TKO'd by The Buddha in the Attic

   There is no one main character in The Buddha in the Attic, Julie Otsuka's novel about Japanese picture brides who arrive in America during the early 1900s to marry men sight unseen. There are many characters. Scads of them. Each with a story that Otsuka melded into the first-person voice "we"  to retrace their journey, their first night as married women, their work, their children, their homes, their employers and neighbors, and eventually, their new status as traitors in the days after Pearl Harbor.
   It's a remarkable and memorable novel, and earlier in the year Otsuka won a big prize for it--- the PEN/Faulkner Award for Fiction. Buddha was also a National Book Award Finalist in 2011.  And in typical Otsuka style, Buddha is spare yet richly descriptive, small--only 129 pages--yet potent.
   It's been about 10 years since she wrote her first novel, When the Emperor Was Divine, a book that I liken to a quick punch in the gut. Not that I've ever experienced that, but her book took me down for the count and left me breathless. Her subject--Japanese-Americans sent to internment camps in 1942--interested me and her writing, which is lean, clean and powerful, packed a wallop of emotion.
   Her writing still lifts me up, and I find beauty in its simplicity. Here are the opening lines from The Buddha in the Attic:

     On the boat we were mostly virgins. We had long black hair and flat wide feet and we were not very tall. Some of us had eaten nothing but rice gruel as young girls and had slightly bowed legs, and some of us were only fourteen years old and were still young girls ourselves. Some of us came from the city, and wore stylish city clothes, but many more of us came from the country and on the boat we wore the same old kimonos we'd been wearing for years--faded hand-me-downs from our sisters that had been patched and redyed many times.

And from the chapter "Whites":

   They gave us new names. They called us Helen and Lily. They called us Margaret. They called us Pearl. They marveled at our tiny figures and our long, shiny black hair. They praised us for our hardworking ways. That girl never stops until she gets the job done. They bragged about us to their neighbors. They bragged about us to their friends.

  Can you hear the music of her words? But what efficiency as a writer! I feel their isolation and anxiety on the ship. I am seasick with them on page five and homesick with them on page 17. These stories of young women who left Japan  from 1908 to 1920 to marry Japanese immigrants in America ultimately concludes with the theme of Otsuka's first novel--internment camps for Japanese Americans.

   

   Neighbors peered out at us through their windows. Cars honked. Strangers stared. A boy on a bicycle waved. A startled cat dove under a bed in one of our houses as looters began to break down the front door. Curtains ripped. Glass shattered. Wedding dishes smashed to the floor. And we knew it would only be a matter of time until all traces of us were gone.

   I regularly seek out books about Asian women. Amy Tan's The Joy Luck Club pushed me in that direction years ago and since that time I've read many books about women from patriarchal cultures who face desperate situations and survive and sometimes flourish. Memoirs of a Geisha, Chinese Cinderella, Snow Flower and the Secret Fan are among my favorites. Even before I read it, I knew The Buddha in the Attic was a natural fit for me. 

  This small book is tiny enough to stash away in a purse or tote bag if you're travelling light for a weekend away. You can easily tuck it inside a beachbag or carry-on luggage.  I can't insist that you read it but I'd like to challenge any woman to open it up and resist its first few lines. Keep reading, and you'll be like me. Knocked down and breathless. Otsuka's got quite an upper cut.

The Push From the Book: each book we read leaves its mark and gives you a push: a new way of thinking, a new take on life, new ideas, new goals. Here's what this book did to me: 

    Simple response. I uttered many prayers of thanks for my life, my courtship, my husband. I did some digging before writing today's blog entry and listened to a bit of  a WHYY radio interview (http://www.julieotsuka.com/media/) with the author. Otsuka explained that these first meetings between the picture brides and their husbands were often a "first date for life" because divorce was not an option in Japanese culture at that time. Some of the matches were doomed from the start and the new brides endured harsh husbands, family life and working conditions. They had no options and for that I felt pangs of sorrow while reading. The women were strong and stoic and inspirational. Maybe some of that will rub off.  An inner-strength tune-up is always appreciated.

