The Whistling Season

I had always confused Ivan Doig with an early 19th Century writer, though I'm not sure why (or with whom). Perhaps there's a name similarity with someone I once read in school. In any case, his author picture in The Whistling Season does nothing to discourage this belief.

Nonetheless, The Whistling Season was first published in 2006, though it takes place in Montana of 1910 (yes, the year of Halley's Comet and Mark Twain's death). It's an interesting enough portrait of homesteading at the turn of the last century when Model Ts battled muddy roads for dominance, when dry land farming (You'd have to read this book a bit more carefully than I to fully understand that idea) slapped up against giant Government irrigation projects, and one-room school houses were the center of a community (like it or not).

The framing of The Whistling Season is weird and not really necessary, though at least we know everyone grows up well enough because our narrator pops in occasionally as an adult. But that's kind of the boring part.

The interesting part is the arrival of Rose Llewellyn and her intriguing brother Morrie Morgan to be--respectively--housekeeper and teacher. These two colorful characters have CON ARTISTS tattooed all over them, but they seem perfectly pleasant and interesting, intelligent and kind, and--having not read Doig before (stuffy old 18th century guy, right?), I wasn't sure if he was just playing with his reader.

Morrie is the best character in the book. He looks every bit the dandy--alarmingly stylish mustache, perfectly ironed white shirts--and is pleasantly overeducated, though only in a bookish way. As an example of what he lacks in education, his first job as wood cutter for a cranky old lady ends in him stacking three cords of wood with logs precisely four feet long (a cord, it was originally explained to him is "four feet high, four feet long and 8 feet wide"). To his credit, he did think it was an odd size for pieces of wood destined for a cookstove, and he does fix his mistake.Pressed into service, he becomes one of those teachers you dream of--teaching to a higher level of thinking while entertaining his charges.

In the end, lives change, are improved, or not, and some things about the prairie change and some things do not. I'm glad I gave this writer a chance to prove he lives in this century (or writes in it, anyway), though I'm not a convert.

I don't know if this is too cutesy, but I like the image it created. The youngest boy in the family is bursting to tell of the matrimonial escape of their former teacher: "Miss Trent loped!"

"Did she." Father's eyebrows lifed commensurately. "That must have been a memorable change from her usual gait."

Supreme Courtship

Ah, nothing like an ice storm/power outage to get some reading done, although the light gets pretty dim around 4:00. I ripped right through Christopher Buckley's Supreme Courtship. It was a light and fairly zippy read and, really, I had little else to do while curled up in a sleeping bag in a house that registered somewhere around 34 degrees.

This book reminded me of some of Tom Wolfe's books, though obviously not as long and sweeping. I enjoyed the freakishly prescient Sarah Palin similarities, though it turned out there were only two (thank goodness), right in the beginning. The unpopular president gives up on finding a Supreme Court nominee that the angry Congress will accept and gleefully offers a Court TV judge they can't refuse.

Here's where Sarah Palin comes in (sort of). When Pepper Cartwright pronounces "You Betcha!" I thought Buckley to be some sort of psychic. After all, the book was published in September). When he then mentions that there's a spike in sales of cherry red pickup trucks because of this nominee, all I could think of was the wide-spread mania over Palin's rimless glasses. But then, I suppose not all pop culture should be attributed to the former Republican VP nominee. Eventually she will go away, recede from my mind, and I'll then fail to find her lurking in everything I read. I hope.

I felt like Buckley created in President Donald Vanderdamp the sort of president he thought Bush could have been. Never mind idealogy. Vanderdamp is genial, a lover of bowling who'd rather be back home in some unpronounceable small town in Ohio (since it is unpronounceable and starts with a W, I thought of Palin's hometown. That woman is everywhere!) And instead has to run the country. You kind of want to hate him at first, but he's a good enough guy.

I liked the characters--the prickly, pesky, uber-intelligent Justices, the president, Pepper herself, the suicidal Chief Justice, the grasping, nakedly ambitious Senator, and especially Graydon Clenndennynn. Who wouldn't want a wise, Boston Brahmin type getting you out of trouble with his calm wisdom, his intelligence, and his perfect martinis served with cheese amuse-gueules?

Obviously, I didn't like Pepper's husband--the stupidly named Buddy, the TV producer who is responsible for her rise to TV fame (though almost responsible for her failure to the Supreme Court). He's not likeable, of course, but it's more that Buckley never bothers to explain how on earth those two ended up together and I didn't buy it.

