April reading roundup #3

A Dangerous Fiction, Barbara Rogan
Literary agent Jo Donovan, widow of a famous author, is living her dream life in New York City. But when an overeager client begins stalking Jo and a dozen of her clients fall prey to a hacking scam, her carefully constructed life begins to crumble. When a friend and client is murdered, Jo finally goes to the police – and encounters an old love, Tommy Cullen. Fast-paced, witty and sharp, full of deftly drawn characters, this fun literary mystery provides a fascinating glimpse into the NYC publishing world. To review for Shelf Awareness (out July 25).

Letters from Skye, Jessica Brockmole
When Elspeth Dunn, a young Scottish poet, receives a fan letter from a college student in Illinois, she never expects it to change her life. But though her correspondence with David Graham provides a bright spot in the shadow of World War I, it has disastrous consequences for her family. Years later, as the German bombs fall on Edinburgh, Elspeth disappears, leaving her daughter with a yellowed letter and few clues to her mother’s, and her own, history. Beautifully told in warm, witty letters, in the tradition of Guernsey and other epistolary novels. To review for Shelf Awareness (out July 9).

The Unbearable Lightness of Scones, Alexander McCall Smith
Changes are afoot in Scotland Street: marriage (and an adventurous honeymoon) for Matthew, cub scouts for six-year-old Bertie, an unexpected basket of puppies (courtesy of his dog, Cyril) for Angus Lordie. But the humorous everyday interactions, and the gentle absurdities arising therefrom, remain. So much fun.

A Beautiful Blue Death, Charles Finch
When a young housemaid turns up dead, Charles Lenox, Victorian London gentleman and amateur detective, is called upon to help solve the mystery. I enjoyed watching Lenox spar with Scotland Yard, track suspects and clues through London, and despair of ever getting properly made boots. A fun introduction to Lenox and his circle of friends (including his brother Edmund and neighbor, Lady Jane). Not particularly suspenseful, but an interesting mystery.

Red Bird, Mary Oliver
I love Oliver’s work, though this wasn’t my favorite volume of her poetry – some of it felt preachy, some a bit vague. Some lovely lines, though, and I like the poems about her dog, Percy. And I love the poem “I don’t want to live a small life” (which is why I checked out this book in the first place).

Where’d You Go, Bernadette, Maria Semple
Bernadette Fox, brilliant architect and slightly unhinged wife and mother, disappears from her Seattle home (a crumbling former girls’ school) without a trace. It’s up to her Microsoft tech-genius husband and her smart, savvy teenage daughter, Bee, to piece together the series of events that led Bernadette off the deep end. Told in letters, emails, texts and other documents, this novel is at once wildly funny, sharply satirical and genuinely warmhearted. I loved it. Recommended by Shelley.

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Poetry Friday: Adam Zagajewski

Try to Praise the Mutilated World

Try to praise the mutilated world.
Remember June’s long days,
and wild strawberries, drops of wine, the dew.
The nettles that methodically overgrow
the abandoned homesteads of exiles.
You must praise the mutilated world.
You watched the stylish yachts and ships;
one of them had a long trip ahead of it,
while salty oblivion awaited others.
You’ve seen the refugees heading nowhere,
you’ve heard the executioners sing joyfully.
You should praise the mutilated world.
Remember the moments when we were together
in a white room and the curtain fluttered.
Return in thought to the concert where music flared.
You gathered acorns in the park in autumn
and leaves eddied over the earth’s scars.
Praise the mutilated world
and the grey feather a thrush lost,
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes
and returns.
—Adam Zagajewski

My friend Kari posted this poem last week, and that night, I came across it in the last section of Caroline Kennedy’s lovely poetry anthology She Walks in Beauty. Then it showed up in Shelf Awareness on Friday, as all of Boston waited with bated breath for the police to catch the second bombing suspect. I have been thinking about it ever since, as I move through this world we live in, so beautiful and yet so broken.

Life is, mostly, back to “business as usual” in Boston. This is a tough town, as the new city motto – Boston Strong – indicates. It will take more than a bombing to put it off-kilter for long. But alongside the displays of strength and courage, the grief lingers.

