.
Could Mr. McCarthy be offended that I am like Cory Doctorow? Possibly ... although since he is also like Cory Doctorow, this seems unlikely. Maybe he now considers me the competition because we are both like Cory Doctorow? Again, possibly, although it seems to me that the bigger competitor in that three-way race is Cory Doctorow himself - he's winning, not me.
Maybe the problem isn't Doctorow, but Palahniuk. I don't know much about Palahniuk, so I looked him up on Wikipedia. Author of Fight Club, often misanthropic or absurdist. Hey, cool - I'm like this guy! Is that bad? Well, according to Wikipedia, he's attracted some criticism too, including, memorably, trafficking "in the half-baked nihilism of a stoned high school student who has just discovered Nietzsche and Nine Inch Nails." Ouch, Laura Miller at Salon.com.
Well, Mr. McCarthy, if that's what it takes to offend you ... I'm glad I did it! Suddenly, I'm a misanthropic, absurdist, half-baked nihilist and better yet, it must be true because I've actually offended you with it! I'm somebody!
I so want to thank Mr. McCarthy for getting me to actually look up Chuck Palahniuk and understand my own hidden depths as an author. But how? It's not like I can post a comment on his blog, right?
Then I see it: A little widget on the side of the blog announcing that more than 2,000 spam comments have been foiled by a WordPress plugin. I run a quick Google search on the widget, and I'll be darned - there are several people who have posted to helpboards because of errors in blocking legitimate comments. One of those errors occasionally results from use of proxy servers by the commenter.
I don't really understand this, so I ask my husband, "Do we use a proxy server?"
"Well, we have a firewall. Some systems might interpret that as a proxy server, sure."
So, in a nutshell, our firewall, which we use to protect our computers from troublemaking miscreants on the internet, is used by a blog plugin to identify me as a troublemaking miscreant, and thus I cannot post a comment on a blog post about troublemaking miscreants on the internet.
Thank you, Mr. McCarthy.
* Bubbles and Batman.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
No Ruts Review #1 - 1140 Rue Royale, by Serena Valentino and Crab Scrambly
My view of the graphic novel is colored by my long-held opinion regarding comic books: there is a direct correlation between the number of comic books owned and a person’s loser quotient. Suffice it to say, I have known one too many underemployed comic book “collectors.” I’ve owned exactly one comic book in my life – Wonder Woman, bought when I was about eight. She's still my hero, although I am sad to report that I no longer own the comic book and have yet to acquire an invisible plane or even some magic bracelets.
Recently, however, I’ve begun to soften my view. My daughter is a rather resistant reader; she simply refuses to try new things, preferring to stick insistently with a series she likes long past the point that it holds any interest or challenge for her. She spent more than a year on the Rainbow Magic series, and even though she’s a fourth-grader who can read at a seventh-grade level, she recently made a brief return to the series, designed for first-graders. Same deal with Erin Hunter’s Warriors series – she’s read every book in the series several times, and even though she’s completely bored with it, refuses to try anything else. The harder I try to interest her in something else, the more resistant she becomes.*
Enter the graphic novel. When I hand her a graphic novel, she is typically more willing to try - the pictures are simply less intimidating to her than pages full of words.
So, I thought, for the first level of the No Ruts Reading Challenge, maybe it was time for me to reconsider the graphic novel. I chose Serena Valentino’s 1140 Rue Royale from the Nightmares and Fairy Tales series based on a positive review over at More Vikings (four Vikings out of a possible five**).
The story concerns a young girl living with an elderly aunt in a house that is haunted by its terrible past. The girl, Rebecca, becomes possessed by one of the tortured spirits and realizes she must help to bring peace to the house.
The illustrations, by Crab Scrambly, are entirely black-and-white, but beautifully drawn and I had no trouble following along or figuring out where to linger for significant plot points. I loved some of the stylistic elements employed, such as rendering a ghost in light crosshatch lines on top of a solidly drawn main character, and the very surreal and ambiguous rendering of the nuns, which keeps the reader wondering if they are there to help or harm.