Pepper's attempts to rule--or at least judge-from the highest bench in America are amusing and a little bittersweet. It all seems so much easier and more fun on Judge Judy. In general this book made me never, ever, ever want to be a lawyer (or be married to one), but it was pretty entertaining.

Nice bit of advice: "Short of nuclear warheads that have already been launched, there is no situation that cannot be met head-on with inaction."

And this image, about a dog: Dwight lifted his head off the pillow next to the President's and cocked an ear in hopes of discerning syllabic similarity between the words being spoken and "biscuit."

I rather think those two quotes go well together, now that I see them juxtaposed.

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society

As soon as I began reading this book in letters by Mary Ann Shaffer and her niece Annie Barrows, it reminded me of a book I'd bought and read in 1987. So the end found me rummaging through stacks of boxes packed up during home renovations to find Henrietta's War by Joyce Dennys. Of course I found the book sitting innocently on a bookshelf downstairs. Henrietta's War is subtitled "News from the Home Front 1939-1942" and takes place in roughly the same time period as Potato Peel and is also written in letters. I remember loving it (sigh, part of my British phase). Skimming through it this time around reminded me of what was fun about it.

Now, writing an epistolary novel is hard. The author is really demanding a lot from his reader and there are some who obviously get a bit carried away with the format. Samuel Richardson, famously, has his heroine Clarissa writing to her dear friend as she's being, uh, deflowered (or just about). Of course, the other problem is the time lapse in letter writing. Fine, In the 18th Century, people wrote often and throughout the day, but in later years the regular post office was, really, a bit slower.

And things move pretty fast in Potato Peel. How quickly can you fall in love (by mostly letter, I mean)? Letter writing is certainly an art, but I even reread Dawsey's first letter to Juliet and there's not much there. Okay, yeah, a love of Charles Lamb. and okay, a certain "country folk" appeal, but really, I wasn't even sure it was a man writing it, the first time around. The whole book takes place in less than a year and when even the heroine admits that being engaged for one day is a bit rushed, it feels more like the authors just wanted to "git her done." (the book, I mean. Nothing vulgar here). Yes, I know they meet, but we only have his and her letters to glean anything romantic.

I must admit, if it weren't a book club selection, I would not have finished this book. There were too many things that irritated me (the letters format was the least of it because I knew about that). Things just seemed too cutesy, too much as though the writers had read a few quick books about LIFE DURING THE OCCUPATION (WWII) and then had tried to drop a whole bunch of 'period markers' to guide the reader. This is a particular pet peeve of mine.

BUT, I am trying to be more open-minded about books (sort of) and I perservered. The book definitely picks up. There is still a great deal that annoyed me, but I ended up liking a lot of those very markers that had bugged me to begin with. I was quite moved by the letter writer who lists exactly what he received in his first Red Cross package after several years of inadequate food on Guernsey. Somehow, listing things in ounces (one ounce of salt, ten ounces of raisins...) was terribly poignant

Other details, such as the description of the German soldiers treating their arrival like a holiday, away from the "real war" was interesting and felt fresh to me. I also liked the guy who would read only Seneca for his Society meetings; the other man who read a difficult book just to spite a friend (or repair a friendship).

I even liked the seemingly random discovery of letters from Oscar Wilde. Sure! Why not?

I did not, however, for one minute, buy the romance that blossomed by the end of the book, but I suppose, we all have a little Jane Austen in us and so need things to tidy up neatly and make families of everyone.

I hesitated a long time before writing this because I have heard mostly LOVE for this book, and I didn't want to disagree with friend Liz (though she knows we don't always agree on books). As my sister-in-law said first, "I didn't love it." BUT, I didn't end up hating it either, which I would have done had I quit. Instead, I savored some of the scenes and descriptions and let go of any cheese I found.
This is an easy book to suggest to most people because it's a lite little book that also makes you feel like you're learning something about the Terrible Times that were WWII. So, go ahead and read it (and argue with me, if you want)

my faves of 2008

I keep track of my "best reads" of the year in a somewhat useless way--by making a small dot next to the title in a notebook. This is an improvement over the old method--that of depending on my memory. The old method usually left me announcing to friends and casual acquaintances, "Oh, I loved that book!" whenever they mentioned something I'd read. Later, I'd realize that all I meant was that the title was familiar.
And so, the dots.
This was a bad year for me, bookwise. Usually, I look back and find at least 10 dots, but not this year. In any case, here is a list of the books I enjoyed most in 2008, followed by a few honorable mentions to round out the list. It's conceivable that I'll love another book before the year is out, but this is a start.