Snapping the Slump

  Ever been in a reading slump? I just pulled myself out of one, snapping a pitiful 0-for-5 streak of abandoned books that spanned about four weeks. I was the Phillies of the library world. Struggling. Sputtering. Trying to figure things out.  
    But I kept hacking away and taking my swings until one day last week the ball flew out of the park. At long last readers, I connected with a book.
   If you find yourself in a midsummer book funk, try The Snow Child, by first-time author Eowyn Ivey. I’m not sure if it was the title that drew me in on a steamy day or the frosty vibe of the grey and white cover art or the positive reviews I’ve been reading on several book websites. All of the above? Possibly.
      The novel is based on a Russian folk tale about a childless couple that builds a snow child during the winter's first snowfall. It magically comes to life but disappears each spring, only to return the following winter. Mabel and Jack, Alaskan homesteaders living near the Wolverine River in 1920, have an empty home, stale marriage and diminishing pantry. Mabel comes close to suicide in the opening pages, but not long thereafter, the couple’s own snow child arrives. The mysterious, sprightly child runs through the forests with uncanny speed and confidence and offers gifts of berries, homemade baskets and trapped game for the near-starving couple. Her visits are unpredictable but over time the blond, blue-eyed girl comes to trust the couple and becomes part of the family, at least during the winter months.
   There’s a strong fairy-tale thread that runs through this entire book, but it never overtakes the story of Mabel and Jack‘s ongoing battle with the elements, their farm, even their skittish horse. There is harsh Alaskan reality at the novel’s core that kept the story of the fanciful snow child in check. There are trees to fell, fields to plow, seeds to sow, wood to cut, chickens to feed, bread to bake. And half the time it’s cold, dark, snowy and lonely. One thing’s for sure. Alaska, 1920, is no place for the faint of heart, and Ivey gives her readers the total northern exposure experience.
   The author lives and works in Alaska and conjured up the territory so convincingly she’s being compared to Willa Cather, whose fiction has also been a dependable source for understanding the look and feel of the real American prairie. As compliments go, this one must give Ivey the goosebumps, no matter what the temperature in her backyard.

The Push From the Book: each book we read leaves its mark and gives you a push: a new way of thinking, a new take on life, new ideas, new goals. Here's what this book did to me:  It kept me reading outside the box. Novels relying too much on folklore and fairy tales usually disappoint me. Earlier this year I grabbed Tea Obreht’s The Tiger’s Wife, which Ann Patchett called “a marvel of beauty and imagination.” It didn’t strike me the same way, and I wanted to abolish anything like it for the foreseeable future. Good thing I let that notion pass. I would have missed something special had I put The Snow Child back on the shelf. And no doubt my slump would have continued.

Going With the Flow

  I like flow charts. This one has a summer reading theme, and you're bound to find something you like among the 101 titles featured here. From the bloggers at teach.com, I say thanks for this creative way to give reluctant summer readers a kick in the pants. Those of you who like to read will also enjoy the suggestions. Classic and contemporary fiction and nonfiction selections are included, so have some fun going with the flow:

http://teach.com/great-educational-resources/summer-reading-flowchart

Remember, lots of the books in the chart are available right here at Bethel. To locate classic lit, make a left at the fish tank and find the stacks on the right.

 

A man. In an eggcup?

    Perhaps it was the title, The Man Who Lived in an Eggcup, that caught my attention or the fact that a physician wrote it, but this collection of essays about doctors and patients and their successes and failures is among the most interesting pieces of nonfiction you can borrow from our library at the moment. Amazon has 10 published reviews of Dr. John Gamel’s book, and each glitters with five stars. Bethel-Tulpehocken is the only system library to own it, so I suggest you get your hands on this book now before other Berks County readers request it and it’s gone for a few weeks.
    If you don’t like stories about illness and injury or hospitals, skip it. It’s not for you. From time to time there’s gory detail, but it’s required to understand the full scope of the patient‘s condition, the challenge facing the doctor and the probability of a happy ending. Squeamish readers, then, might pass.
    All those left standing should make an appointment with this book. Dr. Gamel, a semi-retired ophthalmologist, has written 17 absorbing stories, and each one thrusts you into hospital life so completely you swear there’s a sharp scent of alcohol coming off the pages. His tales take you from the bedside of a dying cancer patient still addicted to cigarettes to a treatment room where cutting-edge laser surgery saves the vision of a teenage diabetic. The book is just as entertaining as House and reminiscent of the old-school medical drama St. Elsewhere. Healing surrounded by heartbreak, sadness, absurdity, joy and humor.
    But let’s get back to the man in the eggcup, essay number one. It’s the story of a man who needed both legs and hips amputated after a massive infection from a decades-old injury. Naturally, there's a more involved backstory, but the end result was that he lived--happily, gratefully-- in an eggcup-chair mounted to a wheelchair. It’s a triumphant story, which includes information about this rare surgery as well as conversations with the patient who pleaded to have his wasted lower limbs removed. “The Man Who Lived in an Eggcup” was perhaps the most bizarre, yet most uplifting story I’ve ever read.
    Essay collections like this one are sometimes overlooked in bookstores and on library shelves because they don’t have the hype of new novels or the publicity machine behind established authors. So I’m doing my part to spread the word. Take it off the shelf, read, and like the docs say, “Call me in the morning.”

