Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

I was looking for something quick to listen to last weekend and, while browsing ‘available audiobooks’, came up with Cait Flanders The Year of Less: How I Stopped Shopping, Gave Away My Belongings, and Discovered Life is Worth More Than Anything You Can Buy in a Store. Since memoirs appeal to me I went with it, and I have to say–it was both interesting and enjoyable. Flanders is incredibly open about her past issues with alcoholism, debt, and compulsive shopping, and her experiences overcoming those issues leave you with a feeling of ‘people can do hard things’ that is motivational without being overwhelming.

And then I looked through some of the Goodreads reviews. What the heck, people? This book is exactly what it purports to be, and given the length of the subtitle, readers ought to know exactly what that is. Cait Flanders strikes me as someone who acknowledges her struggles and has made great strides in taking control of her life, and yet readers are calling her a whiny millenial. Why can’t we read about someone else’s experiences without name-calling? Why do people feel like being mean is somehow a valid book review? And why–why on EARTH–do people give a book a low rating for being EXACTLY WHAT IT SAYS IT IS? If you wanted it to be something else, people–and I got the impression that the complainers wanted it to be a sort of cross between The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up and a modern Thoreau-ish memoir–that’s on you. Cait Flanders wrote an engaging memoir about her own experiences and I found it to be a completely worthwhile listening experience. The back and forth in time could possibly have been easier to follow (to be fair, that’s often worse in audio) and telling readers nothing about WHY her parents divorced, while laudable, did leave me feeling like something important was missing from that part of her story, but neither of those things were deal-breakers. If Flanders’ book sounds interesting to you, you’ll likely enjoy it–so go ahead and ignore the mean people on Goodreads. Your time will be better spent with Flanders.

I was thrilled when my friend Andrea picked Other Words for Home for book club; I already had it checked out, it being a Newbery, and remember how space is at a premium at the moment? I started out reading it the old-fashioned way, but when Britt told me how fabulous the narrator of the audiobook was, I ended up listening to it and then speed reading the text as a bonus.

It was SO GOOD.

Seriously. There are not enough books out there detailing the Middle Eastern-American experience, and this one was beautiful and poignant and thought-provoking and funny and–all the things. Jude’s point of view both taught me and enchanted me. Her positivity and understanding–even for her American cousin that ought to be kinder–make her a lovely role model, and her perspective on her headscarf gave me something new to think about. Readers will cheer for her as she becomes American, even as she remains Syrian and is always and forever herself. We should all read this book. (To that end, I’m not giving my two older girlies a choice in the matter, and I’m expecting both of them to enjoy the experience.)

Don’t miss this one, folks. It’s beautiful and fabulous and important.

Clearly I’m struggling, but I’m here! It’s Saturday and busy, however, so I’m just going to quickly highlight Norm Feuti’s The King of Kazoo. My older girls gave it 3.5 stars (one of them said it was “so weird”), but my son wanted to give it 7, and he’s probably more the target audience. It’s a wacky graphic novel about a pompous king, his long-suffering magician daughter, and an (apparently) mute inventor; when they go to investigate a mysterious event on a nearby mountain, they encounter all sorts of unexpected things. It’s fun, it’s creative, and the characters develop in satisfying ways. Mid-elementary students (boys AND girls) will love it!

Look at me, doing a review this morning! I’ve got several books waiting (thank you audio!), but if I go with We Keep the Dead Close: A Murder at Harvard and a Half Century of Silence I can pass it on to Britt today, and that works out nicely. The bonus is that I’m not going to bother giving you much by way of plot summary, since the title is pretty self-explanatory. The murder (of a female grad student) took place in 1969; the author (Becky Cooper) attended Harvard in the first decade or two of the 21st century.

