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Only five books this year--fewer than last year, but all things considered, not bad.

5 books - 3 children/YA, 2 adult
1263 pages read
14 hours spent reading and blogging (plus 15 minutes on The Forest in the Hallway before I decided it wasn't for me.)

Not sure if I really earned anything from this except that book challenges are a good way to shake myself up and get things moving. I think I reviewed more in the past two days than all the previous month. Also, I learned I'd much rather write about children's books than anything else. Also, that sex in YA books makes me a lot more uncomfortable than it used to. Some damn parenting hormone or something.

266 pages; reading and writing: 4 hours





Inconsolable by Marrit Ingamn. Seal Press, 2005 (978-1-58005-140-8) $14.95

I've been typing in quotes as I've read this book, and as I get towards the end of the book and the end of the book challenge and am increasingly tired and punchy, I keep finding much wiser, much funnier quotes. Too bad. I'm tired and punchy. Go to the end of this non-review and read the link to Marrit's "Kid Rock" piece and she can speak for herself. And if you've read Alterna-Dad, I think she would want you to know, she wrote "Kid Rock" first.

On to the book:

"I'd discovered from my own experiences socializing with other mothers that we could talk about just about anything other than mental illness. We could eat braised puppy and defecate on each other before the topic of PPD would come up."

Tell me about it.

This memoir about post-partum depression can be a harrowing book to read--perhaps especially for me, because I sorta know the author and I know she's not bullshitting us, this stuff really happened. But even if you discount 50% of it as exaggeration, it's still one scary book. So why read it? This is how Marrit explains why she wrote it:

"It meant something real to me to hear words put to this maelstrom of feeling. To have something crafted from madness implied a reason beyond it, a purposefulness I could regain somehow. Something inside me was capable of creation, of explication. If I felt the desire to obliterate myself, stronger than the urge to vomit, I could separate it from me by naming it. There was a self inside me that was not sick, that could reason."
"And I began to write."

That applies to us readers, too, especially those who have experienced post-partum depression. Words put to this maelstrom of feeling. Yes, please.

But no, no, no, it's not all about awfulness. Inconsolable is also about "trying to get out of this mothering thing not only alive, but with my personality intact." That's where the funny comes in, since Marrit's personality leads to situations like having some of her fifteen-month-old's first words be "butt plug." And not minding particularly.

Here's some general wisdom about depression:

"When you're depressed you reach a point when you cease to be a rational beingmaking a series of decisions; rather, you fluctuate violently between Success and Failure at every turn. Every moment is literally either a victory or a crisis. You are understimulating your child or smothering her. You are feeding her hazardous pesticides. That Infant Tylenol and Motrin might be destroying her liver. And so you are locked in a cycle of anxiety, which feeds you depression, which impairs your ability to cope, which increases your certainty that you are the shittiest person alive."

And here's some specific weltschmarz about dealing with a special needs kid:

"Our first task is to eliminate the latex from our environment. It's not unlike eliminating the nitrogen from the Earth's crust. Everything that is wholesome and good in this world is bad for my son. Soon we'll outfit him with protective silicone goggles and enclose him in a Lucite bubble. We'll have to wrap him with aluminum foil and poke him with a fork so he doesn't explode."

Perhaps my favorite part of the book is the description of different kinds of mothers. I especially liked Indie Mother: "Wears skirt made from a purse; carries purse made from a skirt. Eats the most parodoxical of foods--vegan queso. Births at home with a midwife; swaps placenta for black CDs. Children are named Bright Eyes and The Incredible Moses Leroy. My score: MEDIUM. I think about doing all this stuff. But then I don't actually do it."

Marrit then goes on to say, "Needless to say--I hope--you've realized that these categories are all actually bullshit." Doesn't mean we can't laugh.

You can see that this book skips around some and covers a lot. It's about having PPD. It's about having a kid with serious issues. It's about the many varities of craziness that comes with the mom territory, even without PPD and special needs. It's real. It's truths that needed to be spoken.

Want some more Marrit? You can find one of the most entertaining pieces from the book here. And check out her website. And buy her book! Now I'm going to bed.

226 pages. reading and writing: 2 hours

Born on a Blue Day by Daniel Tammet. Simon & Schuster, 2007 (9778-1-4165-3507-2) $24.00

I think I'm going to have to buy this book, to ensure that it's available when my son is old enough to read it. A memoir by a man with savant syndrome, it is also (and more importantly from my point of view) a story about a person with high functioning autism who survives and thrives, finding meaningful work, friendship and love. The sections on what it's like to have synesthesia, and Tammet's relationship with numbers and words are interesting glimpses into an unusual brain; I loved his descriptive of why certain sections of the decimal represention Pi are beautiful to him. It makes the fact that he broke a record by learning Pi to over 22,000 places meaningful instead of pointless.