The Push From the Book---each book we read leaves its mark and gives you a push: a new way of thinking, a new take on life, new ideas, new goals. Here’s what this book did to me:             
           I’m able to walk, bike, pull weeds, sit at the computer, write an essay, hang out the wash, make a meal, drive myself to work, clean the toilet and bathe. After reading this, I have an even greater appreciation for the basics in life that many cannot perform for themselves because they are too sick. Health, indeed, is the greatest of gifts. And, I’ll try to be a better patient and heed my doctor’s advice. So many of us don’t. 
  
  

A New Novel--Scrapbook Style

   Caroline Preston has created a book so unique, so full of surprises and so much fun to read that I’ve borrowed it twice, just to keep looking at it and discovering things I missed the first time around.
   The Scrapbook of Frankie Pratt is a story and a scrapbook from the 20s, all rolled into one exceptionally pleasing book. I’m nuts about it and believe you will be, too. Open it to any random page, give yourself a few seconds to feast on the very detailed artifacts Preston dug up and dusted off to create Frankie's world, and I guarantee you’ll be smiling. 
   The text--just a few lines or short paragraphs per page-- is written on an old Corona typewriter and placed among pictures, old advertisements, recipes, seed packets, graduation programs, postcards, valentines, maps, illustrations, ticket stubs, even luncheonette menus,
   The scrapbook chronicles Frankie’s life beginning in 1920, the year of her high school graduation. She’s voted the smartest girl in Cornish, New Hampshire, and gets accepted to Vassar. But hard times--and tuition--put Vassar out of reach for the moment. Frankie stays close to home and finds work as a nursing aide to a rich, elderly woman with a handsome nephew. Hmmm.
   How she finally gets to Vassar--a few months later--and then onto Greenwich Village and Paris and then back home again will keep you paging through the book nonstop. The story and the scrapbook elements are addicting!
   Preston used some of her own memorabilia for the book, but hunted down a lot more on E-bay and in antique stores. There’s some 600 pieces of vintage treasure here, and if you’re like me, you’ll need more than one look to capture it all.
   I also recommend the author’s beautiful website: 
                                         http://carolinepreston.com/
I’ve become a frequent visitor to read her blog, follow the reviews and track her speaking engagements. I’d love to attend one of her talks and keep wishing for a Pennsylvania event to pop up soon.
   While visiting the website, click on the link “How I made The Scrapbook of Frankie Pratt.” Preston reveals how her pack-rat and attic-prowling tendencies became the foundation for a career as an archivist and then, 15 years later, a novelist. What an interesting story. What a wonderful book.

The Push From the Book---each book we read leaves its mark and gives you a push: a new way of thinking, a new take on life, new ideas, new goals. Here’s what this book did to me: I want to look at my own family’s treasure trove of paper and photographic memories and start consolidating and organizing. Next rainy day, I think I’ll be sorting through old photos, postcards and diaries. Wonder if Martha Stewart is free?

