Mostly Harmless by Douglas Adams

"Everybody has their moment of great opportunity in life. If you happen to miss the opportunity you care about, then everything else in life becomes eerily easy."

Mostly Harmless by Douglas Adams

Tags: book+quotes science+fiction opportunity Douglas+Adams

Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul II

A few years ago, a friend of my mother’s asked her if I did any tutoring. I was happy to make a few extra bucks every week, so I agreed. The mother, it turns out, was a local piano teacher who was very happy with my services. Other parents began calling to ask about tutoring as well. I now have nine students, and I hold writing classes of no more than four kids. It’s a little writing seminar for 9-year-olds.

Last spring, two mothers approached me not for writing help, but reading help. Their boys, both in seventh grade, were lagging on reading comprehension scores. Could I help? The truth is, I don’t know anything about reading comprehension or how to improve it, and I told them this. But they seemed so desperate that they ignored my disclaimers and wanted to try me out anyway.

Once a week, these two boys who had no sense of appropriate behavior sat with me, making rude jokes, talking nonstop, and ignoring my instructions. These boys didn’t have a reading comprehension problem. They had a behavioral problem.

Not only did I dread this hour every week, but my preparation time increased by more than an hour just for this class. I was looking for reading material that I prayed was interesting to them, and then I had to think up activities and questions that went with it. I could see how their regular seventh grade reading textbook bored them out of their minds, and I had this noble idea that if only they had the right reading materials, they would pay attention.

After several months of misery, one of the boys suggested Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul II (since he had already read the first volume). I jumped on the idea immediately. For one thing, it was an actual suggestion made by one of the boys. The other was that I knew that the book was a compilation of short stories, perfect for reading comprehension practice.

So I bought a copy of Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul II, and started reading the stories. I was amazed and astounded by the terrible, terrible quality of the writing in this book! I was also shocked by the inanity of the subject matter, ranging from classroom crushes to drug abuse. The writers and editors even managed to make real issues like death and friendship boring and laughable. I was actually angry that they are passing off this drivel to teenagers and charging money for it. We used it in one class and all three of us were taken aback at how dumb what we were doing was. It was a new low.

At the end of the school year, the boys took the summer off. They never came back.

Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul II

Tags: book+reviews teenagers reading+comprehension chicken+soup

Zen Shorts by John J. Muth

I was completely charmed by Zen Shorts the moment I first saw the promotional material from Scholastic. I absolutely love John J. Muth’s watercolor illustrations that perfectly capture the peaceful and loving nature of Stillwater, the Buddhist panda. I’m glad the Caldecott committee agreed with me and bestowed the Honor Award upon the book.

I’m not so sure, though, that the intended audience liked it quite as much as we adults do.

According to Booklist,

“Muth's latest is both an accessible, strikingly illustrated story and a thought-provoking meditation. Here he incorporates short Buddhist tales, "Zen Shorts," into a story about three contemporary children. One rainy afternoon, a giant panda appears in the backyard of three siblings. Stillwater, the Panda, introduces himself, and during the next few days, the children separately visit him. Stillwater shares an afternoon of relaxing fun with each child; he also shares Zen stories, which give the children new views about the world and about each other.”

I assumed that children would think the panda was adorable, and would enjoy the three Buddhist tales. They might even be gently persuaded to view things with new perspective. For instance, one tale involves two monks who encountered a cross, imperious young lady who bossed her servants around and didn’t want to step out of her sedan chair into a muddy puddle. The older monk quickly picked her up and set her down on the other side of the puddle, but she just shoved him out of her way without thanking him. The younger monk spent the next several hours fuming, finally couldn’t stand it any longer and said, “That woman back there was very selfish and rude, but you picked her up on your back and carried her. Then she didn’t even thank you!” The older monk replied, “I set that woman down hours ago… Why are you still carrying her?”

My fourth-grade writing tutees were cynical. “That’s stupid,” they said. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Why doesn’t it make sense?” I asked.

“The lady was rude. He shouldn’t have helped her.”

“Yes, but what do you think about the ending? Do you agree that the younger monk was making himself miserable?” Blank stares. “Do you get why the older monk said that?” No reply. “Because even though the lady was rude, the older monk just helped her and was done with it. The younger monk was the one who was still mad so many hours later.” Silence. “Well, do you like the panda?”

“He’s OK.”

I guess you just can’t please everybody.

Zen Shorts by John J. Muth

Tags: children's+books zen buddhist+tales pandas John+Muth

Life of Pi by Yann Martel

Do you have a collection of books signed by the author? What sort of pleasure do you derive from this collection? Is it the moment of meeting the author that you relish, or is the value that a signature adds to the worth of a book? Maybe it’s just the owning of such books that gives you pleasure.

My collection of signed books has always been a bit of a mystery to me. I always try to get a book signed, especially if I have an emotional attachment with it. But even if I haven’t read the book yet, I’ll grab the opportunity to meet the author, and have them autograph a book to me. The problem is, I don’t know why I collect autographed books. I don’t plan on selling them for profit, and I don’t think many of them are worth much money anyway. I like to say that I’ve met so-and-so, but I am too shy to actually talk to the authors, so it’s not the actual meeting that I look forward to. Why do I keep collecting them?

I have a hardcover copy of Yann Martel’s Life of Pi. I loved this book because not only was it a great story, but because of its wonderfully ambiguous ending. I had read it not long before a BEA convention, and when I got to the show floor the first day, I was making my way through a crowded aisle when I saw a man approaching from the opposite direction. As one always does at conventions, I glanced down at his name badge and saw, printed in bold letters, “Yann Martel.” And then he was gone.

The next day, I made it a point to be at the publisher’s booth for Yann Martel’s signing of the new paperback release of Life of Pi. But because I already owned the hardcover, I broke my usual form and asked him to sign a book for my friend L. I had raved about the book to L, so she was more than happy to receive a signed copy.

Now, I don’t mean to be selfish about this, but I keep thinking that maybe I should have gotten Yann Martel to sign the book for me, and then given my hardcover to L. This is when I start to question my motives. Why do I need a signed copy of Life of Pi anyway? I got to meet the author, didn’t I? I don’t do anything with the signed books- they just sit on the bookshelf. I wouldn’t sell it even if it was worth a lot of money, and practically speaking, what’s the difference?

But still, somehow, it does seem to make a difference. Why?

