I'm sorry to report that I accidentally chose a "four books in one" monster of a P.D. James novel to kick off the year, and it is taking me forever to finish it.  I didn't realize the heft of the book because I bought it on my Kindle, and I didn't pay attention to the number of pages.  I did, however, manage to read 1971 Newbery Medal Winner Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH by Robert C. O'Brien to my kids last week. 

The story is about a widowed mouse named Mrs. Frisby who must find a way to move her house (a cinder block) from one corner of the garden to a safer one. Her frail, thoughtful son, Timothy, has recently recovered from a bout of pneumonia and will not survive if he is exposed to the cold, early-summer nights.  She seeks help from a colony of elusive rats who harbor a secret that involves her late husband, Jonathon. She learns that the rats have undergone chemical experiments at the National Institute of Mental Health, resulting in their being over a thousand times more intelligent than natural rats.  With the help of Nicodemus, the leader of the NIMH rat colony, she learns the truth about her husband's early life and uncovers a strange, cautionary tale about science and ethical limits. 

The book was everything quality children's literature should be:  funny, interesting, cozy, nerve-wracking, and thought-provoking.  And all of this without being a thinly-veiled Disturbing-Story-For-Grown-Ups told in a Kindergarten-Teacher-Voice.  I hate those kind of books. 

The book is 233 pages with the occasional pen-and-ink illustration.  The target age for the book was 8-12, but I read it to my 6, 7, and 9 year olds, and they were all rapt.  Oh--and if you've seen the movie, don't skip the book.  As usual, the book is densely packed with philosophical discussions and character development that the movie omits.  Also, the movie throws in a bunch of bite-your-knuckle plot twists that don't happen in the book. In the words of my nine-year-old, "How dare they change the plot?  After all Robert's hard work?"  (She and Robert are tight, it would appear).  The biggest offense in her mind?  That the movie changes Mrs. Frisby's name to Mrs. Brisby, and that Jenner is portrayed as a Stone-Cold-Killa, which he isn't in real life.  (Real Life=The Book.  But I don't have to tell you people that).

Q for you:  What other children's books-turned-movies have you read?  Tell me in the comment section, and if you've reviewed any children's books-turned-movies, Mr. Linky-it-up!

I'm excited to get the pages up for the 2011 challenges I'm hosting on Home Girl's Book Blog. This year, I'm going to reprise the 100+ Challenge and the Support Your Local Library Challenge. Instead of the YA Challenge, I'm going to host a Winner Challenge for Children/Middle Grade fiction. In this challenge, I'll focus on reading and reviewing award-winning literature for young people (think: Newberry Medal, National Book Award for Young People's Literature, Coretta Scott King Award, Laura Ingalls Wilder Medal, etc.). Lastly, I'm going to do a Short Story Collection Challenge. I read three short story collections in 2010, and I enjoyed the concentrated depth of the reading experience. I found myself slowing down, receding deeper into my mind as I read. It's a poignant contrast to novel-reading. Local libraries can be a great resource for short story collections, so that will be a fun way to blend the two challenges.

I plan to review one book a week. I'm going to end each post with a Mr. Linky option so that you guys can provide a link to any related reviews you have posted. For instance, if I review A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle, and you've done a review of A Wind in the Door by Madeleine L'Engle, I'd love to have our reviews linked to broaden the discussion. I'll post more specifics when the time comes.

I plan on doing some Vloggy Reviews, too, since those are fun.

The site will be under construction for a few days around Jan. 1, 2011 as I get the challenge pages designed and up. Don't forget to post a summary of your reading year under the challenge pages for 2010. I can't wait to hunt through them and see how we all did. Happy Holidays!

My husband bought me a Nook for Mother’s Day. (Doesn’t the word “Nook” sound…X-rated? I find that I always let my voice drop when I say it). When e-Readers began to pop up in the purses of my friends, I quickly skittered over to the “Oh, I like the sensory experience of real books. The smell! The purr of fanned pages under a thumb!” camp, with all the other people low on discretionary funds for trendy technology Luddites. But then I actually got my hands on a Nook (See what I mean about the word? I’m blushing…), and I suddenly felt as nostalgic about my “real” books as I would a collection of Ford Model T’s cluttering up my front lawn. That is to say, y’all can take those bad boys to a museum. I don’t want them. However, I’ve lived with the Nook for awhile now, and I find that my initial rapture was—as usual--a bit dramatic.


