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Opdyke, Irene Gut. 1999. In My Hands: Memories of a Holocaust Rescuer.

I did not ask myself, Should I do this? But, How will I do this? Every step of my childhood had brought me to this crossroad; I must take the right path, or I would no longer be myself. You must understand that I did not become a resistance fighter, a smuggler of Jews, a defier of the SS and the Nazis, all at once. One's first steps are always small: I had begun by hiding food under a fence. Now I was making plans to... (142-143)

In My Hands is nonfiction--a memoir--and it's a powerful one. Full of descriptive images you might wish you'd never seen. But it's an important work, a necessary one. Our narrator, Irene Gut, was a Polish girl--a young woman training to be a nurse when the war burst into her life. The conflict between Germany and Russia stripping her of her childhood in more ways than one. Her account of what happened during the war years are powerful and haunting. But there is nothing over-the-top either. It's straightforward, spare, even.

This is her description of the purging of the Poland of Jews (I believe we're speaking of the ghettos.)

The gates were dragged open, and the Jewish prisoners were forced out through a gauntlet, while the guards beat at them with their rifle butts. An old man, tottering with a cane, was not fast enough, and a guard shot him on the spot. In vain, women tried to protect their small children from blows, men tried to shield their old fathers. But every time someone stumbled and fell under the beatings, shots rang out. The street was paved with bodies, and still the Jews were forced to march out over them.
We watched this from our windows in a paralysis of horror. We could do nothing but watch. We could not even pull back from the glass to keep hidden. An old rabbi carrying the Torah stopped to help a young woman with a shrieking toddler, and all three were shot. A graybeard in a faded uniform of the Polish army from the last war limped past the guards, and he, too, was not fast enough. The sun shone down on all of them, and the dust settled in pools of blood.
By this time, the four of us were crying uncontrollably. Helen was on her knees, sobbing in her mother's arms. Janina turned her face away. But I watched, flattening myself against the window. As I pressed against the glass, I saw an officer make a flinging movement with his arm, and something rose up into the sky like a fat bird. With his other hand he aimed his pistol, and the bird plummeted to the ground beside its screaming mother, and the officer shot the mother, too. But it was not a bird. It was not a bird. It was not a bird. (116-117)

This is how she sums it up, "We did not speak of what we had seen. At the time, to speak of it seemed worse than sacrilege: We had witnessed a thing so terrible that it acquired a dreadful holiness. It was a miracle of evil. It was not possible to say with words what we had witnessed, and so we kept it safely guarded until the time we could bring it out, and show it to others, and say, "Behold. This is the worst thing man can do."" (118)

© Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews

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Odiwe, Jane. 2008. Lydia Bennet's Story.

The true misfortune, which besets any young lady who believes herself destined for fortune and favour, is to find that she has been born into an unsuitable family. Lydia Bennet of Longbourn, Hertfordshire, not only believed that her mama and papa had most likely stolen her from noble parents, ut also considered it a small miracle that they could have produced between them her own fair self and four comely girls--Jane, Lizzy, Mary, and Kitty--though to tell the truth, she felt herself most blessed in looks. Lydia's greatest desire in life was to be married before any of her sisters, but a lack of marriageable beaux in the county and her papa's reluctance to accompany her to as many Assembly Balls as she wished had thwarted her efforts thus far.

Shall Lydia live happily ever after like her two older sisters? You'll have to read Lydia Bennet's Story for yourself to see. The greater question may just be...does she deserve to have her happily ever after? Lydia is many things. Playful. Boy-crazy. Immature. Irresponsible. Impulsive. Selfish. Vain. Spoiled. Silly. Naive. Flighty. Flirtatious. Entitled. (Reading that description, I think of Scarlett O'Hara. Isn't that an odd comparison waiting to happen!) And as the youngest of the Bennet clan, she is the least ready (emotionally and psychologically) to be married. She is one of those girls that is stuck-on-herself. Who believes that the world revolves around her. For her to get her happily-ever-after Lydia will have to change. She'll have to start growing up. She'll have to start maturing. She'll have to begin to think of others, to be respectful and considerate. She'll have to learn to compromise. She'll have to learn to think before acting. She'll have to become wiser and more genuine. Which leads to my question, is Lydia capable of growth and transformation?