Life of Pi by Yann Martel

Tags: books author+autographs collections Yann+Martel

Indivisible by Two by Nancy L. Segal

When I was little, I, like many girls, wished I had a little sister. As I got older, I came to appreciate having a big brother, and I’m fully convinced now that being a girl with a big brother is the best sibling permutation available... except for having a twin.

Wouldn’t it be the coolest to have an identical twin?! Imagine someone who shares your exact same genes… someone who you could do switcheroos with, share clothing with, and have some sort of cosmic mental connection that means a lifetime of non-verbal communication with your best friend. I so want to be a twin. Or one of a triplet! But the best I can do now is have twins. That would be so great. Yeah.

Because of my unreasonable fascination with all things twin, I grabbed the galley of Indivisible by Two by Nancy L. Segal when I saw it at BEA a few years ago. Then I read the entire book on the plane ride home. The publisher, Harvard University Press, has this to say about the book:

Indivisible by Two introduces us to an assortment of memorable characters, from the "Fireman Twins"--brothers who, though reared separately, are astonishingly similar in personality and behavioral traits--to the twin sisters who overcame one twin's infertility by having the other serve as her surrogate mother. We meet identical triplet brothers, only one of whom is gay while the others are straight. We see uniquely blended families--identical twin brothers marrying identical twin sisters, and Chinese twins adopted by different Canadian families yet raised as sisters. Segal unravels these stories and others with an eye for the challenges that life as a twin (or triplet or quadruplet) can pose to parents, friends, and spouses, as well as the twins themselves. These moving stories remind us how incompletely any theory explains real life--twin or not.

I can’t speak objectively about this book at all. I found the subject matter so fascinating that it didn’t matter whether it was “scientific” enough, or too anecdotal. I just wanted to read stories about twins, and that’s exactly what I got.

Indivisible by Two by Nancy L. Segal

Tags: book+reviews twins Nancy+Segal

Thanksgiving 101 by Rick Rodgers

In early May of this year, my mother received a total knee replacement. Because the surgery was scheduled not long after my cousin’s wedding, many of our relatives were still in the Bay Area when she went into the hospital. One of them was her own mother, my grandmother, who was visiting from Taiwan. E and I volunteered to keep her “company” (out of my mom’s hair) on the day of the surgery, and she stayed overnight with us for the first night afterward. Even though we couldn’t be at the hospital with my mother, I think we helped her out immensely, and this arrangement was better—she didn’t have to worry about taking care of her 80-year-old mother while undergoing major surgery.

The next day, we were instructed to entertain Grandma for as long as possible before driving her to the hospital to visit, but she was having none of it. Her daughter was there, and that’s where she wanted to be. I tried taking my time with breakfast, and we put on the single television station in Chinese for her while E and I came up with various excuses for not being ready to leave right away. Finally, we couldn’t stall any longer. She refused to stay for lunch. I decided to drive the hour to the hospital area, then stop at a restaurant there.

So we piled into the car and situated her in the front passenger seat, where we then spent several minutes adjusting the many knobs that control the seat position before she was finally comfortable. The seat back was reclined halfway down and she slid lower in the seat so that her neck craned forward oddly. She claimed this to be perfect, and we set off.

At the top of our street, we made a left turn and E pointed to the right and exclaimed, “Look!”

Standing on the sidewalk was a turkey.

Our neighborhood is a quintessential Californian suburb. Small lots, manicured lawns, sidewalks, hedges and whitewashed fences. I pulled the car over and we gawked at the turkey. I’m not sure if I had ever seen a live turkey before. And definitely not one strolling around a residential neighborhood. It seemed completely unperturbed by the attention and just stood there, looking around.

As I pulled away, I said, “Grandma, did you see that?”

She hadn’t, since her head was below the level of the window. E and I, however, spent the car ride marveling at the idea of a turkey walking around our neighborhood.

Since then, I have seen the turkey about once a week. Often, it stands in the middle of the road looking about. I have seen other cars pull over to stare at it as well. E and I often speculate about its origins. He’s not so sure that it’s the same turkey we see every time. “Wasn’t that one smaller than the first one?” he asked. I believe it is the same one, because… well, what are the chances of there being two turkeys in our neighborhood?

I still think that the turkey belongs to some neighborhood family who is fattening it up for Thanksgiving. And whoever this is seems to believe in the free range concept. After all, why build a fence (or is it a coop?) when the turkey needs only a temporary residence, and anyway, who’s going to steal a turkey off the street? But then I imagine the children of the family on the day before Thanksgiving, with their tear-stained cheeks, hugging the turkey they have named Fluffy goodbye as their father drives off to the butcher. And I hope I’m wrong.

We just won’t know until after Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving 101 by Rick Rodgers

Tags: cookbooks total+knee+replacement thanksgiving turkeys Rick+Rodgers

Naked by David Sedaris

"It was one thing to sit in front of the television second-guessing a third-rate detective program, but quite another to solve a real case. We were well into the summer reruns when our household was shaken by a series of very real crimes no TV detective could ever hope to crack. Someone in our family had taken to wiping his or her ass on the bath towels. What made this exceptionally disturbing was that all our towels were fudge-colored. You'd be drying your hair when, too late, you noticed an unmistakable odor on your hands, head and face. If nothing else, life in the suburbs promised that you might go from day to day without finding shit in your hair. This sudden turn of events tested our resolve to the core, leaving us to wonder who we were and where we, as a people, had gone wrong. Soul-searching aside, it also called for plenty of hot water, gallons of shampoo, steel wool, industrial scrub brushes and blocks of harsh deodorizing soap. The criminal hit all three bathrooms, pausing just long enough to convince the rest of us that it was finally safe to let down our guard. I might spend twenty minutes carefully sniffing the towel only to discover that this time the asshole had used the washcloth."

Naked by David Sedaris

Tags: book+quotes David+Sedaris

Blackbox: A Novel in 840 Chapters by Nick Walker

I remember being able to read a book a day when I was in high school. It wasn’t that I had a lot of free time—in fact, thinking back on all my activities then, how did I have time to read at all? I had after school clubs, marching band practices, tennis practices, youth symphony, violin practice, Chinese school, homework… I guess it all comes down to making time to do things you love. Having a willingness to stay up late reading helps a lot too.

These days (now that I am oh so much older), I can’t seem to find long stretches of time to sit and read. I also lose concentration after about half an hour, whereas I used to be able to read for four or five hours straight. I consider myself doing well if I finish a book a week. Sleep has become progressively more important than finishing a book.