Unfortunately, for me, the graphics also had a serious downside: Rendering so many of the scary elements removed much of the fear of the unknown and my ability to scare myself with my own imagination. It just wasn’t as scary as I felt it could have been or I wanted it to be.
In the end, though, I enjoyed the format more than I thought I would – I think my daughter is on to something with the graphic novel. It’s nice to sit down and finish a book in an hour, and relaxing to skim one’s eyes along the illustrations, especially after a long day of reading type on a computer screen. I’ll probably try a few more.
*I am so looking forward to her teen years, as I’m sure you can imagine.
** Do I need some sort of penguin-based book rating system?
Recently, however, I’ve begun to soften my view. My daughter is a rather resistant reader; she simply refuses to try new things, preferring to stick insistently with a series she likes long past the point that it holds any interest or challenge for her. She spent more than a year on the Rainbow Magic series, and even though she’s a fourth-grader who can read at a seventh-grade level, she recently made a brief return to the series, designed for first-graders. Same deal with Erin Hunter’s Warriors series – she’s read every book in the series several times, and even though she’s completely bored with it, refuses to try anything else. The harder I try to interest her in something else, the more resistant she becomes.*
Enter the graphic novel. When I hand her a graphic novel, she is typically more willing to try - the pictures are simply less intimidating to her than pages full of words.
So, I thought, for the first level of the No Ruts Reading Challenge, maybe it was time for me to reconsider the graphic novel. I chose Serena Valentino’s 1140 Rue Royale from the Nightmares and Fairy Tales series based on a positive review over at More Vikings (four Vikings out of a possible five**).
The story concerns a young girl living with an elderly aunt in a house that is haunted by its terrible past. The girl, Rebecca, becomes possessed by one of the tortured spirits and realizes she must help to bring peace to the house.
The illustrations, by Crab Scrambly, are entirely black-and-white, but beautifully drawn and I had no trouble following along or figuring out where to linger for significant plot points. I loved some of the stylistic elements employed, such as rendering a ghost in light crosshatch lines on top of a solidly drawn main character, and the very surreal and ambiguous rendering of the nuns, which keeps the reader wondering if they are there to help or harm.
Unfortunately, for me, the graphics also had a serious downside: Rendering so many of the scary elements removed much of the fear of the unknown and my ability to scare myself with my own imagination. It just wasn’t as scary as I felt it could have been or I wanted it to be.
In the end, though, I enjoyed the format more than I thought I would – I think my daughter is on to something with the graphic novel. It’s nice to sit down and finish a book in an hour, and relaxing to skim one’s eyes along the illustrations, especially after a long day of reading type on a computer screen. I’ll probably try a few more.
*I am so looking forward to her teen years, as I’m sure you can imagine.
** Do I need some sort of penguin-based book rating system?
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Close Encounters of the Reality-Checking Kind
I was hanging out on Facebook the other evening, neglecting cows in Farmville and burning food in Cafe World, when up popped a chat window - a mom I know, sort of, or did until I moved my daughter out of the local public school.
"Did you hear about Patrice?"
Um, what? I haven't seen any of these people in a year. Haven't you read Emily Post's Guide to Suburban Etiquette? Chapter 17: If you move to another school, you cease to exist. It's after Chapter 16 (Baked-goods recipes you must master, but not actually consume), and before Chapter 18 (Standardized test scores: A measure of your parenting skills).
"She died."
I blinked stupidly at the chat window and had one of those moments where the brain synapses just won't fire. She was young and in perfect health the last time I saw her - but that was over a year ago.
Me: "What happened?"
Mom 1: "I don't know."
A synapse fires. This isn't "Hello! I want to share information with you," but rather, "Hello! I am gathering information, do you have any?"