***

I'm going to be out of town for most of today, but am hoping I will get one more book in before my 48 hours are up.

261 pages. Reading and writing time: 2 1/2 hours




The Dream-Maker's Magic by Sharon Shinn. Viking, 2006 (0-670-06070-4) $16.99

I came to this book with mixed feelings: I love Shinn's
adult novels (science-fiction/fantasy plus romance--just dip them in
chocolate and life could be no better) but the first book in this YA
series was simultaneously a bit dull and a bit creepy, and I don't think
I even made it through the second; I remember literally nothing about
it. Things are looking up in the third title though, which has an
intriguing premise and several appealing characters.

Kellen, a girl whose obsessed mother insists that she had been born a boy and somehow changed, has grown up with a sometime useful, but usually confusing androgyny, never feeling she fits in with other girls or boys and always feeling like a disappointment. "I did not really think of myself as a boy or a girl. I considered myself just Kellen. Just me. Just nobody." Kellen finally finds a friend in Gryffin, also handicapped from birth though in a more conventional manner of twisted feet and legs. The intelligent and thoughtful Gryffin has no trouble accepting Kellen and quickly becomes important to her: "I suppose other people saw him as being broken and a little sad. I saw him as astonishing." When Kellen grows older and begins to crave a feminine identity, Gryffin is accepting as always. But life has some major surprises in store for Gryffin--and for Kellen, it may mean losing her dearest friend and any future they might have together.

Shinn has created a mildly interesting fantasy world, a generic medieval sort of setting in which certain people have specific powers: Truth-Tellers always speak the truth, Safe-Keepers can be trusted to keep any secret someone needs to unburden, and Dream-Makers, the most powerful and revered, somehow make dreams come true. The small details of the society are the most compelling, such as the Wintermoon wreaths Kellen and Gryffin make every year, symbols of their deepest wishes. But it baffles me why Shinn, many of whose adult books are ideally suited to young adult readers, gets so tentative and lightweight when she's writing specifically for a YA audience. The Dream-Maker's Magic is a good read, decidedly the best of the series, but I can't see recommending it when I could recommend Angelica instead.

307 pages. Time spent reading and writing: 3 hours (not counting interruptions to water the garden and help my son through a freak out after he read about "grades" in a book and feared getting an "F." So much for the benefits of homeschooling.)




The Neddiad by Daniel Pinkwater. Houghton Mifflin, 2007 (978-0-618-59444-3) $16.00

I'm not that familiar with Homer, but shouldn't this have been named The Nedyssey? It's very much a classic journey story, filled with encounters with magical people and places, all told in typical laid-back Pinkwater style.

Ned leaves behind an ordinary happy childhood in Chicago when his wealthy father is siezed with a desire to "eat in the hat" (The Brown Derby restuarant) and decides to relocate the entire family to Los Angeles. On an event filled train journey, Ned meets a shaman named Melvin, who gives him a stone turtle, telling him to take care of it at all times. Ned does his best to hold on to the turtle, while various villians occasionally attempt to steal it, and other odd characters make vague hints that something really crummy will happen if they succeed, but he spends most of his time enjoying the trip and then the bizarreness that was 1940's Los Angeles, sometimes accompanied by several movie stars and their kids, the ghost of a bellboy, a mystical giant Turtle and fat men from space.

As in most of Pinkwater's books, the movement of the plot plays second fiddle to descriptions, which is easy to forgive since he makes even the simplest things worth reading about:

"Our waiter was Charles. He was smooth. He was sharp. Just watching him put a plate on the table, you knew that he knew everything about food and being a waiter. If you wanted more ice water, he would be pouring it into your glass at the moment you first knew you wanted it--and the way he poured it was perfect. It was impossible to imagine he might spill water, no matter how much the train rocked--but if he had, I'm sure he would have done it in a way that made you happy you were there to see it."

You can also forgive a lot in a book that is so darned funny. Some of the jokes only an adult is likely to get--one of the chapter titles is "My Yiddishe Shaman"--but most of the humor comes from well-timed repetition and low-key wackiness. (After the book's villian steals the turtle at gunpoint and parachutes from a plane, the pilot calmly remarks, "Well, that was a first.")

Although I prefer a tighter plot and a bit more resolution, I thoroughly enjoyed The Neddiad. It's probably the coziest book ever written about the possible end of civilation, if only one of the funniest. (10 & up)