Books I read and loved recently
Jun. 27th, 2010 09:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rainbowunicorn_readsLately I've been able to read more. Lesser malling and spending moolah, more reading time instead at home, reaching home just in time to avoid being drenched.
Some books that I can't forget:
Garden Spells by Sarah Addison Allen
"The biscuits with lilac jelly, the lavender tea cookies, and the tea cakes made with nasturtium mayonnaise the Ladies Aid ordered for their meetings once a month gave them the ability to keep secrets."
Likened to Esquivel, I found myself caught up in this story filled with magical realism and was reminded of: That sister rivalry in Privileged, That sister rivalry in Practical Magic by Alice Hoffman, and a bit of Desperate Housewives. I loved the quirkiness of the characters (even the personality of that feisty apple tree), and the little bits of plant trivia injected within paragraphs. I loved how Evanelle gave away items useful for recipients in the future, and how Tyler is that too-good-to-be-true guy, and how you want things so badly to end up happily for these characters (and predictably so), you care for them too much. A nice breezy read under a soft blanket with the rain pitter-pattering outside.
What I think: 9 unicorns
The Likeness by Tana French
You know how they say that people like Dan Brown's books because they make them feel intelligent?
Tana French can do that, but with prettier prose but with more sympathetic and flawed characters, more No-I-Can't-Langdon-fly- humanity.
Rife with descriptions, no whambam surprises here. Rather she sneaks surprises in setting descriptions and subtly weaves metaphors within metaphors:
"He told me about old herb gardens: how carefully they were arranged to make sure that each plant had everything it needed to flourish, how perfectly they balanced sight and scent and use, practicality and beauty, without ever allowing one to be compromised for another's sake. Hyssop to loosen chest colds or cure toothaches, he said camomile in a poultice to reduce inflammation or in a tea to prevent nightmares; lavender and lemon balm for strewing to make the house smell sweet, rue and burnet in salads. 'We'll have to try that sometime,' he said, 'a Shakesperean salad. Tansy tastes like pepper, did you know that? I thought it had died off long ago, it was brown and brittle, but when I cut right back to the roots, there it was: just a tinge of green. It'll be all right now. It's amazing, how stubbornly things survive against incredible odds; how irresistibly strong it is, the drive to live and grow..."
or this:
The rhythm of his voice washed over me, even and soothing as waves; I barely heard the words. "Time,' I think he said somewhere behind me, or maybe it was 'thyme', I've never been sure. "Time works so hard for us, if only we can let it."
What I think: 8 unicorns
Cruddy by Lynda Barry
Since Barry is one of my favorite illustrators and writers, I took a chance with this creepy book with creepier illustrations. Some of the drawings were really scary that I had to cover them up with one hand while I read the rest of the text beside it. If you like the gritty books of Palahniuk, and if you're fascinated by gory slasher flicks, this just might be the perfect book for you. It scared me horribly, but it was also fascinating and empowering, in a way. It ends in a surprisingly hopeful note for me, which is what I think is lacking in Palahniuk books, and which makes me like this book more. Huzzah for Ms. Barry who bravely went there, in a shocking, drawn-out tale of good versus evil, and in some parts evil versus evil.
What I think: 7 unicorns
The Year of Fog by Michelle Richmond
"You exist, each moment, as if waking from a dream, with no awareness of where you are or how you got there, no knowledge of what, or who might be waiting for you in the next room. Each thing you perceive has no more significance than a random snapshot in a stranger's photo album. A life without memory is a life without meaning"
"The moment a photograph is transferred to paper, the slow process of erasure begins. The purpose of photography is to stop time but time inevitably erodes.
We put such faith in this flimsy mnemonic device, a moment written in light. But photos provide a false sense of security. Like our own flawed memory, they are guarantedd to fade. Over time, the contrasts within a photo diminish, the contours soften, the details blur...We take photographs in order to remember but it is in the nature of a photograph to forget."
"A common misconception is that memory is like some sort of computer that stores and retrieves information. The truth is, memory is an act of reconstruction. Every time we remember an event, we piece together rough drafts of the event based on our lifetime of experiences."
Wow. Just, wow.
This gem of a book is filled with unforgettable imagery, and quotable, heartbreaking lines. The premise is simple: There's this woman who manages to lose the daughter of her fiancee one fateful afternoon. Wracked with guilt and desperation, she manages to wax poetic about memory and priorities and those little things we encounter daily but manage to just forget. I skimmed a couple of pages, just to take a peek at Ms. Richmond's style, but the story was so riveting and her language was enticing, which led me to some nights where I battled sleep just to be able to read a few more pages. This book makes me want to buy a Holga for myself and study the hippocampus. Richmond uses photographs as prompts, mixed with a dash of research for grounding and ends up with this unputdownable book. I didn't want it to end, and was slightly panicking when there were only a few pages left but with the mystery still unsolved. Then blam! There it was, not really surprising, but then it's the aftermath that leaves you with these nagging questions, these delicate "what next?s".
I enjoyed the ride thoroughly though, and would like to try out her other books. I'm also well aware of that digital camera photos versus old-school camera photos that would lessen the impact of her metaphors, but if you think of it in that old-school camera sense, it adds a tinge of nostalgia and you think, Damn, these metaphors are just right.