Lydia's story is revealed through rather obnoxious diary entries and letters (simply because they're written by her), and through a more traditional third-person-narrative. The book is in two parts. The first which parallels what we know from Pride and Prejudice, and the second which is a sequel to the action. It is in this second section, that we see if Lydia does get her happily ever after.

It's hard to review this one without giving it away. George Wickham is George Wickham. And if you've read Pride and Prejudice you know exactly what that means. He's a shameless bad boy incapable of change, incapable of integrity. If George is who he is...is it possible even remotely for Lydia to have her happily ever after and remain Mrs. George Wickham? I'll leave that for you to decide!!!

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So what do I think of this one. I found the ending to be a bit unbelievable. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't hoping for Lydia to get what she deserves--to pay for the consequences of her impulsive rashness. Okay, maybe a part of me was. But I knew better than to expect that in a contemporary sequel. But the ending seemed a bit rushed...not giving Lydia the needed time to mature and develop into a woman.

Other reviews: A Book Blogger's Diary, Jane Austen Today, Austenprose, Austen-tatious.

© Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews

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Okorafor-Mbachu, Nnedi. 2007. The Shadow Speaker.

I've held off on reviewing this one for a few days now. This is one I'm on the fence about. Part of me really likes it. Thinks of it as good-and-pleasant weird. The kind of weird that is fun and enjoyable. Part of me, however, thinks it's just weird weird. Not good, not bad, just weird. (For the record, the two sides of the fence are not like and dislike. Rather, they are like and love.) The Shadow Speaker has an interesting premise. A fun premise. It's a futuristic world. Set in Africa in 2070. It's been quite a few (maybe a decade but not quite two decades) years since the world has been forever changed by nuclear war. But the changes aren't all bad. Around the time the nuclear bombs went off, someone invented a "peace" bomb that was made to counter-act the effects. It was made to create or recreate out of chaos, out of mess. It was meant to make the world beautiful and life-giving again. In a way, it worked, and worked well. It has transformed the world in some wonderful ways. But there were some consequences. Magic. Magic entering the world from other worlds, other dimensions. Magic effecting humans, effecting genetics, creating special powers. Magical animals and magical objects and magical creatures as well. There are now holes, gaps, entrances between several different worlds. Some of the beings entering earth are nice and pleasant enough. Others aren't. Others are more bent on evil; set on going to war with humans. Our main narrator, our heroine, is a *special* human with special powers that set her apart, make her different. These differences make some fear her, some respect her, some hate her. She's a girl with possibilities and potential. If she can survive til adulthood that is. Her name is Ejii and this is her story.

The Shadow Speaker has all the traditional wrappings (or is it trappings???) of your classic adventure quest. It has one main character seemingly going off to do the impossible. The goal--like so many others before it--is to save the world. Along the way, she meets friends, gathers a team together, gets in and out of trouble countless times, and along the way becomes a wiser and better person. So if you like adventure-quests with a strong magical theme, The Shadow Speaker may just work well for you. It's not that I don't like adventure quests. I do. They're not my favorite, favorite, favorite narrative type. But I like them well enough. I guess I just had a hard time fully suspending my disbelief when it came to loving this world, this setting. Not the Africa part, but the magical fantasy worlds.

Still, I mainly only have positive things to say about The Shadow Speaker.

© Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews

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O'Dell, Scott. 1960. Island of the Blue Dolphins.

If as a child I read Island of the Blue Dolphins, I must have blocked it from my memory. And there's a good reason for that: 1 dead father +1 dead brother +1 dead dog + countless years spent alone on an island trying to survive the elements and cope with the loneliness = 1 book I'd just as soon live without. Sometimes I try to fool myself into thinking that I'm all introspective, that I am happy with my alone time. It doesn't work for long. I need people. Not 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. But given enough "alone" time, I start to go crazy.

Island of the Blue Dolphins is about a girl, Karana, and her slightly unusual coming-of-age story. It is based on a true story. Which *should* logically make the dead father, the dead brother, the dead dog, etc. easier to accept because it is so authentic. The author's note says, "The girl Robinson Crusoe whose story I have attempted to re-create actually lived alone upon this island from 1835 to 1853, and is known to history as The Lost Woman of San Nicolas." I cannot imagine, can't fathom, the emotional, mental, and physical strain of such loneliness. To not only have to have the strength and courage and common sense to survive day after day and season after season and year after year, but to have to live with everything psychologically speaking.