Groovin' to the Sixties

I was a child of the Sixties. Not a hippy-dippy type, more of a Marlo Thomas/That Girl girl. The decade was a joyful collection of uncomplicated childhood, innocence, and then later, coming-of-age fun with junior and senior high school friends. Those years between first and 10th grade were idyllic, and if a book, movie or television show promises to take me back to that time, I’m in. Always.
Which brings me to my latest infatuation--Mad Men, the Emmy award winning series from AMC that transports us to 1960’s ad agency life at Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce, a place where the alcohol flows well before noon and office-couch trysts are customary. And the women? Well, they’re typing. Unless you’re talking about Peggy Olson, the naïve secretary-turned-copywriter who’s gaining a foothold in this mighty world of ad men.
Mad Men airs Sunday nights and each week I wonder. Was life back then on Madison Avenue really this smoke filled? Was it this boozy? Were affairs this routine?
According to a new book called Mad Women, by Jane Maas, a real Peggy Olson-type back in the day, it was. Mad Men gets lots right, according to Maas. Not everything, mind you, but enough.
Maas, a Bucknell grad, gives us a backstage pass to ad agency life and doesn’t skimp on the details--storyboards, focus groups, television shoots, meetings, multi-martini lunches, nine-hour flights to California---all while wearing suits, heels, white gloves and hats. And she serves up enough proof on the subject of extracurricular sex and sexual harassment to acknowledge that Mad Men producers aren’t exaggerating when they recreate scenes of steamy liaisons over lunch.
If you’re like me and relish the thought of revisiting the 60s and 70s, or want to know more about ad agency life or love Mad Men, Mad Women will be worth your time.

The Push From the Book

Each book we read leaves its mark and gives you a push: a new way of thinking, a new take on life, new ideas, new goals. Here’s what this book did to me:As much as I delighted in this book, it also refreshed my memory about what women back then were up against. For starters, no equal pay for equal work. Maas writes that men even got the better work spaces. Offices with windows for males; cubicles for women. If you had children, there were precious few options for child care, no flex-time to attend school functions, no maternity leave. And speaking of pregnant, when you started to show, many women left--as in forever.

So yes, I love the 60s, but it was far from perfect. Women who wanted and needed to work struggled and cleared a path for the rest of us who entered the workforce decades later. Women are still dancing to do it all, but it’s so much better than our mothers had it. I shouldn’t forget that. Ever.

April in Paris

Library bloggers shouldn’t introduce themselves with confessions of major books and authors they’ve ignored, but in this case I’ve got to come clean. Me and Hemingway? Not a match made in heaven. Tried a few times and never clicked. The old adage about too many books and not enough time kicked in, and I never looked back.

Perhaps that’s why I kept pushing Paula McLain’s The Paris Wife, historical fiction about Hemingway’s first wife, Hadley, to the back burner. Last year I purchased it for a friend who has a Parisian flair for living and dressing and even floated the idea to my book club. Somehow the book never landed in my hands, but I knew one day it would come to me.

And then in April it arrived---and conquered me totally. In the midst of this year’s balmy, early Bethel spring, I had my own April in Paris.

The Paris Wife, first and foremost, is a love story. Hadley Richardson, a woman in her late 20s who seems destined to become the Miss Lonely Hearts of St. Louis, meets 21-year old Ernest Hemingway. Dashing, clever and fresh from his physical and emotional WWI wounds, the young writer discovers his muse in Hadley and falls in love. The two marry and begin a life, that for the next five years, carries them to the glittering arts scene in Paris, bullfights in Spain, skiing in Austria, picnics in the south of France.

You know that Hadley--the first Mrs. Hemingway--- is just that. His first wife. And Hemingway had four. Number two shows up in the last third of the book, and Hadley’s reactions to her and the demise of her marriage left me unsettled and angry. She deserved so much more, but rarely asserted herself the way I hoped.

How do any of us handle love when it’s fading or manage emotions when we want to keep fighting for our first love, our family, our way of life? It’s a question that you’ll ask yourself as you read.

I loved this book, and I found Hadley to be a woman who could have been my friend. Sometimes her decisions frustrated me, but at her core she was kind, smart, accomplished and most accommodating to Ernest. Had I been there 90 years ago, sipping a café crème along the Parisian sidewalks, I would have told her to walk away from him sooner.

Read this book, imagine yourself amongst the bistros and salons with Gertrude Stein and Ezra Pound, and tell me what you would have said to this Paris wife. I’d like to know.

The Push From the Book

Each book we read leaves its mark and gives you a push: a new way of thinking, a new take on life, new ideas, new goals. Here’s what this book did to me:I’m going to try Hemingway again. “Papa’s” daring behavior in Spain,  jumping into the bullring for a close brush with hooves and horns, for example, and his circle of friends whom he invited to the bullfights, were the grist for The Sun Also Rises, Hemingway’s first, and some say best, novel . His memoir of his early days in Paris, The Moveable Feast, is also on my radar. You can be certain that I’ll be thinking of Hadley while I read.

I also believe I need to see Paris. Sooner rather than later.