I checked to see who else was on chat and issued my own "Hello! Have-you-heard-about-Patrice-and-if-so-what-can-you-tell-me?" message.
Mom 2: "Yes, it's too awful."
Me: "What happened?"
Mom 2: "Suicide."
I spent some time going back and forth between the two chat windows as the horror of what happened became clear. Patrice divorced or separated about a year ago, began drinking and partying, evidently became persona non grata among the Sorority Moms she had previously hung out with, and then last week, committed suicide. Among the people who found her was one of her three young children, a sweet ten-year-old girl who I last saw two years ago, building fairy houses with my daughter on a Girl Scout camp weekend.
I remember Patrice and had several encounters with her that made an impression. The first was at her daughter Haillie's birthday party, which was held at an upscale swimming pool and involved pretty much every Sorority Mom in the neighborhood, all their kids, and us, for a grand total of some 75 or so painfully well-dressed people. I was among the first to arrive and Patrice greeted me warmly but then became busy attending to children, swimsuits, and pool toys. I sat on the bleachers, which gradually filled with other moms and dads, all of whom knew each other and none of whom knew me or attempted to alter that fact.
After a while, numerous pizzas were delivered, and it became apparent that Patrice was overwhelmed trying to serve slices not only to all the children, but to all the adults as well. I came over to help, as did Patrice's husband, and we had a pleasant exchange as we served everyone on the bleachers while Patrice and her mother served all the children in the party room. It proceeded like that through cake and ice cream.
When the party ended, I realized not one person other than Patrice, her husband, or her mother, had said a word to me, such as, for example, "Thanks." There were moments when conversations almost happened - for example, one mother sat right next to me and sighed irritably several times when I ventured controversial topics like "How are you?" This confused me because there were plenty of other places she could have sat - but of course, had she sat in one of them, I would not know for certain that I was being snubbed.
I sent my daughter to say "Thank You" to Patrice for the party, and Patrice's slightly overwhelmed look brightened as she smiled back and thanked my daughter for coming and me for all the help.
As I drove home, all I could think was, "These are her friends? Why? She seems like such a sweet person."
Not long after that, she invited me to a party at her house, the purpose of which was to sell me stuff. I went because I had some extra money and felt like spending it there might be worth it for the time it would buy me getting to know someone who might be friendly to me next time I found myself sitting on the bleachers. As it turned out, I got to spend a lot of time with her, as I was one of two people who showed up - three if you count her mother. As I left, she hugged me and said, "Thank you so much for coming, it really meant a lot to me."
I called her a couple of times after that, and when I extended an invitation, she would accept it. We took our girls to the movies together - once. We went shopping together - once. When I saw her at Girl Scout functions she would come over and chat in the friendliest possible way, but it became clear that she socialized quite a bit with the Sorority Moms, and I was not included in that social circle. Although I would have gladly accepted any invitation, none were forthcoming, and so I stopped making efforts to be friendly, and our interactions ceased except for the occasional hello at school - although more often than not, she simply waved to me from the window of her freshly washed Mercedes-Benz as she picked up her children and then drove back across the street to her house.
I knew she was on Facebook; we hadn't friended each other but she kept popping up as a suggestion and I could see all the names of the people she had friended - Sorority Moms and irritable sighers. Her Facebook page appears to have been removed, but a memorial page was set up, with posts by a whole crew of people I knew but many I had never heard of. Some of the comments:
"I'm sorry I didn't return your call last week."
"I'm sorry I left you but I will always be here."
"Sorry I was distant."
I later learned that her original Facebook profile had been removed because her children could see it, and other neighborhood children** were posting comments about how sad her death had made their own mommies - and including graphic details of Patrice's death.
For three years, while my daughter attended that school, I watched these women from the outside and felt so lonely - because they would not accept me, no matter how hard I tried. I tried to be friends were her - and several others - because I saw the looks in their eyes and sometimes listened to them voice the frustration of their disappointment at being let down by these friends, repeatedly. Apparently, it was lonely on the inside, too - but in the end, they chose to continue those relationships while I chose to walk away.