The Pros? I love how many books I can store on my Nook. My house is overrun with books, but I have always been—and will always be—a person who buys books. It’s my thing. I love how easy and turbo fast it is to purchase the books I want. It’s actually…dangerously convenient. Almost like you didn’t even spend any money. Like forking off bites of birthday cake when you’re whizzing through the kitchen. Doesn’t even really count. I love how lightweight the Nook is. While this sounds old-womany, big books kind of hurt my hands. I like how organized and accessible and portable my reading material is. The Cons? I’m terrified to read in the bathtub or the pool. This majorly cramps my style. The shame of returning a conspicuously wavy library book is one thing; the idea of dropping a $300 gadget into the tub is another kettle of fish altogether. I don’t find it as easy to flip back to previous sections of a book to remind myself of a character’s name or to reread earlier passages in light of later ones, since I am not likely to “bookmark” these passages at first pass. Also, my reading light doesn’t clip on my Nook. I’m sure Barnes and Noble makes one just for the Nook, but after dropping 300 bucks on the e-reader, itself, I’m fresh out of discretionary funds.




What about you? Do you have an e-reader? I’m sure many of you have hashed out the pros and cons of Kindles, Nooks, iPads, etc. on your blogs. If you’ve posted about this topic, leave a link to the specific post below so I can snoop around in your thoughts.

Sorry for being incommunicado this week. My family and I took in several Passover/Holy Week services and activities, and we celebrated our oldest daughter's ninth birthday. I always realize how tightly I sandwich myself in schedule-wise when I add in one more thing and suddenly, I'm dropping my blogging, reading, running, and writing like a panicked juggler.

The week was memorable and sweet, however. Most of my reading was religious in nature, but I did finish a Marian Keyes novel which I sucked down like a piece of chocolate cake. Also, I worked through a book about the "tween years" with my nine-year-old daughter, and read Beverly Cleary's The Mouse and the Motorcycle to my Irish twins. (This is the month of the year when we have two children the same age--who aren't twins and are not adopted. That is to say, I gave birth twice in a twelve month period. This year, we have two six year olds. IknowIknowIknow. I've heard all the jokes).

Bookish highlight of the week? I bought Tracy Chevalier's new novel Remarkable Creatures. Paid top dollar for it, too. Hardback. I was wondering when she was going to crank out another one. I'm going to review it for Vloggy Friday this week, which I am not going to forget about (I say, with a watery smile). I'll post my review for Last Chance Saloon by Marian Keyes on Wednesday. In addition to Tracy's new one, I'll be continuing to work through Zinsser's Writing to Learn.

Sheila is hosting the April 12x12 Challenge, so go check her out. (I'm sure you already do on a regular basis. That girl's blog is hoppin').

I homeschool my three children, so a significant percentage of my daily reading is children's literature. We're trying to take in as many Newbery Medal winners as possible this year, as well as slogging through enjoying Tolkien's Lord of the Rings Trilogy. (My kids love LOTR. I...am tolerating it. Is it me, or are the nuanced-topological-descriptions/minor-character-names/endless-stanzas-of-elvish-poetry some kind of IQ test? And if so, why are my very young children scoring higher than I am? Don't answer).


Last week, we read Sarah, Plain and Tall by Patricia MacLachlan. I remember reading it by myself in elementary school, and feeling haunted by the spare, lonely language and the descriptions of the sea. I remembering feeling strange about Sarah--unconvinced that she could adequately fill in for Caleb and Anna's dead mother. Also, I wished she wasn't plain. I wanted her to be beautiful: A little more Robin Wright Penn circa The Princess Bride, a little less Glenn Close. Just keepin' it real. I kept re-writing her in my mind, softening her.


Reading it as an adult (and a mother), I was struck by Caleb's desperate grief and his willingness to metamorphose, to contort in order to snag a stand-in-mother's love. I suffered for Anna, whose love for her brother is laced with filigrees of hate and blame as his birth brought about their mother's death. I felt anxious for Sarah to be warmer, give the children more confidence, stop talking about missing the damn sea in front of them. Couldn't she see their sucked-in hope? However, I also noted the subtle desperation in Sarah's own situation. A newly married brother, and with his changed situation, the loss of her childhood home. I mused about how ill-suited she must have been for traditional marriages in her time, with her towering height, indomitable independence, and plainness. What she sees in "Papa's" marriage proposal is an opportunity to enter into a partnership, a context where her strength and mental tenacity will be assets instead of liabilities.


My five year old son, Jack, was particularly tuned in to this book. At the end, I asked him what he thought.


"The story made me think of the colors blue and gray. And I was full of 'missing-ish' feelings. I was happy that Sarah stayed, but I do not want a new mother for myself. It would've been a little more better if the kids had their real mom."


I knew just what he meant.


Question for you: What childhood books have you re-read as an adult, and how did your interpretations/emotions change upon later readings?

I am sitting in stunned silence, wondering how the Work-Filled-Blip that just occurred has the nerve to call itself a weekend...



Ah, well. At least Beverly gave me some blog awards, so that's always a nice way to start off the week. (She also has a great quote on the heading of her fab blog, so check it out).