I did read Blackbox by Nick Walker in one day, however. Not only was it a viscerally entertaining read, but the circumstances worked out just right, where I had to spend a night at my parents’ house for some reason, while they went out. I had the entire evening to pass by myself, with none of the usual distractions at my own home.

I will admit that it was the title of the book that grabbed my attention. In whole, it is Blackbox: A Novel in 840 Chapters. I am such a sucker for authors that put the number of chapters right there in the title. Plus, I love short chapters (they make everything seem more meaningful, not to mention fun) and a 300-page book with 840 chapters must have really short chapters.

The premise sounds right up my alley as well, as I am drawn to disparate stories and characters that are interwoven in surprising ways.

“In America and Britain and the sky in between, an apparently disparate group of people is connected, whether intimately or by chance, to the tragic death of a stowaway on board flight AF266. As the action veers across countries and time zones, the stowaway's real identity is revealed through stolen black box recordings, answering machine messages, sitcom outtakes, and court transcripts. Told in a shifting, circular narrative, the interwoven lives make up a jolting and layered puzzle that builds to a heart-stopping, chilling climax.”

Blackbox was definitely a fun, quick read, but it was nothing very deep. Much like the books I used to devour in high school. It reminds me that I am currently in the middle of Ghostwritten by David Mitchell, which is of course, writing of a much higher caliber. But it is similar in that the chapters seem to have nothing in common, until a character or a clue comes up here and there. I am waiting to see how they are all going to fit together in the end. I am waiting for that “aha” moment that these types of narratives are all building toward. Blackbox was much more obvious, and the plot was a bit clichéd. But though the critics hated it, I thought it made for a fine evening of reading, with nothing else to do.

Blackbox: A Novel in 840 Chapters by Nick Walker

Tags: book+reviews thrillers airplanes Nick+Walker

Tiny Giants by Erik Quisling

I got a phone call at work yesterday afternoon.

“Good afternoon, Shen’s Books.”

“Hello. May I speak to Renee please?”

“Speaking.”

“Hello Renee, my name is Erik Quisling…”

“Oh! Hi!”

“…I’m the author of The Angry Clam…”

“Yes! I know!”

I was so excited I barely let him get a word in. After I calmed down, I got the story: he had googled himself (a perfectly ordinary thing to do these days), found my blog, and then Shen’s Books, and subsequently, my phone number. He thanked me for the very nice things I said about his book. Then he explained that he had written two more books to go along with The Angry Clam, and he had gotten the rights back for it after it went out of print. So he has now republished all three as a trilogy in a boxed set called Tiny Giants, and has decided to publish and distribute it himself.

The set includes the three titles. The first is, of course, The Angry Clam, about an angry clam. The second is Grant’s Tomb, featuring a worm who lives in, um, Grant’s tomb. The third is Adventures of Glen in My Stone Garden, about an ant. Together they represent the greatest triumvirate of invertebrates in history.

The reason for his call was to see if, as a publisher, I would be able to give him any advice on how to widen the distribution of Tiny Giants. I was thrilled to help in any way I could, which turned out to be not much, I think. He had already tried most of my suggestions for distributors to approach. I mentioned a few trade organizations that might be of help, and publisher consultants. I feel bad that I couldn’t do more, but it seemed like he already had a pretty good handle on publishing basics, and he just needed to find a distributor that believed in the product, or a market that did.

I was going to ask if I could buy a copy right then, but he beat me to it and very generously offered to send me one. Signed and everything! I can’t wait to see it. But for those of you who were interested in purchasing one, try Amazon, and if that doesn’t work, email me, because I can get in touch with the author directly. We’re tight like that.

Tiny Giants by Erik Quisling

Tags: books angry+clam invertabrates publishing+distribution Erik+Quisling

Breakfasts & Brunches by The Culinary Institute of America

I have thrown a few dud parties in my day, but when I decide to go all out, I go all out. Parties can be broken down into two main types: the eating kind and the drinking kind. The drinking kind is when all of E’s friends come over, we order pizza, and play poker. Everyone brings a case of beer with them. Earlier this year, we threw one on Superbowl Sunday and held our first winner-take-all poker tournament after the game. People are still talking about that one, especially the winner of the tournament, who walked away with over three hundred dollars.

The eating kind of party usually involves me spending a day in the kitchen before preparing side dishes and grilling meats. An inordinate amount of time is then spent making a few really impressive desserts (crème brulee is a favorite among my friends), and by the time the guests arrive, I’m pooped out.

This year, I decided that my big hurrah would be something really memorable, and best of all, would require very little preparation. I decided to throw a New Year’s Day Brunch. Because the holiday season is always so hectic, we are constantly going to other friends’ houses, or everyone’s just too busy to enjoy yet another night out. Rather than add to the stress then, I thought New Year’s Day would be a perfect time to have friends over. There is never anything to do that day except nurse a hangover and watch football anyway. Why not get together and do it?

The best part for me is that all I had to do was buy some raw materials, and do most of the work on the day of the party. The menu was do-it-yourself Belgian waffles, fill-‘em-yourself crepes, and choose-your-own-filling omelets. I made the waffle batter and crepe batter the night before, chopped all the vegetables and fruits for the fillings, and I was ready to go.

Champagne, orange juice, and coffee were available on the sideboard, and the waffle maker sat on one of the kitchen counters. The dining table was covered with little bowls of diced ham, tomatoes, spinach, strawberries, blueberries, bananas, Nutella, honey, chocolate, and whipped cream. I manned the stove: on one burner, a crepe pan cooked up the thin pancakes. On the other burner, an omelet pan cooked the omelets one at a time. Those waiting with a plateful of omelet fixings could chat with me while I flipped and stirred. There was never too long of a line, because our house was open all day. Come whenever you wake up, I told everyone. So some people arrived at 10:00 in the morning, while the last finally left at 7:00pm.

I love that casual come-and-go feel to having a party. Also, many hosts prefer to be done with the kitchen once the guests arrive, but I find that I really enjoy cooking on the spot. I spend most of every party in the kitchen anyway, and my role gives everyone a chance to come talk to me, because you have to go through me to get your omelet or crepe.

I have, in the past few years, developed a great fondness for Brunch. I like to eat brunch foods (perhaps because they are so closely related to dessert foods?), and I like to cook brunch foods. E leaked this information to his mother, and a week before the big New Year’s Day bash, we were at his family’s house in Los Angeles celebrating Christmas. E’s mom gave me a big fat cookbook called Breakfast and Brunches by The Culinary Institute of America. It was too late to incorporate new recipes into the menu I had planned, but I can always use it next year. The book covers everything you’ve ever wanted to eat for breakfast or brunch, from coffee drinks to soft boiled eggs to cheese blintzes with mixed berry sauce. It has beautiful full-page, full-color pictures of every recipe, which is really the best part when it’s not time for brunch but I want to drool over it anyway.