I wish I could say I feel vindicated somehow, but in the end, I just feel sad.
**10-year-old girls with Facebook accounts, because even though the Facebook user agreement says you must be 13 to sign up, what could go wrong with a little girl lying about her age online?
Please note: Names have been changed to protect the family's privacy.
"Did you hear about Patrice?"
Um, what? I haven't seen any of these people in a year. Haven't you read Emily Post's Guide to Suburban Etiquette? Chapter 17: If you move to another school, you cease to exist. It's after Chapter 16 (Baked-goods recipes you must master, but not actually consume), and before Chapter 18 (Standardized test scores: A measure of your parenting skills).
"She died."
I blinked stupidly at the chat window and had one of those moments where the brain synapses just won't fire. She was young and in perfect health the last time I saw her - but that was over a year ago.
Me: "What happened?"
Mom 1: "I don't know."
A synapse fires. This isn't "Hello! I want to share information with you," but rather, "Hello! I am gathering information, do you have any?"
I checked to see who else was on chat and issued my own "Hello! Have-you-heard-about-Patrice-and-if-so-what-can-you-tell-me?" message.
Mom 2: "Yes, it's too awful."
Me: "What happened?"
Mom 2: "Suicide."
I spent some time going back and forth between the two chat windows as the horror of what happened became clear. Patrice divorced or separated about a year ago, began drinking and partying, evidently became persona non grata among the Sorority Moms she had previously hung out with, and then last week, committed suicide. Among the people who found her was one of her three young children, a sweet ten-year-old girl who I last saw two years ago, building fairy houses with my daughter on a Girl Scout camp weekend.
I remember Patrice and had several encounters with her that made an impression. The first was at her daughter Haillie's birthday party, which was held at an upscale swimming pool and involved pretty much every Sorority Mom in the neighborhood, all their kids, and us, for a grand total of some 75 or so painfully well-dressed people. I was among the first to arrive and Patrice greeted me warmly but then became busy attending to children, swimsuits, and pool toys. I sat on the bleachers, which gradually filled with other moms and dads, all of whom knew each other and none of whom knew me or attempted to alter that fact.
After a while, numerous pizzas were delivered, and it became apparent that Patrice was overwhelmed trying to serve slices not only to all the children, but to all the adults as well. I came over to help, as did Patrice's husband, and we had a pleasant exchange as we served everyone on the bleachers while Patrice and her mother served all the children in the party room. It proceeded like that through cake and ice cream.
When the party ended, I realized not one person other than Patrice, her husband, or her mother, had said a word to me, such as, for example, "Thanks." There were moments when conversations almost happened - for example, one mother sat right next to me and sighed irritably several times when I ventured controversial topics like "How are you?" This confused me because there were plenty of other places she could have sat - but of course, had she sat in one of them, I would not know for certain that I was being snubbed.
I sent my daughter to say "Thank You" to Patrice for the party, and Patrice's slightly overwhelmed look brightened as she smiled back and thanked my daughter for coming and me for all the help.
As I drove home, all I could think was, "These are her friends? Why? She seems like such a sweet person."
Not long after that, she invited me to a party at her house, the purpose of which was to sell me stuff. I went because I had some extra money and felt like spending it there might be worth it for the time it would buy me getting to know someone who might be friendly to me next time I found myself sitting on the bleachers. As it turned out, I got to spend a lot of time with her, as I was one of two people who showed up - three if you count her mother. As I left, she hugged me and said, "Thank you so much for coming, it really meant a lot to me."
I called her a couple of times after that, and when I extended an invitation, she would accept it. We took our girls to the movies together - once. We went shopping together - once. When I saw her at Girl Scout functions she would come over and chat in the friendliest possible way, but it became clear that she socialized quite a bit with the Sorority Moms, and I was not included in that social circle. Although I would have gladly accepted any invitation, none were forthcoming, and so I stopped making efforts to be friendly, and our interactions ceased except for the occasional hello at school - although more often than not, she simply waved to me from the window of her freshly washed Mercedes-Benz as she picked up her children and then drove back across the street to her house.
