The Night Circus

Once again I close a new cherished story with a sigh and wish it wasn't over.  The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern has enthusiastically made its way onto the "favorites" shelf in my library and when I come across a copy in my shopping excursions, I will buy it to keep.

It's a story about love and magic.  About a fantastical circus that roams the world without a planned agenda and once you have seen it, you are hooked.  The circus opens at night and closes at dawn; there is no color, only black and white (although after a few years, the patrons who are truly obsessed, wear a splash of red along with their b/w outfits to show their love and devotion.)

Two magicians have competed against each other for countless years, raising protoge's who "battle" their magical abilities in a contained venue.  The latest competition is held at the Night Circus, Le Cirque des Reves.

Celia is raised by her father after being orphaned at the age of 5 by a mother who died of a broken heart.  Marco is plucked from an orphanage as a yongster as well.  Both children are raised in a solitary environment, learning how to perfect their magical abilities.  They are told that one day they will compete against another, thought they have to discover their opponant on their own. 

Almost every chapter contains a date.  I didn't follow this as closely as I should have, so I found myself trying to play a bit of catch-up at times, as the story goes back and forth in time a bit.  When I read it again, I may create a little timeline so I can understand this wonderful tale even more. 

Stories can capture our hearts and change who we are as people.  Towards the end of the book, one of the master magician's says this to one of the minor chracters:

 You may tell a tale that takes up residence in someone's soul, becomes their blood and self and purpose.  That tale will move them and drive them and who knows what the might do because of it, because of your words.  . . . There are many kinds of magic, after all.

Indeed.  This is the driving force behind my decision to become a Librarian.  I love books and stories and how they can affect a person's life. 

If you want a book that may make you sigh wistfully when it's over, holding it close to your chest for just a moment before reluctantly letting it go, (and you are a romantic at heart), I heartily recommend that you read The Night Circus.  It's beautiful.

Thanks for listening.

Cutting Those Emotional Ties . . .

After many years of putting it off, I went through my cookbooks and ruthlessly pulled about 30 aside to donate to the BookSwap being held at my school this week.  I was amazed, kinda, at the emotional ties I have to so many of them, even ones I never made recipes from or found anything good to cook out of them.

It all started when E planted the seed of clearing out cookbooks from the baker's rack in our kitchen, mentioning that I could put kitchen appliances in their stead.  Now for those of you who don't know my secrets, most of my kitchen appliances are kept in a small closet in our bedroom, along with the luggage and dirty clothes basket.  Not so cool, I know, but when you're a kitchen goddess who can't bear to get rid of her veggie juicer, even when you haven't made juice in years, storage can be an issue.  Need the crockpot?  Top shelf.  Need the stand mixer?  Bottom shelf.  Got the picture?  So when E basically dared me to part with some of my precious collection, at first I balked, then took a closer look.

I pulled the three that belonged to him first.  "Do you still want these?"  I had no emotional tie to them, even the 49ers one I gave to him years ago.  He's never made anything out of it.  His two salsa/hot stuff books?  They can go.  Nope.  He wanted to keep them.  Then I pulled a few of my own down.  I perused through a few I had inherited from my paternal grandmother.  Hadn't made anything out of them since bringing them home (and according to my Aunt, all those sticky-noted pages represented pipe dreams as well.)  Ok, flip through the pages.  Would I cook this?  Nope.  Would I cook that?  Maybe, but not likely.  It's outta here.  It got easier as I went along.

Then there's the books that have a gem or two inside.  Do I really need to hold onto the whole book or can I print out the recipes and put them in my master folder, making space for my rice cooker on the shelves . . .?  I started typing and printing.

I worked through my nostalgic feelings that arose when I discarded the first cookbook I ever owned.  I was in high school, it was a Hershey's baking cookbook that my grandpa had gotten free as a giveaway at his bank.  I thumbed through it.  None of the recipes had stars or anything more positive than "ok" written on the sides.  It could go.  (Sigh.)

How about the Indian cookbook?  (I adore Indian fare, but am far more likely to go out to get it.)  The Elena's Secrets of Mexican Cookery?  Maybe my mom wants it.  The Ice Cream book?  My sister-in-law is really into making ice cream . . .and I'm seeing them both this weekend . . .

And on it went.  I didn't clear out any Cooks Illustrated cookbooks or magazines, nor any of my gorgeous baking books.  My reference books are to keep (even though I lost almost all respect for A Joy of Cooking after seeing "Julie and Julia").