Just for kicks, here are the post-party notes I jotted down for my own reference, to prepare for next year’s Annual New Year’s Day Brunch.

28 People:
-4 batches waffles
-6 dozen eggs
-3 batches crepes
-get more strawberries (ran out)
-4 lbs. bacon (not enough)
-2 gallons O.J.
-2 bottles champagne
-not that much espresso
-need munchies for hangers-on

Breakfasts & Brunches by The Culinary Institute of America

Tags: cookbooks brunch+food parties Culinary+Institute+of+America

Carter Beats the Devil by Glen David Gold

I have a terrible memory. I say it all the time, but I don’t think people really believe me. Generally, people assume that if a person is intelligent, they must also have a good memory. They think that I am simply being modest when I disparage my barely existent recall skills. The truth is, my brain very clearly divides information into two types: concepts and facts. As soon as I’ve understood a concept, I have it for life. Facts, however, I can only remember for as long as is absolutely necessary.

For example, I can’t remember the name of the street I lived on before I moved into our current house. I just can’t. I remember how to get there. I remember that my parking spot in the garage was a tight fit and once, when I borrowed my parents’ SUV, I didn’t quite make the angle when backing out and scraped the door. I remember the floor plan of the apartment and the view from the balcony. I just can’t remember the address. Don’t even bother asking me what my phone number was. As soon as I moved out, my brain began the work of erasing it from its memory.

My poor memory is most obvious when it comes to my leisure activities. At work, I make a huge effort to hold things in my brain for quick access. At home, things escape me very quickly. E makes fun of me because we go on vacation, and then a few months later I can’t remember most of the things we did while we were there. I remember the big, conceptual things: we saw the Grand Canyon; we gambled until 4:00 am; it was very warm the day we visited the Forbidden City. But he’ll ask me if I remember doing something detailed, and I’ll search and search my brain and there’s simply no memory of it. (The one exception is food: I can remember every detail of what I ate at most restaurants.)

Books and movies are the worst. I wanted to write about Carter Beats the Devil by Glen David Gold because I loved the book when I read it. It was one of my favorite books in 2001. I liked it even better than The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, despite what the critics thought. But when I started to think about what I would write, I realized that I couldn’t even remember what the book was about. No, seriously. I know it’s about a magician named Carter (I gathered that from the title and the cover art). I remember that it takes place in Oakland, because I can recall being delighted with recognizing many of the landmarks. And… that’s it. Tha'ts IT.

According to Amazon, the novel

“opens with real-life magician Charles Carter executing a particularly grisly trick, using President Warren G. Harding as a volunteer. Shortly afterwards, Harding dies mysteriously in his San Francisco hotel room, and Carter is forced to flee the country. Or does he? It's only the first of many misdirections in a magical performance by Gold. In the course of subsequent pages, Carter finds himself pursued by the most hapless of FBI agents; falls in love with a beautiful, outspoken blind woman; and confronts an old nemesis bent on destroying him.”

I had no idea. Wow, that sounds great. I’d love to read this book!

I swear, it doesn’t even sound familiar. And I so loved this book at the time. When Glen David Gold was at the NCIBA conference, I sent E over to get his autograph for me because I couldn’t get away from my booth at that moment. I was so excited that I had a signed copy of Carter Beats the Devil, even if I hadn’t gotten to meet Gold myself. I loved the book that much. But as far as my memory goes, I might as well have never read it all.

Of course, there is one obvious advantage to being recollection-challenged: I can always reread a book and be surprised and delighted all over again. I just wish I didn’t have to.

Carter Beats the Devil by Glen David Gold

Tags: books book+reviews magicians memory Oakland Glen+David+Gold

Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister by Gregory Maguire

Shen’s Books carries a truly extensive collection of Cinderella stories from around the world. It amazes me that so many people are interested in variations on the Cinderella theme. I can understand that comparing and contrasting some of the versions from different countries might be useful in the classroom, so many of our educator customers love our selection. Then there are the ones that collect Cinderella books. That’s pretty hard core. I personally just can’t get worked up about it. The story doesn’t strike any particular nerve with me.

I read Gregory Maguire’s Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister anyway. I told myself it was for work, to see if we should carry the book even though it is not intended to be a children’s book. Since it was another interpretation of the story, it’s possible that it might make a good addition to our collection. I had heard so many positive things about Gregory Maguire that it was a definite contender.

Trouble was, I thought the book was terrible. There was no real deviation from the basic plot of the Cinderella story we all know, and since I already knew what was going to happen, I had no interest in the outcome. I thought the characters were hateful, flat, and uninteresting. When I think about it now, I get short of breath and I feel like I’m walking through a barren field, knee-deep in mud.

Of course, after reading Confessions, I had no desire whatsoever to read any more Maguire, despite the fact that Wicked was so visible (I even saw the musical when it toured through San Francisco). My friend S, who was willing to hold her breath until the sequel to Wicked came out in paperback, tried to convince me that Wicked was much, much better than Confessions. Couldn’t even be compared to one another, she insisted. I don’t know. It’s possible that my aversion to the Wizard of Oz is even greater than my distaste for Cinderella. How could I possibly enjoy that? And there are so many other books that I want to read, I don’t see myself ever attempting to find out if Maguire’s other books are as good as everyone says, even though it would be nice to be surprised.

Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister by Gregory Maguire

Tags: book+reviews cinderella wicked Gregory+Maguire

From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler by E.L. Konigsburg

"Happiness is excitement that has found a settling down place but there is always a little corner that keeps flapping around."

From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler by E.L. Konigsburg

Tags: children's+books newbury+award happiness E+L+Konigsburg

Selvakumar Knew Better by Virginia Kroll, illustrated by Xiaojun Li

Do you Bas Bleu? Bas Bleu is a wonderful mail-order catalog that offers well-chosen and erudite books and bookish items for the precise segment of the population that would appreciate these things (yes, you). I have met the owner, Eleanor, several times and she is a sharp, savvy woman who has turned a love of the literary into a prosperous company dedicated to sharing that love.