Full disclosure here: true crime is not really my thing, although I find the stories interesting. I do, however, quite enjoy police procedural and courtroom dramas, so there’s that. Becky Cooper’s work, however, is not just a record of a crime that took decades to solve (if it is fully solved); it’s an exploration of gender in academia, a fascinating portrait of Harvard, and a rumination on the stories we tell ourselves and why. (It’s also a pondering on the “true” stories that we share, why we share them, and how they change in the sharing.) While reading We Keep the Dead Close, I found myself discussing it with my husband, rethinking my conception of gender in education today, and considering the tenure process with serious concern. Cooper’s generosity with background, context, and subtext brings her work beyond the realm of true crime, and while her choice to include an autobiographical angle might not be for everyone, it worked for me. As for her solution, well–logistically it makes sense, and philosophically I agree with her. (See me dancing around the spoiler there?) What more is there to say?

Ultimately, this is not true crime; this is nonfiction involving a past crime. If the concepts in my review sound interesting, you should definitely read the book; if not, it’s probably not your thing. I, however, found it completely absorbing.

The library limit went back to 50, folks. I mean, yes, books aren’t sitting in quarantine for three days, but do you know how long it took me to juggle our 6 library cards so that we could pick up all of the holds waiting for us?

It wasn’t pretty.

Anyway. I have book reviews waiting, but my hubby and I have been hanging out and actually watching shows more this week, and so I don’t feel so terrible about that. If I’m feeling it, I’ll try to fit a review in tomorrow; if not, well…there’s always Friday.

1. To work on the binders I need to prepare for the girls in our church youth group. One out of the three pages I tried to print was successful; I moved on.
2. To do something about the light fixture situation in the littles’ room. I enlisted my tall neighbor, but the light fixture has issues; I moved on.
3. To make this lovely Asparagus Leek Chowder. Two bunches of asparagus had gotten slimy and had to be tossed–SO, so sad–and the mushrooms were pretty sketchy, while the leeks hadn’t been pristine when I bought them. I persevered, though, and my aunt came to enjoy it with me. The ingredients could have been finer, but it was a lovely lunch.
4. To do my Costco shopping. We ended up rushed and had to go straight to the school to pick up the middles, and fitting my purchases into the fridge and freezers was terrifying, but I did get it done.
5. To enlist my children and clean up the living room. It wasn’t perfect, but it did look a whole lot better.
6. To exercise. I still have 10 minutes to do.
7. To do the dishes. I managed this partly by assigning my 11YO to bathe my 6YO, since the missionaries were coming at 7.
8. To feed people. I may have been a bit lazy for parts of it, but we all had 3 meals today.
9. To review a book. Yeah, didn’t have that in me.
10. To go to bed AND to sleep earlier than last night. I’ll let you know how that pans out!

It IS May Day, although dancing around a May pole (Maypole?) is not so much a thing in Utah. It’s also been a long day, and so I shall defer any interesting remarks to a later date. Goodnight all!

Ouch–I missed two posts, and both times I was planning on posting something specific, and–yeah. Things got away from me for a bit, can you tell? I am, however, here now, and I’m thrilled to say that I finished reading Lucky for Good–the third book in Susan Patron’s Hard Pan trilogy–out loud to my second girlie this week. (It’s so satisfying to finish a series, isn’t it? Even one you’ll miss!*) I want to say that it’s more serious than the first two, and yet they both covered serious topics; I think, perhaps, it’s a different kind of serious. Lucky’s family and her understanding of it takes an unexpected direction, while Justine’s religion and how it affects Miles is a topic that few middle grade authors take on in such a way. The most concrete plot thread involves a Health Department regulation’s threat to Brigitte’s cafe, and the solution to that problem is the most carefree aspect of the book.

Ultimately, my girlie and I both so love Patron’s writing style; she’s amusing and thought-provoking, wryly funny and philosophical. If you haven’t joined Lucky on her journey yet, grab The Higher Power of Lucky–and enjoy!

*My girlie and I did sorely miss Matt Phelan’s illustrations in this one, though. Erin McGuire isn’t bad, but it just wasn’t the same.