I knew she was on Facebook; we hadn't friended each other but she kept popping up as a suggestion and I could see all the names of the people she had friended - Sorority Moms and irritable sighers. Her Facebook page appears to have been removed, but a memorial page was set up, with posts by a whole crew of people I knew but many I had never heard of. Some of the comments:
"I'm sorry I didn't return your call last week."
"I'm sorry I left you but I will always be here."
"Sorry I was distant."
I later learned that her original Facebook profile had been removed because her children could see it, and other neighborhood children** were posting comments about how sad her death had made their own mommies - and including graphic details of Patrice's death.
For three years, while my daughter attended that school, I watched these women from the outside and felt so lonely - because they would not accept me, no matter how hard I tried. I tried to be friends were her - and several others - because I saw the looks in their eyes and sometimes listened to them voice the frustration of their disappointment at being let down by these friends, repeatedly. Apparently, it was lonely on the inside, too - but in the end, they chose to continue those relationships while I chose to walk away.
I wish I could say I feel vindicated somehow, but in the end, I just feel sad.
**10-year-old girls with Facebook accounts, because even though the Facebook user agreement says you must be 13 to sign up, what could go wrong with a little girl lying about her age online?
Please note: Names have been changed to protect the family's privacy.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Blueberry Coconut Muffins: And Cynical Girl Shall Have Her Revenge
I have been trying to find a way to extract revenge from my dream house - you know, the one that foolishly allowed itself to be bought by someone else.* My good friend Col over at ColReads posted a recipe the other day and I remembered that the best revenge is living well, something I'm actually quite good at.
So this post is for you, stupid dream house. I don't need your granite countertops and double ovens to make yumsumful muffins ... let's see your cash buyers make anything half as good in your swanky kitchen as I've made in my undersized, white-tiled, about-to-be-outdated kitchen.
For the record, no kitchen is really worth fretting over unless it's self-cleaning.
Blueberry Coconut Muffins
1-1/2 cups flour
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon
1tsp baking soda
Mix dry ingredients and set aside.
1 stick butter, melted
3/4 cup sugar
2 eggs
1/2 cup milk (I used two percent)
1 tsp vanilla
1/2 cup unsweetened flaked coconut
1 cup blueberries (frozen work fine)
Preheat oven to 350 degrees and line muffin pan with paper cups. Beat together melted butter and sugar. Beat in eggs, one at a time, then milk and vanilla. Slowly beat in flour mixture until blended. Fold in coconut and blueberries. Spoon batter into paper cups and bake until tester comes out clean - about 20-25 minutes.
Enjoy any time, in any kitchen.
So this post is for you, stupid dream house. I don't need your granite countertops and double ovens to make yumsumful muffins ... let's see your cash buyers make anything half as good in your swanky kitchen as I've made in my undersized, white-tiled, about-to-be-outdated kitchen.
For the record, no kitchen is really worth fretting over unless it's self-cleaning.
Blueberry Coconut Muffins
1-1/2 cups flour
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon
1tsp baking soda
Mix dry ingredients and set aside.
1 stick butter, melted
3/4 cup sugar
2 eggs
1/2 cup milk (I used two percent)
1 tsp vanilla
1/2 cup unsweetened flaked coconut
1 cup blueberries (frozen work fine)
Preheat oven to 350 degrees and line muffin pan with paper cups. Beat together melted butter and sugar. Beat in eggs, one at a time, then milk and vanilla. Slowly beat in flour mixture until blended. Fold in coconut and blueberries. Spoon batter into paper cups and bake until tester comes out clean - about 20-25 minutes.
Enjoy any time, in any kitchen.
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