Saturday, September 18, 2010

Book Report

So I promised I wouldn't do a whole year at a time this time. So here's about five weeks worth of reading.

A Visit From the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan. This was a collection of inter-related short stories, one of which I had read before in New Yorker. Confession: I don’t often really enjoy the fiction in the New Yorker. To me it’s usually “OK,” and sometimes “pretty good” and sometimes “what?” (I feel the same about the poetry.) The Jennifer Egan story I had read was of the “pretty good” variety. But put into a collection with other stories that relate somehow, it was much more enjoyable to me. I really like this kind of story cycle. The characters in this book are all sort of tangentially related to the punk music recording scene, or had been at one time. Interesting. Oh, and I need to give a warning—this was quite raunchy at times. Steer clear if you’re sensitive.

Nicholas Nickleby by you-know-who. Well, I’m also not a huge fan of Dickens. I listened to A Tale of Two Cities last year and The Mystery of Edwin Drood a few months ago, so I thought I’d give this audio a try. To sum up my feelings: you can tell when reading or listening to this one that Dickens was paid by the word. Sheesh! So many meanderings and sidetrips. It was quite exasperating. All in all, I think this one wasn’t worth the time. The one good thing about Dickens is you always know that it’s going to be a mostly happy ending.

Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery. I know some of you have raved about this book, so I hope I’m not offending you when I say that I couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. There were some interesting moments, and I enjoyed it the way I enjoy Remains of the Day, only not to the same extent (by a long shot). I liked the interesting characters, and the moral of the story (and there was one, and it was not even subtle). But the forays into philosophy were rather dry and nothing very new or interesting, I thought. I found myself getting impatient with all those sections. If the author had kept to just character and plot and skipped all the philosophical stuff (or integrated it into action better), this could have been a breathtaking book.

Tinkers by Paul Harding. This was a very literary, semi-experimental (read: no arc) “novel” about two men, one who is the son of the other. There are some interesting musings and some interesting scenes, but they just don’t build a story. It reminded me, well, of my own shortcomings as a novelist, and then I laughed when I read that it is the author’s first novel—he is a writing teacher with an MFA from Iowa in poetry. I guess all of us poets struggle with that—making a STORY out of those great scenes and characters and telling details we imagine.

Pop Goes the Weasel: The Secret Meanings of Nursery Rhymes by Albert Jack. I’ve been curious about this subject for years and finally got around to picking up something about it. Occasionally, I was disappointed at the lack of definitive history, but for the most part this was full of interesting stories about the background or possible origins of various nursery rhymes. There was also an interesting section in the back about famous songs like “Yankee Doodle” and “God Save the Queen.” Some of the more interesting things I learned:

“Baa baa black sheep” originally said, “And none for the little boy who lives down the lane,” and was a protest against a tax on wool that impoverished the shepherds who produced it in 1275.

“Hickory Dickory Dock” is about Richard Cromwell, son of Oliver, who reigned ineffectually for one year (“clock struck one”).

The real “Humpty Dumpty” was not a person (or egg!) but a cannon used during the English civil war (1642-51).

“Little Jack Horner” is about Thomas Horner, the servant of the Abbot of Glastonbury. The Abbot, Richard Whyting tried to bribe the king to keep him from dissolving the Abbey. The bribe came in the form of some deeds of land in a pie. Horner was charged with delivering the pie, but he took one of the deeds out for himself before he delivered the pie (abt. 1535).

Old King Cole’s pipe and bowl were actually musical instruments, the bowl being a type of drum used by wandering minstrels.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

What has God got up His sleeve now?

So I didn't get into school. (You know this by now.) And I've been wondering what it is I'm supposed to focus on this year. Yeah, my family. But I learned at the track meet that I need something else as well to put my soul into, so that my children don't carry the whole burden of my self-esteem. So I'm sort of searching, sort of waiting to figure out what this year will be for me.

Meanwhile, God has been clearing my schedule. Within two days, I was released from my cub scout calling (freeing up Tuesdays) and my ESL student moved (freeing up Mondays).

What gives? What should I do now? Should I get a new ESL student? I don't want to do that because I'm hoping to have to drop tutoring next fall to enter school. Should I just bump up the volunteering at the elementary school? Take up genealogy in a major way? Serve at the temple? I just don't feel settled or satisfied by any of these options. I already do a little of each of these, and feel like that's great for this time in my life.

So, what?

I'm open to suggestions.

Sunday, September 12, 2010

I had known it was coming; I just didn't expect it to hurt

Well, I’m understanding Sharlee’s fabulous essay (the title essay in Segullah’s latest, Dance With Them) a little more now. I got the first “you’re standing too close” attitude from my teenager today. I had been braced for it—really, I swear!—but it still blindsided me somehow. He explained that though he enjoys my coming to his meets, I don’t need to stand right by him the whole time.

Of course.

And two things smashed into me at once: first, memories of my own teenage years, the yearning to be separate from my parents and feeling so justified in that yearning—duh, it’s what’s supposed to be happening during these years; I’m trying to be a person here!—all mixed in with discovering my parents were sorta cool and feeling very close to them at times.

And second, the feeling, which probably peaked during my own junior high years, of being a misfit, a leper, the person people don’t want to be seen with, possibly contagious in my nerdiness. The feeling that kept me from associating much with my younger sister in school hallways lest I doom her to contamination.

A feeling of shame.

When I was in high school, I was matched up for ten minutes at a seminary mixer with a guy I had a crush on. It was a great success: I was vivacious and charming, and we had a great conversation. But later the (oh so sweet) boys in my ward told me that they had heard from this boy how disgusting his time with me had been because of the food in my braces.

The horrible, sickening shame, made worse because I had so confidently thought I was succeeding when all along I had been failing miserably—that’s what I felt when my son told me I had stood to close to him during that last meet. I had been so thrilled to be there with him, meeting his friends (and their parents), so happy to show him support. But . . . well, of course.

Stupid, stupid me! I had told myself I had a thick skin and sharp memory, that I wouldn’t take it personally when my son went through this very healthy phase. How stupid for it to hurt!

And so I begin Sharlee’s dance, the push and pull, the holding close but not too close. The showing up at the meet but cheering from a ways back. How I adore that boy—but more than that, I love his whole soul and what it can become. I will let my love and trust give me the strength to stand back a little more. I will be so mature about this.

But, darn it, while he’s at school today I’m going to go have me a good cry.