On Monday afternoon, I gathered with colleagues in the small garden next to our building for a moment of silence, as many others across the city did the same. Our dean read the names of the fallen, and then we all stood still and silent as the church bells began to ring. Above us, the sun skittered in and out of the clouds as we stood huddled in our coats. The weight of our grief was palpable. And yet I felt profoundly grateful to be there, sharing this moment with my community.

Our world is beautiful, and it is broken. We cannot always prevent or heal the brokenness, but I believe we can find solace in praise.

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April reading roundup #2

The Yonahlossee Riding Camp for Girls, Anton Disclafani
After a family tragedy, 15-year-old Thea Atwell is sent from her secluded Florida home to a riding camp/boarding school. Away from her parents and twin brother for the first time, she gradually learns to live with the other girls, while reflecting on the scandal that brought her there. Full of dark secrets and beautiful writing; Thea is a complex, compelling narrator. To review for Shelf Awareness (out June 4).

Love Over Scotland, Alexander McCall Smith
The third 44 Scotland St. novel finds anthropologist Domenica studying the habits of pirates in the Strait of Malacca, Pat beginning her university course, and Matthew making a few disastrous fashion decisions. Gentle humor and philosophical questions, as always, abound. Good fun.

Smile at Strangers: And Other Lessons in the Art of Living Fearlessly, Susan Schorn
All her life, Susan Schorn wrestled with fear and anxiety. When she took up karate at a women-only dojo in Austin, she not only found a way to address her fear: she discovered an entirely new framework for life. Her smart, witty memoir traces her journey as a karate student and teacher, with plenty of pithy, often paradoxical life lessons and hilarious anecdotes. To review for Shelf Awareness (out May 28).

She Walks in Beauty: A Woman’s Journey Through Poems, ed. Caroline Kennedy
Kennedy has gathered her favorite poems under a dozen or so headings (“Falling in Love,” “Breaking Up,” “Marriage,” “Work,” “Motherhood,” etc.), with essays introducing each section. Some sections felt a bit trite, but I loved others, such as “Growing Up and Growing Old” and especially the last section, “How to Live.” A wide range of poems from different eras, and an interesting array of perspectives on womanhood.

Hattie Ever After, Kirby Larson
After a stint on a homestead claim in Montana (in Hattie Big Sky), orphan and aspiring writer Hattie Brooks heads to San Francisco to pursue her dreams. She starts out as a night janitress at a big newspaper, but quickly progresses to cub reporter – even gaining a few scoops. Hattie is a spunky heroine, but at times she seemed overly and improbably naive. Fun, but not as compelling as the original.

Among the Janeites: A Journey Through the World of Jane Austen Fandom, Deborah Yaffe
Although Deborah Yaffe was a longtime Austen fan, she had no idea how huge, diverse and sometimes bizarre the Janeite world could be. But she explores the spectrum of Austenmania in this fascinating blend of memoir and reportage. She interviews Jane fans ranging from pedantic academics to a Texan who orders custom-made Regency gowns every year. She also shares her travails with a Regency ball gown (and corset). Witty, informative and warmhearted. Jane would approve. To review for Shelf Awareness (out Sept. 10).

Garlic, Mint, and Sweet Basil: Essays on Marseilles, the Mediterranean, and Noir Fiction, Jean-Claude Izzo
These are more like mini-essays – snippets of Izzo’s thoughts about Marseilles (his beloved, multiethnic home), the cuisine and culture of the Mediterranean region, which bridges Europe and Africa; and one scene featuring the protagonist of his noir novels. Some lovely sentences and images of Marseilles, mostly relating to food (see title), but the substance here felt lacking.

The World According to Bertie, Alexander McCall Smith
Our fourth visit to Scotland Street finds Bertie adjusting to the birth of his baby brother, Ulysses, while Angus Lordie fights to clear the name of his dog, Cyril, who has been impounded for biting people. I love these books for their gentle musings on our everyday interactions with one another and the philosophical questions arising from those. McCall’s love for Edinburgh is evident in every page.