What I think: 8.5 unicorns
Some books that I can't forget:
Garden Spells by Sarah Addison Allen
"The biscuits with lilac jelly, the lavender tea cookies, and the tea cakes made with nasturtium mayonnaise the Ladies Aid ordered for their meetings once a month gave them the ability to keep secrets."
Likened to Esquivel, I found myself caught up in this story filled with magical realism and was reminded of: That sister rivalry in Privileged, That sister rivalry in Practical Magic by Alice Hoffman, and a bit of Desperate Housewives. I loved the quirkiness of the characters (even the personality of that feisty apple tree), and the little bits of plant trivia injected within paragraphs. I loved how Evanelle gave away items useful for recipients in the future, and how Tyler is that too-good-to-be-true guy, and how you want things so badly to end up happily for these characters (and predictably so), you care for them too much. A nice breezy read under a soft blanket with the rain pitter-pattering outside.
What I think: 9 unicorns
The Likeness by Tana French
You know how they say that people like Dan Brown's books because they make them feel intelligent?
Tana French can do that, but with prettier prose but with more sympathetic and flawed characters, more No-I-Can't-Langdon-fly- humanity.
Rife with descriptions, no whambam surprises here. Rather she sneaks surprises in setting descriptions and subtly weaves metaphors within metaphors:
"He told me about old herb gardens: how carefully they were arranged to make sure that each plant had everything it needed to flourish, how perfectly they balanced sight and scent and use, practicality and beauty, without ever allowing one to be compromised for another's sake. Hyssop to loosen chest colds or cure toothaches, he said camomile in a poultice to reduce inflammation or in a tea to prevent nightmares; lavender and lemon balm for strewing to make the house smell sweet, rue and burnet in salads. 'We'll have to try that sometime,' he said, 'a Shakesperean salad. Tansy tastes like pepper, did you know that? I thought it had died off long ago, it was brown and brittle, but when I cut right back to the roots, there it was: just a tinge of green. It'll be all right now. It's amazing, how stubbornly things survive against incredible odds; how irresistibly strong it is, the drive to live and grow..."
or this:
The rhythm of his voice washed over me, even and soothing as waves; I barely heard the words. "Time,' I think he said somewhere behind me, or maybe it was 'thyme', I've never been sure. "Time works so hard for us, if only we can let it."
What I think: 8 unicorns
Cruddy by Lynda Barry
Since Barry is one of my favorite illustrators and writers, I took a chance with this creepy book with creepier illustrations. Some of the drawings were really scary that I had to cover them up with one hand while I read the rest of the text beside it. If you like the gritty books of Palahniuk, and if you're fascinated by gory slasher flicks, this just might be the perfect book for you. It scared me horribly, but it was also fascinating and empowering, in a way. It ends in a surprisingly hopeful note for me, which is what I think is lacking in Palahniuk books, and which makes me like this book more. Huzzah for Ms. Barry who bravely went there, in a shocking, drawn-out tale of good versus evil, and in some parts evil versus evil.
What I think: 7 unicorns
The Year of Fog by Michelle Richmond
"You exist, each moment, as if waking from a dream, with no awareness of where you are or how you got there, no knowledge of what, or who might be waiting for you in the next room. Each thing you perceive has no more significance than a random snapshot in a stranger's photo album. A life without memory is a life without meaning"
"The moment a photograph is transferred to paper, the slow process of erasure begins. The purpose of photography is to stop time but time inevitably erodes.
We put such faith in this flimsy mnemonic device, a moment written in light. But photos provide a false sense of security. Like our own flawed memory, they are guarantedd to fade. Over time, the contrasts within a photo diminish, the contours soften, the details blur...We take photographs in order to remember but it is in the nature of a photograph to forget."
"A common misconception is that memory is like some sort of computer that stores and retrieves information. The truth is, memory is an act of reconstruction. Every time we remember an event, we piece together rough drafts of the event based on our lifetime of experiences."
Wow. Just, wow.
This gem of a book is filled with unforgettable imagery, and quotable, heartbreaking lines. The premise is simple: There's this woman who manages to lose the daughter of her fiancee one fateful afternoon. Wracked with guilt and desperation, she manages to wax poetic about memory and priorities and those little things we encounter daily but manage to just forget. I skimmed a couple of pages, just to take a peek at Ms. Richmond's style, but the story was so riveting and her language was enticing, which led me to some nights where I battled sleep just to be able to read a few more pages. This book makes me want to buy a Holga for myself and study the hippocampus. Richmond uses photographs as prompts, mixed with a dash of research for grounding and ends up with this unputdownable book. I didn't want it to end, and was slightly panicking when there were only a few pages left but with the mystery still unsolved. Then blam! There it was, not really surprising, but then it's the aftermath that leaves you with these nagging questions, these delicate "what next?s".
I enjoyed the ride thoroughly though, and would like to try out her other books. I'm also well aware of that digital camera photos versus old-school camera photos that would lessen the impact of her metaphors, but if you think of it in that old-school camera sense, it adds a tinge of nostalgia and you think, Damn, these metaphors are just right.
What I think: 8.5 unicorns