And then there's The Vegetarian Epicure by Anna Thomas, the definitive hippy cookbook, which my mom gave me at the start of my vegetarian phase (which is a whole other posting in and of itself).  The only recipe I can't live without from this book is the pancakes.  Oh, the pancakes.  The ultimate pancakes, in my mind.  (And just to confess, every time I grab the instant pancake mix, I wish for these beauties instead.)  So.  I typed it up and printed it out.  I resisted the urge to print it out twice.  The page is spattered with melted butter marks and my mouth waters just thinking about them.  Before adding the book to the pile by the door, I double-checked to make sure I hadn't forgotten any other gems.  I found a note written in October of 1997 next to a recipe for "simple vinaigrette sauce", a quote from my dear sister-friend Lisa B.  She said, "A nasal cleanser--I need a beer now."  I chuckled and decided I didn't need to copy this recipe down.

I'll haul the books to school in the morning, cross my name out front covers and hope the kids have as much fun in the kitchen as I have.  Thanks for listening and wish me luck going through my tins of cookie cutters . . . I have a feeling my crockpot will be living in my kitchen real soon.  

What's More Romantic Than Hitchcock?

We celebrated Valentine's Day early this year.  Last month, while at the movies with my son, I noticed an advertisement at my favorite local discount theater that they were going to show "Psycho" on February 12th and 13th.  Oh yeah, baby.  There was no way I was going to miss Hitchcock on the big screen.

"Really?!  We're going to see "Psycho" for Valentine's Day?  Should I be scared?" was the response from my beloved when I let him know of the plans.  He was pretty stoked on the idea, as long as we didn't act it out later. 

I've seen "Psycho" numerous times, but there's just something about seeing a favorite movie on the big screen that is a whole different experience.  With none of the distractions of watching a movie at home, I was really able to get into it.  There was no surround sound.  It was grainy and the film was a bit scratched in places.  I can't remember the last black and white movie I've seen in a theater.  Knowing what was going to happen next just added to the suspense.  Seeing Leigh's wide, dead eye, upside down, filling the screen, as her body lies sprawled out of the shower after being stabbed by "mother" is just fabulous.  The camera turns right-side-up (and I swear I saw her eye flicker) and pans out to see her lifeless body.  The chocolate syrup blood running down the shower drain . . . perfect. 

I'm not a horror movie fan.  Previews for the flicks my middle-schoolers are dying to see leave me cold and seriously creeped out.  I spent too many years getting over being a fearful person to immerse myself in 1 1/2 hours of psychotic killing or demonic possession of mothers. 

I make exceptions for Hitchcock, however.  The way he used personal space (or lack of) and strange camera angles keep it great.  He uses the power of our imaginations to terrify us.  He doesn't need to show us every little gory detail.  We can fill in the blanks perfectly fine ourselves. 

My hubby started dozing off about 3/4 of the way into the movie.  When he ordered Sake during dinner, I knew it was inevitable.  Something about the dark and comfy chairs tends to lead him into dreamland for a bit during almost all movies.  (I am guilty of this from time to time as well.)  But there was no way he was going to be allowed to sleep when Mother's corpse was about to be discovered in the basement!  "Wake up!," I hissed.  "How can you protect me when you're sleeping!!!???".  He smiled and held me close.  "I wasn't really sleeping."  Yeah, right.

I really hope the theatre starts showing more classic Hitchcock.  Seeing "Rear Window" or "Rope" on the big screen would be fabulous.  Maybe I should send in a request.  Or maybe I should start playing the lottery and build us a movie room at home.  Nah.  Not the same thing.

Thanks for listening.

How Many Times can a Book Break Your Heart?

When I first saw the preview's for the movie "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close", my first instinct was to avoid this movie.  Although I enjoy Sandra Bullock and Tom Hanks, who co-star in it, the theme was 9/11, a topic, like the Holocaust, which is very hard for me to digest without a horrible stomachache and a lot of tears.

My husband, E, upon seeing the preview, said, "You might want to see this movie."  "No way," I said.  Can't handle the 9/11 theme, but my subconscious started chewing on what I had seen and I realized that I had already read the book, years ago, and had really been touched by it.

I ordered a copy for my school library, barcoded it, then set down to "review" it for my students.  (I love how my homework is to read books.  My job rules.)

Very quickly, the plot came back to me.  Nine-year-old Oskar Schell's father died in 9/11.  Oskar and his father had a pretty amazing relationship.  Being an only child, his father spent in inordinate amount of time with him, creating quests that took the boy all over NYC.  His father's death, however, and a mysterious key found in a cryptic envelope in his father's closet, sends Oskar on the wildest and most emotional journey yet.

Determined to discover what the key is for, Oskar meets people of every possible type.  Oskar himself is quite an unusual child, constantly creating in his mind new inventions, like parachutes for skyscrapers and water from your shower that was chemically treated to turn your skin the color of your mood, which would be helpful to signal to others when to be gentle with you, as well as to help you figure out how, exactly, you are feeling.

Interspersed with the story are photos representing what the character is experiencing at the time, as well as a story written by Oskar's grandfather for his unborn son, whom he abandoned before his birth.

"You look upset. Is anything wrong?"  I wanted to say, "Of course,"  I wanted to ask, "Is anything right?"