(The list is more chronological than it is from best to worst).

Gods Behaving Badly, Marie Phillips.
Some critics found this story of Greek Gods living in London a tired (or tiring) gimmick, but I found it really funny. The whole "sun going out" bit was a little long, but Apollo as talk show host was funny.

Water for Elephants, Sara Gruen.
I was really late to the table on this one, partly scared off by the circus theme, but it was fantastic.

The House on Fortune Street, Margot Livesey
Not my favorite Livesey (that would be Eva Moves the Furniture), but I like her writing and I'm a sucker for multiple POV stories.

Lush Life, Richard Price
He captures a kind of life that I will never know, but it rings so true. I probably love best the throw-away scenes that just establish the neighborhood.

The Anglo Files, Sarah Lyall
A late entry, but I already blogged this so I won't go into how much I loved it. Though, I will add that it actually got me to purchase an out-of-print book that Lyall mentions, and tuck away for the future another book at the library.

Okay, a few others include

The Tenderness of Wolves, Stef Penney
Frontier Canada--trappers, Native Canadians, and European religious sects. Also, a good mystery.

Three Day Road, Joseph Boyden
This is from friend Liz's list from 2007. Canadian Indians in WWI trenches. Fascinating, though of course, sadish.

The Ghost, Robert Harris.
Not a great book, about the ghost writer for a thinly disguised Tony Blair, but Harris does something brilliant with the identity of his main character that takes about 70 pages to catch, (though my husband never noticed). Kind of a fun read.

If You are Engulfed in Flames, David Sedaris
always fun

When will there be good news, Kate Atkinson
Just because I waited so long for this, and she is a very good writer

The Anglo Files: a field guide to the British

I went through a stage during which I romanticized pretty much everything about England and the English--except the food, of course. Being French, I never had any illusions about the English food, but, oh, the jolly camaraderie of the boarding schools, the witty repartee, the distant colonies and their literature, the whole stiff upper lip during the London Blitz, and the accent of course. Some of my favorite authors are British and I could not get enough, even traveling there several times as a kid.
Then something happened. I don't know what exactly, or when, but I began to notice that they were just like us. They ate crappy food in front of the telly (soccer instead of football), and the accents didn't really mean they were smarter...Anyway, the scales fell and I got on with my life.

Sarah Lyall's book The Anglo Files: A Field Guide to the British completely destroyed ANY lingering illusion I had about the joy and pleasure of living among the British and I loved this book. Lyall is an American, a journalist, married to a British writer, and she takes it upon herself to add to the somewhat crowded field of study loosely titled "What is up with our wacky cousins across the pond?"
She takes on the self-deprecation, the dry humor, the bizarre institution that was the House of Lords, the government in general, the British obsession with bad food and bad dental hygiene (yes, apparently some of this is by choice), the love of small animals (badgers and hedgehogs, though that's more of a love/hate thing), the cruelty of the school system that is rapidly being replaced by an overly touchy/feely system of recompense; sex, manliness (or lack thereof, depending on your definition).
On that last note, (and I start with this mainly because last night I watched the latest James Bond), Lyall writes: It seems to me that Daniel Craig in his role as Agent 007 [perfectly combines English mystery with American sensitivity]. He looks good in a dinner jacket, affects humorous insouciance in the face of peril, and knows the proper technique for injecting oneself in the heart when going into cardiac arrest. But he also understands that when a woman is slumped, weeping, in the shower, her evening gown covered in blood, what she really wants is a man with well-defined pectoral muscles to get in there beside her and slowly kiss her fingers, one by one."
Lyall's point is this: That's not going to happen in Britain. Ever. Not even once. (Of course, I'm assuming it doesn't happen in most countries--the blood, the evening gown shower...but I see what she means).