The novel begins with the arrival of the Aleuts. Karana's tribe welcome halfheartedly these strangers onto their shores. These hunters are here to kill sea otters. They agree to pay for this privilege; however, there is some distrust. Her family, her community, are unsure about the trustworthiness of these men, these strangers. But what can they do? If they don't allow them to hunt, won't that be challenging them and provoking a war? If they do allow them to hunt, and they don't get what has been promised, that is a challenge or threat of war as well. But there is a small chance that they might actually be honorable. I don't know if there is a right or wrong way to go about it. What is, is.

As you might have guessed, these men are not honorable. And the community is practically slaughtered. By the time these strangers leave, the tribe is down to fifteen men--most of them old men or young boys. There are only a handful of men physically and mentally capable of leadership. Karana's father, the chief, is one of the men that died. She does witness it--from a distance I believe.

The people then decide, over the next few years or seasons, that the island has too many bad memories. That they should try to move to another island. One man goes off in search of a new home, and he later sends a ship back for the rest of the tribe.

The problem? Karana's brother misses the boat. He went back home to get his spear despite Karana having told him NOT to go because there wasn't enough time. She's safely on the boat, but her brother isn't. As they're leaving, she realizes that he is not there. She even, I believe, sees him on the shore. She jumps into the sea and swims home. The tragedy of it all? Within a few days--maybe even that same day--her brother is dead--mauled by a pack of wild dogs. So her brave attempt to be a good big sister is all in vain. Now she's alone, alone, alone.

Perhaps some people love the Robinson Crusoe of it all. I'm not one of them. I didn't like Robinson Crusoe in school--hated it in fact. And this doesn't really read like Swiss Family Robinson. For one thing, it's realistic. But another thing, it's the story of one person's isolation. Maybe the book doesn't focus on the alone-ness of it. But as a reader, it was something I couldn't escape. How do you keep your sanity when you are all alone for years and years?

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She is eventually rescued. But she is never reunited with her community, her tribe. What is perhaps sadder is that she could only communicate with others in signs. No one understood her language, and she couldn't understand other languages. So even supposedly-rescued, she remains isolated in a way. I can't imagine being unable to communicate fully and freely. To be alone in your own little world. There is something so troubling about this whole mess. People need to be heard, be understood. They need to connect.

I think there are many many people who love this book. I don't know that I can grasp the why of that love. But it's there just the same. I am not one of them. This book has a haunting sadness, a heartbreaking melancholy that I just DON'T want to experience again.

© Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews

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The little one was home sick today (which means I was home today, too, but reasonably healthy.) In between cat naps, we enjoyed a few books together.

More Spaghetti, I Say! (Gelman, Rita Golden)
A Witch got on at Paddington Station (Sheldon, Dyan)
Mercy Watson Fights Crime (DiCamillo, Kate)
Big Bad Wolves at School (Krensky, Stephen)

I'm already well familiar with "Spaghetti" and "Mercy Watson"; they are established favorites in our house, and now the fun is that, where as I used to read them to my daughter, she is now able to read them to me. But both "Wolves" and "Witch" were surprises. They weren't at all what I was expecting. I thought "Wolves" would be about, well, big bad wolves going to school and causing trouble. But the twist in this fractured fairy tale is that the wolves go to school in order to become big and bad. They attend the Bad Wolf Academy where they learn such useful skills as huffing and puffing and speaking a second language (that would be, "Baaaaaa".)

As for "Witch", it caught my eye, because after my time in England, working in the transport industry, no less, I couldn't resist the picture of the routemaster on the cover. And although I think it was supposed to be a comic story about non-conformity and magic, my lasting impression of the book is the portrayal of the uptight, jobsworth conductor who does his best to evict the unassuming witch from his bus. Perhaps I'm just sensitive, having worked as a railway conductor, and knowing what sort of wise guys take advantage--in every sense of the word--of public transportation. But he really did encompass all the negative stereotypes we worked so hard to discourage and dispel after privatization.

But I digress. And speaking of digressions, I'd love to know how much "Witch" illustrator was influenced by the style of fellow English illustrator, the late, great Janet Ahlberg.

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