Enough plugging for Bas Bleu. Here’s why I mention them: this morning, I received a fax from their ordering department requesting the completion of a new vendor form and sales information for the book I edited and published earlier this year, Selvakumar Knew Better by Virginia Kroll and Xiaojun Li. Not to mention the selling power this spunky little catalog generates, but just being chosen for inclusion in their holiday catalog is such an honor for me.

When I read Virginia’s manuscript, I knew I had to publish this book. It tells the true story of an Indian boy whose life is saved by the family dog, Selvakumar, during the 2004 tsunami disaster. When his father yells for his family to run, seven-year-old Dinakaran misunderstands and runs toward his house by the shore. Luckily, Selvakumar knows better and drags him out, forcing him to flee up the hill to safety. The book is accompanied by the most brilliant paintings by Xiaojun Li. And just to make the book even more compelling, we worked it out with the Give2Asia for a percentage of the proceeds from the book to be donated to the Tsunami Recovery Fund.

Bas Bleu’s inquiry was just a preliminary one, and we haven’t received the actual purchase order yet, but I do believe that baking brownies yesterday must have triggered a change of luck for my week. I’m crossing my fingers and waiting for the PO to arrive in October. And then, hopefully, Bas Bleu’s customers will think this book is as great as I think it is.


Selvakumar Knew Better by Virginia Kroll, illustrated by Xiaojun Li

Tags: children's+books 2004+tsunami dogs Virginia+Kroll Xiaojun+Li

Baking Illustrated by the editors of Cooks Illustrated

I had a bad week, and it's not even over yet. By Tuesday, it was already bad. So on Tuesday, I decided to stop at Whole Foods on the way home today (Thursday), to get a couple braised lamb shank meals for dinner. I had bought one once before, and it was the most delicious, tender lamb shank I had ever tasted. With two of thier hot, fresh side dishes, $8.99 was a great price for such quality. And best of all, I didn't have to cook it. I chose to go today because Thursday was lamb shank day. Each day of the week, their hot food counter offers a different main entree. Ever since I made the decision on Tuesday, I have been looking forward to today's dinner. I was even thinking about getting some nice pastry item there for dessert.

You know where this is going.

I get to the hot meal counter, and I look at all the pans behind the glass. No lamb. I read the menu board. I walk up and down the entire length of the prepared foods section. I decide to ask. "Did you used to have lamb shanks on Thursdays?"

The man behind the counter looks like he's never heard of the animal. "Lamb?" he drawls. "I don't think we've had lamb in... months."

"Yeah," I mumble. "It's been months since I was last here." Now I have to think quick. What are E and I going to have for dinner? I could get the meals with a different meat. I could go buy a hunk of steak and grill it. I could get some ready-made salads. The problem is, I have no plan B. And at 6:30 after a long day, with the onset of a low blood sugar spell imminent, I can't get my mind to function at all. It keeps trying to curl me up on the floor crying, "all I wanted was some lamb!"

I do the best I can without any help from my brain. I ask for a single meal with the short ribs. The counter man says, "Um, see..." and my spirits sink. "Because the short rib is a more expensive meat, the meal is a little more expensive."

"How expensive is it?" I can't bear it.

"Well, it's $12.99."

"How much is it if I choose a different meat?"

"$9.99."

I can't make any more decisions. "OK, fine. Just give me the short rib." I know this is the wrong choice, but seeing as how my brain has checked out, there doesn't seem to be anything I can do about it. At least I only ordered one.

But is one meal enough food for two people? I should get one of those delicious loaves of French bread Whole Food makes. I got one last time I was here (months ago) and have not found a rival since. I stand in front of the bread section looking for it. There are twenty-seven different types of fresh bread made by six different companies. Every one is sour (yuck) or hard, made from whole wheat (when you've had a bad week, you're entitled to a big loaf of white bread), or dotted with herbs. They don't have the kind I want. I have no plan B. I abandon the bread.

The desserts just make me mad. Everything in Whole Foods is so ridiculously expensive that I always end the trip mad, hungry, and poor. I'm not paying those outrageous prices for an after-dinner sweet. Five dollar brownies? Please! I can make brownies myself that are better, and I already have everything I need at home.

Hmmm. That's it! After this, something warm, home-baked, and chocolatey would be perfect. I'm making brownies tonight.

When I get home, I open the takeout box holding the short rib meal. What I see makes me never want to step foot in Whole Foods again. The side dish of mixed vegetables is the skimpiest serving I've ever seen. The last time I ordered the meal (with the heavenly lamb shank), the vegetable side took up practically half the box. This one looks like two mouthful's worth-- three triangles of zucchini, two squares of red pepper, and some corn niblets. I look in and say, "that's it. I'm writing them a letter." I also launch into a ten-minute diatribe on how Whole Foods is just one big scam to jack up prices by calling their products names like "Peace Cereal" so that people will pay more to buy the smugness that comes with their fiber. But that is not the point.

The point is brownies. What would I do without my Baking Illustrated? How much do I love thee (more than Whole Foods)? Let me count the ways: chewy chocolate chip cookies, crispy chocolate chip cookies, banana bread, cinnimon rolls, muffins, scones, peanut butter cookies, and, of course, brownies. There's nothing like a home-baked treat to wash away the remnants of a bad day. Or week.

The whole house smells like chocolate now, and I just pulled the pan of brownies out of the oven. It's time for dessert.

Baking Illustrated by the editors of Cooks Illustrated

Tags: cookbooks Whole+Foods brownies Cooks+Illustrated

The Angry Clam by Erik Quisling

Soon after I had moved into a one-bedroom apartment in Oakland, I threw a housewarming party. My apartment was on the third floor of a four-story building, halfway down a hallway. The floor plan was as equally uninspired as every other 1960’s apartment complex unit, with a kitchenette opening onto a small dining area, beige carpeting, and beige mini-blinds. A futon was the centerpiece of the living room, and every other piece of furniture came from IKEA, including the two tall bookcases in one corner of the main room.

My parties don’t tend to be particularly large or rowdy. I don’t have that many friends I guess, and those I have are not particularly crazy. There were probably enough people in my apartment that evening to fill the futon, the kitchen area, and the folding chairs I set up. Everyone had a drink, but things were pretty low-key.

Surprisingly, there were people in my apartment I did not recognize. One of my friends had brought two other friends, who sat side by side quietly without saying much all evening. As the night wound down, they were still there, waiting for their friend to get going.

Now that I was able to sit down and relax, the woman I did not know leaned toward me and said, “You know, I was a little worried about this whole thing until I found this.” She held up The Angry Clam by Erik Quisling. “When I read this, I knew you were cool.”