Looks like I'm supposed to tell 10 things that make me happy (other than reading, of course) and pass on the award to 10 other bloggers.

1. My smokin' hot husband.
2. My adorable kids.
3. Black coffee.
4. Running.
5. James Taylor.
6. My sisters and my mom.
7. Knitting.
8. Maeve Binchy.
9. Summer.
10. Writing little HTML codes that actually work. :)
    

And here are 10 Bloggers who also make me happy:

Annie at annieology

Wendy at Caribousmom

Amused By Books

Andi at Estella's Revenge

Connie's Calico Drive blog. Actually all of Connie's blogs.

My big sister at There's A Cow In My Lane

Sarah at That's Bologna

Rachelle at Rants and Ramblings

Linda at Salty Feet

The Neverending Shelf. How much do I want to live in the picture on her banner?

I'm behind on my reading, so I'm still finishing up a great memoir, a novel, and a couple other books. Still plugging away at Lord of the Rings (for my kids). Am I allowed to say how bored-slash-scrambled I get trying to keep up with Tolkien's descriptions of fictional settings?

Check back in later for a How-To on Blog Button Making. It sounds so down-homesy, doesn't it? Like something Ma Ingalls would do?

And there you have it. I'm sweating from stage fright. No, I really am.


Don't forget to check back in at lunch to read a guest review by my dear friend (and uber-cool, Barnes-and-Noble-insider), Libby. Happy Friday!

Quickie Review:

Olive Kitteridge is a patchwork of vignettes about a sharp, uncensored woman whose mercurial moods and inconsistent sensitivities impact (and shape) her husband, son, students, and neighbors in different ways. Winner of the Pulitzer Prize in 2009, Elizabeth Strout crafts her novel in multiple points of view, sometimes catching Olive Kitteridge in nothing more than the peripheral vision of another character. Complicated and flawed, Olive stumbles toward self-discovery as she endures alienation from her son and--in other ways--from her gentle, peace-loving husband.

I am almost at a loss to try to describe the subtlety and skill Strout brought to the story. As unsympathetic as the protagonist often was, I felt wholly absorbed in the mindset, worldview, and emotions of Olive Kitteridge. The tight, limited third-person points of view provided deep, convincing emotional evidence for the authenticity of the entire cast of characters. This character-driven book was haunting, funny, irreverent, sometimes scathing, and ultimately hopeful. It was an appeal for mercy on all of us--limited, stumbling, puffed up, rag-tag-humanity. I felt twisty (amused and sometimes uncomfortable) from Strout's unrelenting emotional precision. (My sisters and I would say the author was "pushing on a bruise"--bringing deep, existing feelings into sharper relief).

The book is not long (a slim 270 pages), and I read it in a single, sleepy afternoon. It will stay with me for much longer. Highly, highly recommended.

Anybody curious about the requirements for the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction? See here.

Want to listen to a muy interesante 7-minute interview with Elizabeth and the (ever-interrupting) Charlie Rose? (Watch him tangle her up with his constant interjections during the "daughter" part). This particular interview is about Strout's debut novel, Amy and Isabelle. Check it.

Q for you: Olive Kitteridge is neither beautiful, nor well-liked, nor charming, nor accomplished. She is not a particularly sacrificial wife or doting mother. Her students, for the most part, are afraid of her. In a word--none of us would want to be her. And yet, I was drawn to her as if by magnetism. Do you have trouble identifying with an "unlikeable" protagonist? Does it depend on your mood?

Almost without exception, if I like a book, I get interested in the author's personal life. After I read Ellen Foster by Kaye Gibbons, I was spellbound by the author's skill and almost bottomless depth (and by the fact that she wrote a novel during a manic episode in college that would almost spontaneously be anthologized upon its publication). I'm sorry to report that I stayed up until one o'clock in the morning, googling pictures of her mugshot, when she was arrested for attempting to score prescription drugs.

I'll pause, and let you take a gander at those. I'll just unload my dishwasher.

I know writers mine their own hearts for stories, characters, pulsing emotions, etc., and so I find them fascinating. I like to know what movies they watch, and if they write in the morning or at night, and if they have happy marriages, and if their children speak to them. I know Maeve Binchy's writing schedule, and what she and her beloved husband, Gordon, do in the afternoons when they've finished up their word counts for the day. I follow Elizabeth Berg's blog, and when she mentioned that she loved Alice Munro's short stories, you better believe I went on an Alice Munro Reading Extravaganza. (Turns out, Alice Munro is a masterfully emotional storyteller, too. I can't get enough of her, and now I wonder who she liked to read? I've got to find out...). I found out that Julie Powell cheated on Eric and has managed to squeeze another memoir out of the whole affair. They worked it out, though. She and Eric, I mean.