The House at the End of Hope Street, Menna van Praag
The titular magical house in Cambridge, England, is visible only to those women who need it and managed by Peggy, a wise, white-haired mother figure with a weakness for cream. Alba, a young, timid student, finds herself there after a serious betrayal. Gradually she (and the house’s other guests) regain the courage to face their fears, helped by the house’s former residents, who dispense advice through their Hogwarts-esque talking portraits. Whimsical and wonderfully bookish.

Imperfect Harmony: Finding Happiness Singing with Others, Stacy Horn
Though she only has a so-so voice and she’s not religious, Stacy Horn has sung with the choir of Grace Church in New York City for more than 30 years. Her memoir explores the joy we derive from group singing, with asides about the history of singing societies in the U.S. and the lives of several composers. As a singer, I enjoyed this book, though I got a bit tired of the author’s protesting-too-much assertions of agnosticism.

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The maps of our private worlds

Regular maps have few surprises; their contour lines
Reveal where the Andes are, and are reasonably clear
On the location of Australia, and the Outer Hebrides;
Such maps abound; more precious, though,
Are the unpublished maps we make ourselves,
Of our city, our place, our daily world, our life;
Those maps of our private world
We use every day; here I was happy, in that place
I left my coat behind after a party,
That is where I met my love; I cried there once,
I was heartsore; but felt better round the corner
Once I saw the hills of Fife across the Forth,
Things of that sort, our personal memories,
That make the private tapestry of our lives.

—Angus Lordie, in Love Over Scotland, Alexander McCall Smith

I’ve been working my way through the 44 Scotland Street series. So far, each entry in the series has concluded with a party at the titular address, at which Angus Lordie, eccentric portrait painter, sometime poet and owner of Cyril, the gold-toothed dog, stands up to deliver a poem.

Angus muses, as McCall Smith does throughout the books, on the small, everyday interactions and decisions that make up our lives. In most chapters, nothing particularly grand or dramatic happens to the characters as they move through Scotland Street and the rest of Edinburgh. Rather, they go to work or school, visit their favorite cafes or bars, interact with family members and friends, face the small crises and irritations we all face in the course of a given week. This series is no epic tale: it is a tribute to the small beauties of the quotidian, the “private tapestry of our lives.”

Since moving to Boston, I have been piecing together my own mental map of the city, first as a means of navigating unfamiliar terrain: this subway line will take you here, these streets intersect at a certain point, this highway exit will lead me home. When I began working downtown, spending my weekdays close to the Common, the map grew infinitely more detailed and colorful. I can point you to my favorite hill on the west side of the Common, my favorite stand at the Copley Square farmer’s market. I grew to recognize the employees at my favorite bookshop, the corner burrito joint, the Starbucks in my building. I have a particular knowledge of that tangle of streets I roamed for two years.

Since starting my new job in Harvard Square, I have been drawing a new map: different routes to work from the subway station, good places to grab lunch or a cup of tea or a chai latte, bookshops and boutiques to browse. Now that the weather is warming up, I am noticing budding trees, electric yellow forsythia, bright pink azaleas. Every week I discover something new. None of these discoveries are particularly earth-shaking, but they are important, and they are mine.

Last week’s terrible events left me, along with other Bostonians, shaken and bewildered, tense and sad. We still don’t understand (we may never understand) why Boston, why the Marathon, why the bombs. But we are back at work, riding the subway, walking across the Common and Harvard Square, cheering on the Red Sox at Fenway, going about our lives. We are pulling out, and adding to, those maps of our private worlds, so quotidian and also so precious. We are heartsore, but we are still here, still living. And we are grateful.

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Poetry Friday: Amy Lowell

September, 1918

This afternoon was the colour of water falling through sunlight;

The trees glittered with the tumbling of leaves;

The sidewalks shone like alleys of dropped maple leaves,

And the houses ran along them laughing out of square, open windows.