The Angry Clam is a brilliantly illustrated story about a clam on a personal journey of self-discovery. "Brilliantly", in this case, means that every page depicts the same, hand-drawn shape that represents our heroic mollusk from the heights of self-awareness to the depths of existential angst. Underneath this illustration, the angry clam’s saga unfolds, including some of my favorite quotes from all of literature.

“So wrought with hostility the angry clam plots the destruction of the earth.”

“Foiled by an utter lack of imagination, the clam decides to lie still. His day would come.”

“Feeling betrayed by this preconceived ideology, the angry clam writhes in disgust at the philosophy’s lack of tangibility.”

“So filled with anxiety, the angry clam finds himself frozen in a shell of self-pity.”

Yes! That woman, who I had never met before and have never seen since, got it just right. I am cool because I own this book, and find the dry, intellectual humor in it hilarious. That I think this is a brilliant work of art makes me cool. Even if I don’t have that many friends and can’t throw a party worth a damn. I’m cool. That’s me. Yup.

The Angry Clam by Erik Quisling

Tags: book+reviews funny+books angst mollusks Erik+Quisling

The Tournament: A Novel of the 20th Century by John Clarke

I haven’t followed tennis in many years, but the U.S. Open this year did pique my interest. E and I serendipitously caught the second half of the Agassi-Becker match last weekend while in our hotel room in Las Vegas, and watching the last of my teen tennis heroes bow out of the spotlight was surprisingly emotional. After I explained tennis scoring to E, we started to watch tennis whenever we had some spare time.

This past weekend, since I was under the weather, I found myself spending a lot more time than I normally do watching TV. Usually, I avoid the television altogether, but this weekend we watched the men’s semifinal and the men’s final, and some of the women’s doubles final. We accidentally missed the women’s final due to a noob time-zone error. But all this tennis reminded me of The Tournament by John Clarke. Booklist describes the book much better than I could:

Imagine, if you will, 128 of recent history's greatest writers, thinkers, scientists, musicians, actors, etc., participating in a two-week tennis tournament. Sarah Bernhardt versus Coco Chanel; Aldous Huxley versus Paul Robeson; Vladimir Nabokov versus Henry Miller--matchups that seem wildly inappropriate and delightfully perverse. Norman Mailer is covering the tournament for Tennis magazine; the tournament referee is Charles Darwin. It's a wacky idea, and although it's mostly played for laughs, the author has somehow managed to make this preposterous premise pay off. The novel, which is structured like a day-by-day report on the progress of the tournament, is completely original, a crash course in the history of twentieth-century culture. The dialogue is cheerfully nutty, as most of the characters speak lines that parody themselves (Gertrude Stein: "A win is a win is a win"). This is one of those novels that shouldn't work and yet somehow it does, leaving us shaking with laughter and possessing a vivid sense of the competition between ideas and points of view that shapes our culture.

I absolutely love the premise of this novel, and the delightful “mockumentary” aspect of the play-by-play. Even without reading any of it, Clarke’s list of match-ups from the back cover already begin to amuse and provoke. Then, almost every line within the book is an inside joke about a cultural icon. Though I know who most every one of the “celebrity athletes” are, I don’t seem to know enough about them to get the jokes. For example, Mr. Wilde and his friend Mr. Whistler have attend the tournament as spectators.

“This really is a marvelous occasion,” said Wilde. “I’m beginning to wish I’d entered.”
“You will, Oscar,” said Whistler. “You will.”

I didn’t get that reference until I looked it up in Wikipedia. I also had to look up the relationship between Gertrude Stein and Hemingway to get the line, “Gertrude Stein watched from the player’s box until Hemingway was forced to deny that she was coaching him with hand signals.”

Unfortunately, all this makes for a somewhat difficult and frustrating reading experience. I think I’m too young for this book yet—in another thirty or forty years, I will have accumulated enough knowledge to be able to read this book straight through, laughing all the way. For now, I can appreciate a paragraph here and there if I am very familiar with the characters. This description of the Einstein-Duchamp’s match I did get, and it made me laugh out loud:

Albert Einstein threw everything he had at Marcel Duchamp this afternoon and for over an hour we saw serving of such intensity that spectators were advised to turn their backs while the ball was being hit and then turn around quickly to see the result…In the second set Einstein’s serve lost some of its penetration and Duchamp began to call out, “Oh, that is art!” whenever he hit a winner. Einstein learned not to bother chasing these shots, and then after a while noticed that they weren’t all winners.

“He had me completely fooled,” he said later. “He was calling things ‘art’ that were actually just rubbish.”

Because I don’t get most of the jokes, I have suspicions that the writing might be too clever for its own good and I just don’t know it. Publisher’s Weekly thought that, “with a new game beginning every few paragraphs, readers are introduced to a dizzying array of characters who never transcend caricature.” In addition, “readers may feel this was a great idea best realized in a shorter, more comic form.” Maybe the book isn’t as well-written as I think it is. Then again, maybe I like this book because I’m not smart enough to know one way or the other. I am content to imagine that every allusion is brilliant, and to aspire to understand more and more of it as I continue on my never-ending quest for knowledge.

The Tournament: A Novel of the 20th Century by John Clarke

Tags: books book+reviews tennis US+Open Duchamp Einstein John+Clarke

McSweeney's Issue #19

On Saturday, I went to Fourth Street in Berkeley, a small but growing shopping district that used to be more of an outlet destination, but is now rushing headlong toward upscale, up-priced boutiques. Despite this trend, some of my favorite stores are there: the Crate and Barrel Outlet (!!), Sur la Table, and now, Paper Source. I spent a modest $27.19 at Paper Source today, though I did eye the drop spine box kits, fingers itching. But I didn’t feel like getting into the world of book cloth and methyl cellulose today.

Cody’s is also on Fourth Street, but I don’t usually go in. I don’t know why, but this is the only bookstore I have ever been in that makes me feel uncomfortable. I actually experience a feeling of loss whenever I step in. It’s like a small dark hole in my chest that expands into a profound loneliness as I walk farther into the store. Part of it is that the store design is very cold. The bare cement floors and exposed ceiling do not exclaim, “Welcome! Stay for a while!” The shelving is oddly spaced—the aisles in fact seem too wide. And more than half the books are displayed face-out, as if they were embarrassed by their own meager numbers and are trying o hide the bare backs of the bookcases.

I didn’t stay long. I was there to buy a Moleskine notebook, but they didn’t have any. I bought a linen-covered spiral journal instead and hastily escaped back into the sunlit street bustling with life.