What about you? Are you interested in an author's life, or just her books? Any particular author you stalk follow? Tell me what you know.

In Julie and Julia, memoirist Julie Powell chronicles her real-life escapade of cooking--and blogging--through Julia Child's The Art of French Cooking in a year.  The Julie/Julia Project begins as a way to distract Julie from her colorless job as a temp in a government agency and the dim prospects of her dwindling fertility.  Julie uses cooking and the calendar year as a skeleton upon which to hang the book's broader themes--the meaning of marriage, of faithfulness, of personal identity, of growth and flexibility, even of grief and recovery (her day job involves regular contact with the families of 9/11 victims).  In the meantime, she discovers and cultivates a flair for writing and a renewed appreciation for her long-suffering husband, Eric.

The book is stinkin' hilarious.  As in, I snickered in a room by myself off and on for hours as I read it, and pestered all the grown-ups around me, begging them to let me read them funny lines.  Having said this, the author has an unprecedented potty-mouth, and the book makes full and fluid use of every foul phrase in the urban dictionary.  Wide-eyed, sweet, hapless Amy Adams this chick most certainly is NOT (for those of you who saw the movie).  Having said that, it still fully captured my interest (and made me wheeze with laughter), and I read it in one sitting.  Oh--and I read it after I saw the movie.  No harm done, in this case. 

Happy Monday, All and Sundry. What kind of weekend did you have? Mine was sleepy-readerly-no-shower-till-2p.m.-ish. Not half bad. I read a stunning novel that was so deeply interesting, so funny and haunting and rich and layered, I immediately wanted to gather my best friends, pour mugs of coffee as large as our heads, pile on top of my bed, and take turns reading it out loud. [[Incidentally, I am a mother of three, and this little Cyndi Lauperish scenario has never, nor will it ever, take place. Plus, my best friends don't adore each other, per se, and it would all be very weird. Moving on.]] I'm posting the full review on Tuesday, so stay tuned.

ATTENTION: Craptastic graphics are due to Blog Ownership Switch-A-Roo. Chat amongst yourselves. It'll be fixed soon!

Yesterday, Pam made this comment in response to the I Confess post: "Thank you for letting me know that I am not the only book lover in the world who was unable to finish Lolita! To be perfectly honest, that was the first book I never finished; up until I attempted to read it, I believed I had to finish every book I started, regardless of how long it took or how much I disliked it. I also thought Lolita was "gross" and decided that since I read for pleasure, if it displeased me, it was okay to stop." (If Pam had a blog, you better believe I would've provided a link, but alas! There was none to be found).

Her comment got me thinking about my criteria for quitting a book. I also read for pleasure, mostly, although I also like to keep my brain fit. I find that--with all the short, quippy, internety things to read--I have to work a bit harder to hang with dense literature. Sometimes I'll make myself finish a book I don't adore because I feel like I should love it. Example: The Memory Keeper's Daughter by Kim Edwards. How the world raved! Yet I...kept fanning the second half through my fingers, willing it to pass faster. Still. What if the problem lay within the shadowy corners of my own cheap-entertainment-saturated brain? Better press on, I said, and I did. Sometimes I'll keep reading a book I don't love if I have somehow managed to get most of the way through it, and I want to count it toward a reading challenge. I'm riddled with OCD a stickler for the letter of the law.

But there are books I cannot finish. They make me feel irritable, distracted, and vaguely panicked, like I'm holding a stretch in gym class.

When do you give up on a book? At the first whiff of boredom? Do you soldier on to the end no matter what? Tell me in the comment section and I'll mail one of you my copy of The Memory Keeper's Daughter. You'll love it. Probably. Most likely. (I'll throw the comment numbers into Random.org and pick a winner that way. I'll announce it on Monday morning's post).

This is a reprint of a recent book review I did. Is that...ghetto? I'm at death's door with bronchitis. Excuses, excuses. Be back soon.

When J. Kaye passed this blog over to me, I felt a little like Tibby receiving the magic jeans from Lena in The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants by Ann Brashares. My life, my background, even my books are different, but somehow this bloggy community still fits. Furthermore, this book blog seemed to find me at the exact moment I had—unwittingly--carved out a space for it. (Cue tinkling, magical soundtrack and gust from giant fan…). More on that later.

I am excited to follow your book trails and join with you in letting books challenge us, shape us, amuse us, pique us, heal us, wound us, silence us, and give us something to talk about. Can I get a witness? Amen.

It may take me a little while to get my bearings around here, but I am going to do my best to keep all the fun things going that made this place so great. I home school my three kids, so I will be blogging in the afternoon and evening, three or four times a week. I can’t wait to get to know you all.

Q for you: What have been your favorite things about J. Kaye’s Book Blog? What will you miss the most?