Under a tree in the park,

Two little boys, lying flat on their faces,

Were carefully gathering red berries
To put in a pasteboard box.

Some day there will be no war,

Then I shall take out this afternoon

And turn it in my fingers,

And remark the sweet taste of it upon my palate,

And note the crisp variety of its flights of leaves.

To-day I can only gather it

And put it into my lunch-box,

For I have time for nothing
But the endeavour to balance myself
Upon a broken world.

—Amy Lowell

In light of this week’s events in Boston (which are still unfolding this morning), it strikes me that in the midst of our broken world, the gathering and savoring of such days is just as important as the ongoing endeavor to balance ourselves amid the brokenness.

My friend Kari has also posted a poem that speaks eloquently to this week: Adam Zagajewski’s “Try to Praise the Mutilated World.”

Wishing you a peaceful weekend, friends. Be well.

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Poetry Friday: Wordsworth

The Tables Turned (An Evening Scene on the Same Subject)

(A response to “Expostulation and Reply.”)

Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books;
Or surely you’ll grow double:
Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;
Why all this toil and trouble?

The sun, above the mountain’s head,
A freshening lustre mellow
Through all the long green fields has spread,
His first sweet evening yellow.

Books! ’tis a dull and endless strife:
Come, hear the woodland linnet,
How sweet his music! on my life,
There’s more of wisdom in it.

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
He, too, is no mean preacher:
Come forth into the light of things,
Let Nature be your teacher.

She has a world of ready wealth,
Our minds and hearts to bless—
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
Truth breathed by cheerfulness.

One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can.

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;
Our meddling intellect
Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:–
We murder to dissect.

Enough of Science and of Art;
Close up those barren leaves;
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.

This is my favorite Wordsworth poem, especially at this time of year, when the budding trees and plants are begging for “a heart that watches and receives.” I love books, probably more than the next person, but I believe there is a time to set them aside and soak up the loveliness and wisdom of nature. (Though it’s turned chilly again in Boston, and I am hoping for more warm weather soon.)

Also, this poem fits perfectly with my word for the year – attention.

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Poetry Friday: Messenger

April is National Poetry Month, and I love a good poem. So on Fridays this month, I’ll be bringing you a few of my favorites. (Here are some poetry posts from last April.)

Messenger

My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird —
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,

which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.

—Mary Oliver

I also read more poetry than usual during Poetry Month. This year, that means dipping into Caroline Kennedy’s anthology She Walks in Beauty, eyeing David Whyte’s The House of Belonging, and revisiting favorites by Collins, Frost, Dickinson and others.

What poems do you love? Who are your favorite poets?

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Dear March

Dear March — Come in —
How glad I am —
I hoped for you before —
Put down your Hat —
You must have walked —
How out of Breath you are —
Dear March, how are you, and the Rest —
Did you leave Nature well —
Oh March, Come right up stairs with me —
I have so much to tell —

 

I got your Letter, and the Birds —
The Maples never knew that you were coming —
I declare — how Red their Faces grew —
But March, forgive me —
And all those Hills you left for me to Hue —
There was no Purple suitable —
You took it all with you —

Who knocks? That April.
Lock the Door —
I will not be pursued —
He stayed away a Year to call
When I am occupied —

But trifles look so trivial
As soon as you have come

That blame is just as dear as Praise
And Praise as mere as Blame —

—Emily Dickinson

These photos are more wishful thinking than reality in Boston, at the moment. Our view is more on the order of bare branches and piles of fresh snow. But I cling to the hope that the rest of March – or “that April” – will bring sunshine and flowers and green grass.

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Poem for winter

Walking Home from Oak-Head
by Mary Oliver

There is something
about the snow-laden sky
in winter
in the late afternoon

that brings to the heart elation
and the lovely meaninglessness
of time.
Whenever I get home — whenever —

somebody loves me there.
Meanwhile
I stand in the same dark peace
as any pine tree,

or wander on slowly
like the still unhurried wind,
waiting,
as for a gift,

for the snow to begin
which it does
at first casually,
then, irrepressibly.