I was trying to get out so quickly that I hardly looked at anything. I only remember very clearly seeing two things: a Harper’s Bazaar magazine with a picture of a pregnant Britney Spears, naked, on the cover, and a recent (but not new) issue of McSweeney’s sitting on the counter of the information kiosk.

The McSweeney’s caught my eye because it is the issue that comes in a cigar box. I’ve never seen one in real life before, but I had read about it online. Here is what the McSweeney’s website has to say about it:

Our first issue of 2006 turns toward earlier and equally uncertain years, traveling back by way of pamphlets, info-cards, and letters addressing bygone conflicts and still-constant concerns. Expect, among other recovered works, carefree strategies for insurgencies in Nicaragua, astrological advice for the Nixon/Agnew campaigner, sanguine guidance for the soldier stationed in the Middle East at mid-century, and commonsense reinforcement for the doughboy drifting toward a gonorrhea infection. Also: T.C. Boyle's feral child novella and additional quasi-historical work by new writers.

The concept sounds really cool, though not cool enough for me to buy it. Because I know that after a leafing through of the items inside, I will have lost interest, and that the REAL reason I even thought about buying it was that I wanted the box. I recognize that I have a rare mental illness that makes me want to acquire anything that is box-shaped. It is a constant and terrible struggle to keep myself from filling my house with empty boxes. So I did not buy the McSweeney's cigar box issue.

After I left Cody’s I went back to Paper Source.

McSweeney's Issue #19

Tags: cody's+bookstore berkeley mcsweeney's paper+source

With or Without You by Carole Matthews

Chick lit seems to be a controversial topic these days. I’m not sure exactly where I stand on the issue, though I have some thoughts bouncing around in my head. Obviously, I read it, so I don’t feel entirely negative about the genre. On the one hand, I do agree that there is a less rigorous literary standard applied to chick lit, but I don’t believe that necessarily makes it of lesser value to readers, literature, or the world as a whole.

Sure, chick lit is easy to read. Most of it follows similar patterns of character, plot, and emotions. The covers all look the same. It’s definitely not “high literature.” But what bothers me is that the criticism of its popular appeal borders on literary snobbery. And that doesn’t sit well with me because even though we might agree that there is a difference in quality between two books, it doesn’t mean that both are not worth reading. If that were true, what would it say about the reader (me), if the books I read are not worth reading? The implicit message of the literary snob is that a person who likes an inferior product must be an inferior reader.

I still believe that every book has value. Every genre has value. This stance is almost as unpopular right now as Nick Hornby, whose article on How to Read incensed bloggers by claiming that people should only read what they like. I think many people subconsciously interpreted that to mean that all books are equally worth reading, that people should read easy (or inferior) books and not challenging ones. I detected a bit of defensiveness in blog responses to Hornby’s article; perhaps it was defensiveness about our personal literary valuation systems. Personally, I don’t see anything wrong with the basic idea that I should read what I like. If I like to be challenged, I’ll read something challenging. If I don’t like to read books about war, or fantasy, then I won’t. If I have a cold and am curled up in bed, maybe I’ll read a romance novel.

Now, I’m not saying that all writing is equal (there are definitely better writers, better prose, and even better ideas from one book to the next), nor am I saying that we shouldn’t read challenging works. But everything is relative, and everything falls within an infinite spectrum of quality and difficulty. What is challenging for me might be old hat for someone else. What I find emotionally stirring may be like dry cardboard to another. On top of that, mix in personal preference for genre and style. Then, take into account that the range of quality of any genre is so wide and overlapping that the best chick lit book is surely better than many, many works of literary fiction. Literary snobbery is founded on some very shaky ground.

Chick lit does have some benefits, owing to its biggest advantage over “challenging” books: it’s very popular. Because it is so popular, it is in a position to make a difference in the bigger picture. For example, the positive portrayal of strong women in both their careers and personal lives must, in some small way, shape the way readers see their own lives and choices. In the long run, many of these small differences could even change our societies and cultures.

The other benefit of the easy read is that a broader audience might be exposed to a world unknown to them previously. Hopefully, this would occur with any book (which is why I continue to believe that every book is worth reading). The most recent chick lit book I finished, With or Without You by Carole Matthews, happens to be the first book I’ve read that takes place in Nepal. The main character, Lyssa, joins a tour group for a two-week trek through the Himalayas, and not only did I get a wonderful snapshot of the Nepalese landscape and people, but it whet my appetite for seeing the place for myself. It didn’t take a treatise on the history and culture of Nepal, and it didn’t require highbrow writing or postmodern discourse. It took a simple story of woman who I identify with taking it on the chin and roughing it. If she could hike for fourteen days and sleep in a tent in a life-changing country, I could do it too.

To be honest, I don’t actually read much chick lit. But every once in a while, it is fun to read something a little predictable, something light and quick. Just because it’s not Booker Prize-winning literature doesn’t mean it’s not the absolutely perfect book for the right person at the right time.

With or Without You by Carole Matthews

Tags: books chick+lit nepal nick+hornby carole+matthews

Favorite Songs from Jim Henson's Muppets

I'm sick. My node is stuffed up, I'm snifbly, it feels like I'm on an airplane-- the air inside my head is pressing against my skull and my ears are glugged. Hold on-- I need a tissue.

Days like this, it's nice to see some friendly faces. How about Kermit, Gonzo, and Ernie? I bought Favorite Songs from Jim Henson's Muppets, a book of sheet music, years ago because almost every song in it brings back great memories. "Bein' Green" from The Muppet Show, "Movin' Right Along" from The Muppet Movie, "Rubber Duckie" from Sesame Street. I didn't know all the songs when I bought it, and it was only recently that I discovered Mahna-Mahna. I can't believe I never knew about this before! Here he is. I don't know about you, but this video makes me happy and warm inside every single time I watch it. Even better than a mug of hot tea with honey and lemon. *sniffle*



Favorite Songs from Jim Henson's Muppets

Tags: sheet+music muppets mahna+mahna jim+henson

Authentic Arts & Crafts Furniture Projects by the editiors of Popular Woodworking

Our house is a very, very, very fine house, with two cats in the yard… thirteen hundred square feet, four bedrooms, two bathrooms, a garage, and a hot tub in the backyard. I love it.

The bedrooms are all very small, and luckily it’s just the two of us (for the time being). That gives us one master bedroom, one guest room, and “his” and “her” rooms for our own stuff. We both have a lot of stuff. My room, of course, has bookcases along the walls, a comfy reading chair, and a work table for my various craft projects. E’s room has two computers, two printers, three electric guitars, an amplifier, and one chair.