 

This book is a bit on on the adult side, so I may limit its check-outs to 8th graders only, and let them know there is some content they might not yet be ready for (sex) but I have found that the students here who can actually finish a book, are probably ready to read what I have in here.

As far as seeing the movie?  Yeah, I'll do it.  I might sit in the back row, by myself, with a box of tissues, but I feel I owe it to Oskar to relive his journey one more time.

Thanks for listening.

Who Would I be Without Books?

Sometimes I wonder who I would be if I wasn't a reader.  Decidedly less dimensional, and probably more bored with life, I've decided.

Where would my mind wander if I wasn't immersed in the safe world of others' drama (without the messy drawback of being emotionally tied to them in real life)?  When the game is on TV or conversation lags, my brain flits back to the unfinished story in my car or by my bed, working the plot pieces like a puzzle, happy both when I figure out that I was indeed right about what happens next or if it turns out I was clueless.

Right now I am fully involved in two plot lines.  (Three, if you count Discordia, which I am reading with my son.)  As usual these days, when reading something really good, I think, "I should blog about this book."  Problem is, I am often on to another book right away and my interest in sharing with you what I just experienced fades into memory.  So why wait until the stories are over before telling you about them?  I am excited about the plots right now.  Maybe I'll write more to you when I've finished the books, but probably not.  Maybe they will seem even more enticing to you with little clue as to the finale.

Right now in my truck, I am on disk 10 of the 20 disk audio version of The Lonely Polygamist by Brady Udall.  Who isn't fascinated by the world of polygamy?   As a person who loves books with intricate characters and their interactions with what life has in store for them, this book rocks.  Goldie (short for Golden) has 4 wives (and is being pressured to take on a 5th), 28 children (not counting the 4 stillborn or the daughter who died young and tragically), and is attracted to his boss's wife.  (This may make him sound like a scandalous scoundrel, but he is isn't.)  Raised by a chronically depressed mother who was abandoned by her fortune hunting husband, Goldie grew up overly tall for his age and decidedly less social than those around him.  (The school authorities let his mother keep him out of school because she was very difficult to deal with.)  When Goldie is about 17, he discovers letters from his dad, including money and a plane ticket to Vegas.  Innocent and awkward, he leaves mom without notice and goes to live with dad, who is now very rich and has survived booze and too many women and has become Mormon. 

The plot zig-zags back and forth in time, filling in the blanks of the Goldie's life.  Other chapters are from the point of view of 11-year-old Rusty, one of Goldie's son's, who is so desperate for attention and physical contact that he acts out in a myriad of ways.  Goldie's fourth wife, Trish, also has a voice in the story.  Lonely and feeling like she has not done her wifely duty, Trish is aching from 3 miscarriages and resentful of the amount of time she has to sacrifice her "Goldie" time with the other wives and their children.

Goldie is awkward, sincere, and a bit socially inept, despite, his huge family.  His attraction for the wife of his boss seems to stem from his need for a calmer and simpler life.  Alternately amusing and heart-wrenching, The Lonely Polygamist is making my commute a pleasure.

During my lunches and free time at home, I am thoroughly enjoying The Scorpio Races by Maggie Stiefvater.  Written for young adults, this hauntingly beautiful story is again, written alternately in chapters by the point of view of different characters.  Kate Connolly (Puck) is reminiscent of an older Scout (To Kill A Mockingbird with her unflinching look at life, sense of humor, adult observations, and gritty spunk.  Puck and her two brothers are recently orphaned and barely managing to keep food in their bellies.  They live on an island that is known for The Scorpio Races, which are like horse races held on the beach, but the horses are capaill uisce (pronounced copple ooshka), which are wild, blood-thirsty beasts who live in the sea and are often captured when they come up to the beach to feed on whatever flesh they can  find.  Sean Patrick, also orphaned, is a strong boy, older than his years, whose gift is to understand the capaill uisce like no-one else can.  When Puck's big brother tells his siblings that he plans to move to the mainland, she impulsively decides to enter into the races, knowing that it will buy her more time with her brother, plus win them some much needed money if she wins.  I am not even halfway through with this book and already it is among my favorites.  The feeling of dangerous foreboding in my stomach at the possible bloody fate of Puck or Sean is offset by humor and witty phrasing.  I know without a doubt that this book will sit on the rack labeled "Mrs. E's Favorites" when it is back in the Library.

I like TV and movies, don't get me wrong.  I get all caught up in plot lines and impatient when I have to wait a week to see the next episode of something that has caught my eye and attention for a time.  But what I think books have done for me and my personality is open my mind the infinite and varied personalities and circumstances that exist.  I know that things are seldom as they seem.  The students in my school who are "acting out" are dealing with so many factors, they themselves are probably not aware of them all, from family dynamics and friendships, to hormones and unexpressed emotions.  Not just the kids, mind you, everyone is so very, very complex, and being a reader has helped me to appreciate it all.

Thanks for listening.