One of the best chapters (besides the one on sex--always entertaining) is Lyall's presentation of the government, but the House of Lords specifically. Until a very few years ago, these seats (some 700) were held by landed gentry, and handed down through the generations. That's right. they weren't elected, they didn't have to care about politics or other people, or even show up. They did get free parking in London, though, Always a perk in an expensive, crowded city. Basically The House of Lords consisted of mostly old men ("Lord X is 92 years old, but acts like a man twice his age" as one reporter put it) debating strange and sometimes less strange things while (mostly) drunk. They quote in Latin and French, they evoke a lost and sometimes mythical past to make points that are meaningless. Probably their best debate (other than the one on the existence--yes or no--of extraterrestrials) was when they had to debate whether or not they should have to give up their seats. (They did)
I thoroughly enjoyed this book, though I skimmed a chapter or two. This makes my top 10 of 2008. I close with a sample of the humor the British use to counter anything they are supposed to care about (according to Lyall's research and observation). Apparently there is one paper which loves printing corrections. They are rather slapdash in their writing and editing so there is a lot of opportunity (including apologizing for misspelling the word "misspelled" in one correction column. Here is one example:

"A Caption in Guardian Weekend...read "Binch of crappy travel mags." This should, of course, have been "bunch." But more to the point it should not have been there at all. It was meant as a dummy which we failed to replace with the real caption. It was not meant to be a comment on perfectly good travel brochures."

So Brave, Young, and Handsome

I loved Leif Enger's first novel, Peace Like a River, though I don't remember much about it now, so I was excited that he had a new one out (finally). I really wanted to like So Brave, Young and Handsome, and fell in love with the first 9 words: "Not to disappoint you, but my troubles are nothing--". but the rest of the paragraph (and chapter, really) is pretty generic. It's not until chapter 7 when Enger goes on about a giant snapping turtle (trust me), cycling back to the turtle even, that I loved the writing. I felt he finally hit his stride (or maybe I just got into it).

I really didn't like Monte Becket, the narrator, for most of the story, which I always have a hard time with. He finally gets some backbone (which is the point, of course) and then I sort of like him. But the other characters are interesting and unusual. I especially like the enthusiastically doomed young Hood Roberts, bursting with the thrill of the outlaw life in the waning days of cowboys (1915). "Suppose we hear gunshots? What'll we do then?" He asks when the "evil" ex-Pinkerton detective is hot on their outlaw friend's tail. "Suppose Glendon overcomes him [the detective] by guile and brings him back hogtied and blindfolded..."

Serious Monte replies, "Untie him and let him go. What do you mean blindfolded? Why would he blindfold him?"

Monte only writes romances, doesn't really know how to live them and he's adrift in this new life he's chosen, away from his wife, helping a former outlaw escape the law. Unlike Hood Roberts, who takes to the life like a shot, Monte is not much of a cowboy, though he has written a book. He admits to an aversion to horses, calling them "sinister" and correctly understands that "the only thing a horse wants from you is your absence."

And so these men, in groups of two or three or even one, chase their way across the dying West, following along on Glendon's mission to apologize to his long-ago wife for his life of misdeeds. Along for the ride is a version of The Law and it's ugly and pathetic, but the men understand its necessity. There's something both sad and heroic about this journey, a lot like what I picture cowboy life to be like now, in this modern age of machines and cars and internet and TV. You still want to believe in the solitary "Marlboro Man", but we all know what happened to him. I suppose 1915 already seemed to signal the end to that kind of life.


The writing is nice and I suppose it's my sloppy reading that leaves me perplexed as to the meaning behind the title. I mean, yeah, I get it---America, cowboys, youth, blah blah blah...I don't put much stock in titles anyways and often find myself disappointed when I find the title of a book repeated within the story. Seems cheap or lazy.



Nice line: He did not seem to struggle against death, nor did he appear surprised. Death arrived easy as the train; [He] just climbed aboard, like the capable traveler he was.

Emmy and the Incredible Shrinking Rat

Yes, this is a kids' book. Emmy and the Incredible Shrinking Rat by Lynne Jonell came across my desk in a work-related incident and I was intrigued. It's on the Great Stone Face list which, for all you non-New Hampshire natives, is a list of books from which 4th-6th graders vote to choose the "best" book.
Emmy doesn't quite transcend kid lit to become a book for the ages, but it is appealingly packaged, including a wonderful "flip book" format in which we see a rat falling into the hands of a child. The names are Dickensian, which I'm not sure most 4th graders would get (or 6th graders, for that matter). The evil nanny (and aren't those always wonderful characters?) is named Miss Barmy and the rodent expert is Professor Capybara. Emmy is the good girl who longs to live her own life and then befriends a talking rat who has his own woes along with a secret power.
Mayhem ensues, the bad are punished, the good rewarded, people grow and shrink as needed for plot purposes, and a good time is had by all. Emmy and the Incredible Shrinking Rat is a fun little romp with an old-fashioned appeal and sometimes I like to dash through a middle school book because it's easy and fun. It's nice to have the excuse of work to read this sort of thing.