Wherever else I live —
in music, in words,
in the fires of the heart,
I abide just as deeply

in this nameless, indivisible place,
this world,
which is falling apart now,
which is white and wild,

which is faithful beyond all our expressions of faith,
our deepest prayers.
Don’t worry, sooner or later I’ll be home.
Red-cheeked from the roused wind,

I’ll stand in the doorway
stamping my boots and slapping my hands,
my shoulders
covered with stars.

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Winter vacation reading

(This really means “week before vacation and vacation” reading, and/or “The Final Book Roundup of 2012.”)

The Secret Keeper, Kate Morton
As a teenager in 1961, Laurel Nicolson sees her mother kill a man. She doesn’t know who he was or why he came to their house – and the family never speaks of it again. Forty years later, as her mother begins to slip away, Laurel and her brother begin a feverish search for answers. This was my first Morton novel and I loved it – so evocative of both modern-day England and London during the Blitz. The sibling dynamics are perfectly drawn, and there were a couple of brilliant, dramatic twists. Utterly absorbing. (I received a galley from the publisher, but was not compensated for this review.)

All Shall Be Well, Deborah Crombie
I tore through this second book featuring the Scotland Yard team of Duncan Kincaid and Gemma James. They investigate the death of Kincaid’s terminally ill neighbor Jasmine, from a lethal dose of morphine. She had considered (and mentioned) suicide, but the details add up to homicide instead. Better plotted, better written and more interesting than the first one, with more insights into Kincaid’s and Gemma’s lives. (I wonder – especially since the writer is a woman – why she calls him “Kincaid” and her “Gemma.” Perhaps it’s my feminist self being nitpicky?)

At Bertram’s Hotel, Agatha Christie
Miss Marple, staying at the posh, old-world titular London hotel, observes a number of strange events that add up to a murder case. As usual, she solves the crime with keen observation and unruffled calm. Dashing celebrities, foggy nights, fast cars and lots of secrets make this an entertaining mystery.

A Thousand Mornings, Mary Oliver
Oliver’s newest collection is full of lyrical observations, several elegies to a beloved dog, and the nature imagery for which she is known. I didn’t love it quite as much as Thirst, which blew me away, but it was still quite lovely.

The Game, Laurie R. King
Sherlock Holmes and Mary Russell travel to India, to search for an Irish spy who has disappeared – none other than the title character of Kipling’s Kim. They travel in the guise of gypsy musicians, stay at a maharaja’s palace, and encounter a dizzying array of characters, both friend and foe. This is a fabulous adventure story and a brilliant tribute to Holmes’ and Russell’s ability to think on their feet. One of my favorites in the series.

Locked Rooms, Laurie R. King
Fresh from their Indian adventure (above), Holmes and Russell land in San Francisco, so Russell can deal with matters relating to her family’s property there. But a series of disturbing dreams forces her to rethink her memories of childhood, and of the car wreck that killed her family. A dazzling portrait of San Francisco in the early 20th century, both before and after the 1906 earthquake. I loved the exploration of Russell’s character and her family history, and the Chinese bookseller, Mr. Long.

The Language of Bees, Laurie R. King
Arriving home at last, Holmes and Russell can’t rest for long: Holmes’ grown son Damian, whom he has met only once before, turns up on their doorstep asking for his father’s help. As they search for Damian’s missing wife and child, Russell doubts Damian’s innocence and worries over Holmes’ refusal to suspect his son. Not my favorite of the series – the plot involves a creepy cult, and the ending is literally “to be continued.” But I’ll still read The God of the Hive to find out what happens.

A Fatal Grace, Louise Penny
Chief Inspector Armand Gamache returns to the village of Three Pines (introduced in Still Life) to solve another murder, this one of a self-styled, self-centered design guru whom no one liked. Many characters from Still Life reappeared, but for some reason this story fell rather flat for me. Perhaps it was too similar to the first, or I was simply irritated at several plot threads left dangling. I do like Gamache, though: he’s a thoughtful, wise character.

What did you read over your vacation, if you had one?

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