Sometimes we huddle in E’s room in front of the computer looking things up on the internet or playing video games. Doing anything truly productive gets very uncomfortable for me because there is only one chair. I’ll start standing up, then start leaning on E. After a while I’ll squat on my haunches or try sitting on E’s lap until he starts groaning in pain.

I finally came up with a great idea. “Why don’t we get another chair for this room?” But buying furniture is very difficult for me psychologically—I am always afraid that I’ve bought the wrong thing, spent too much, and I desperately fear increasing the clutter in our house, unless the clutter is both aesthetically pleasing and of high quality. My next great idea solved most of these problems. “Hey—why don’t you make a chair for this room?”

This idea is not exactly as crazy as it sounds. Last year, E and I bought an old library card catalog from Ebay to convert into a side table. E built a low table for the card catalog to sit on, so that the surface was just the right height for setting drinks and the telephone on. Since then, we’ve been spending a lot of time (and money) at Sears, building his tool collection for his garage “shop.”

Then I did myself one better. “Ooh! You could make a rocking chair!”

E was game. He said if I could find plans for a rocking chair, he could at least try. So I went online and found a book called Authentic Arts & Crafts Furniture Projects by the editors of Popular Woodworking. I love the clean lines of the Arts & Crafts style, and the way the shapes are solid and masculine without being harsh. I thought the Limbert rocker in the book would look great in E’s room.

In fact, the book is full of beautiful projects, including a Morris chair, a Stickley side table, and beautiful, beautiful Greene & Greene entry bench. I can’t afford to buy any of these antique items, so I’ll just have my husband make replicas. Except… E has to learn how to use all the tools he’s bought. Then, his first project from the book will be the mirror frame made from only four pieces of wood. From there, he’ll progress to more advanced projects. The rocker, being one of the most difficult projects in the book, may be a long time coming. That's all right. I have something to look forward to.

Authentic Arts & Crafts Furniture Projects by the editiors of Popular Woodworking

Tags: books arts+crafts+furniture carpentry popular+woodworking

Cats In Love by Hans Silvester

When I lived in an apartment, I used to get the Hans Silvester Cats in the Sun wall calendar every year. Now that I live in a real house where things that go on the walls should be in frames, I don't miss the calendar, but I still like to look at the pictures every once in a while. So a big fat coffee-table book full of pictures of cats in the Mediterranean is more than a fair substitute.

Hans Silvester takes the most amazing cat pictures, and captures the beauty and tranquility of the region at the same time. It is entirely because of him that I want to visit Greece. I want to be in a place that makes you feel as good as it looks.

Cats In Love by Hans Silvester

tags: photography books book reviews Mediterranean Hans Silvester

The Empty Pot by Demi

When customers ask for a book recommendation, I often offer them The Empty Pot by Demi. The problem is, I can’t seem to get through the telling of the synopsis without choking up. It’s very embarrassing. I have to pause a lot, swallow, blink rapidly, and use short sentences.

This is what I tell them: “The emperor decides to hold a contest to choose a successor, so he calls all the children in the kingdom to the palace and gives every child a seed. In a year’s time, they have to bring back what they’ve grown and the child who has grown the best plant will be the next emperor.

“So Ping gets his seed and brings it home. He’s a really good gardener, but he can’t get this seed to sprout.” Swallow. “He tries everything and tends to it with the greatest care, but it just doesn’t grow. Finally the day comes to present the plants to the emperor, but Ping’s pot is still empty.” Pause. Blink blink. “But his Dad says,” deep breath, “you did your best. Bring the pot to the emperor because there is no shame in showing that you have tried your best.” Long pause.

“When Ping gets to the palace, every other kid has these huge, beautiful, exotic flowers and Ping is really embarrassed. But he presents his empty pot anyway.” I look away, blink, swallow. “And the emperor says, I don’t know where all you kids got your seeds, but the ones I gave out were cooked. Ping was the only honest child, who brought his empty pot. And Ping became the next emperor.” Deep breath.

Usually, after I finish this plot summary, the customer buys two or three in hardcover. I don’t even think I tell the story that well. You really need to read the text and study Demi’s beautiful and tiny illustrations to appreciate the full value of the book. But a classic is a classic for a reason, and if any book about China (besides The Seven Chinese Brothers) is destined to become one, this really should be it.

The Empty Pot by Demi

tags: children's books book reviews Chinese folktales emperors Demi

Sweet Liar by Jude Deveraux

Today is E and my first wedding anniversary! In honor of this occasion, today’s Book of the Day is Sweet Liar by Jude Deveraux, possibly my favorite romance novel.

I first read Sweet Liar when I was in high school, during a period where my friends and I pretty much read nothing but romance novels. I had become quite a connoisseur. I could generally tell by reading the back cover whether or not I was going to like it. I was, in fact, looking for something in particular: I wanted to fall in love with the main characters.

If I didn’t love the main characters, there is no way I would even begin to believe that they would love each other. The quality of romance novel, then, came down to the depictions of the protagonists. Where or when the story was set, what the plot was—these were secondary considerations. If the relationship didn’t ring true, it was substandard in my eyes. You’d be surprised (OK, maybe not too surprised) at how few books reached reached an acceptable standard on my personal romance-o-meter.

Sweet Liar is one of the best. It features a perfect leading man in both the looks department (the beauty of reading, of course, is that I can picture him any way I want) and in personality, a smart and levelheaded heroine, and a plot that is loads of fun. The couple, Mike and Samantha, have to solve a mystery surrounding Samantha’s grandmother’s involvement in a 1928 gangster shootout. Mike was my guy. A handsome New Yorker, caring, gentle, funny—you name it. Everything I ever wanted in a guy (at the age of seventeen, I was already getting pretty picky).

In the last ten years, I’ve almost stopped reading romances, and the ones I have read have been a bit disappointing. I wonder if it’s because my romantic life has changed or if my literary standards have changed. At any rate, I’ve moved on to other types of literature, but I also think that I could read Sweet Liar again and still love it.

I’m sure everyone is dying to know: how does my E compare with the romance-novel hero? Well, our lives certainly aren’t nearly as exciting, but now that I think about it, E and Mike do share a lot of similar traits… I think I did pretty well. It helps to be picky.

Sweet Liar by Jude Deveraux

tags: romance novels book reviews wedding anniversary Jude Deveraux