More Greedy Reading.

I am an unashamed bookaholic. After I described myself that way on an earlier post Snowbrush told me that in fact I am a bibliophile.  Perhaps.  But bookaholic is an accurate description of my obsessive need for books.

 
If I am pretending to be couth and sophisticated I might talk about eclectic or omnivorous reading tastes.  Greedy is more truthful.

I read fiction and non fiction and from a wide range of genres.  There are ones I prefer, but few I won't attempt.  I read every day and frequently neglect other things to do so.

These are some of the very different books which I have devoured recently.  By coincidence only one of the ones I am featuring today is fiction.

Identical Strangers was a book I picked up at a closing down sale.  Like many 'singletons' I am fascinated by twins, and over the years have read quite a lot about them.

This one filled me with rage.  Elyse Schein had always known she was adopted.  In her mid-thirties she set about searching for her biological mother and opened a very big can of worms.  She discovered that she had a twin.  An identical twin.

They, and far too many others including some triplets, had been separated at birth as part of a secret study conducted by influential psychiatrists into the 'nature/nuture' conundrum, and because of a theory that 'twinship' imposes a burden on both the children and their families.  And the adoptive parents hadn't been told either.   As an aside, despite being reared apart and by very different families Elyse and her twin were remarkably similar.

Given that twins have been seen in sonogram images kissing, punching, embracing it is clear that their connection begins before their birth.  Mengele did some monstrous studies of twins in Nazi concentration camps during World War 2.  However, this study took place in the US as recently as the 1970s.  Hiss and spit.   

The Shepherd's Crown is the very last book written by (Sir) Terry Pratchett.  When he died in March of this year I, like many other people grieved.  And was grateful that he was finally free of the 'embuggerance' of Alzheimer's disease.  It is the final novel in the 'Tiffany Aching' series of Discworld novels.  A series supposedly designed for younger readers, but enjoyed by people of all ages, me included.  This last novel is perhaps not as polished as it would have become had he lived longer - but still a must read.  And it somehow seems appropriate to me that Sir Terry and Granny Weatherwax died together.
 

The last two are books written by talented people I found here in the blogosphere, the first by Robyn Alana Engel and the second by Mark Koopmans.  Both of these authors were generous enough to send me a copy of their work.  

So many authors lurk in the blogosphere, and tempt, educate and delight me.  I have other works by bloggers in my unread towers too.  And will get to them.

Robyn says that she doesn't like memoirs.  I love them.  She has written something which I would describe as a memoir and she would describe as memoirish.  I do seem to have developed a habit of arguing with authors.

Like many of us she was fed the fairy story that somewhere there is a Prince Charming.  A Prince Charming who would find her, sweep her off her feet, and marry her.  And they would live happily ever after.  Not a happening thing.

I read it with laughter, tears, and a recognition that I am not/we are not alone in feeling robbed by those fairy stories we were repeatedly fed.  It is definitely funny, equally sad (in a bitter sweet way) and very, very real.

And the cover photo?  That is Robyn.  In her wedding dress.  Which is covered in the chocolate which has been sweeter, more nourishing, more reliable and consistent than the men in her life.  So far.

I am going to approach this a little differently and tell you all the reasons I *shouldn't* have liked Revival.  And note I say shouldn't not didn't.

I am not musical.  Music is not an essential to me as it is to so many others.  I watch very little television, and reality shows are low on the list of programs I do watch.  I am at least an agnostic and more probably an atheist.

Revival tells the story of Donald Braswell.  He graduated from Julliard and the 'Texas Tenor' looked set to have a spectacular career as a singer - he had been compared to Pavarotti.  A run-in with a hit and run driver left him lying in a ditch.  Most of his injuries healed relatively quickly.  However, his voice was gone.  And with it the future he expected and planned.  Understandably he gave in to depression and despair.

After the birth of his first child Braswell turned his life around - with a lot of help from his amazing wife, friends, co-workers - and his faith. He worked in jobs well outside his training and his comfort zone.  Perhaps the most dramatic part of the memoir was learning that Donald's wife nominated him to appear on America's Got Talent.  And appear he did.  And you will have to read the book to find out how he did. 

So you see why I say I shouldn't have been tempted by, or enjoyed this work?  Fortunately I don't follow rules well.  Mark featured excerpts from the book (then a work in progress) in this year's A to Z challenge.  I read every post and wanted more. 

I am so glad that he was intrigued by the story and persistent enough to badger Donald Braswell to let him tell it.  So much of Donald's story is alien to me, but I was fascinated by it.  I marvelled, I wept, I smiled and closed it reluctantly. 

Book Hoarder

A friend who knows me well sent me this recently.

And how right she was.  I am a bookaholic and find it much, much easier to acquire books than I do to give them up.  However, before I launch into a discussion of some of the books I have reading, I am going to digress and express my heart felt sympathies to my friend - and everyone who lives in her city.

My friend has book hoarding tendencies herself, and is instilling the same habit in her boys.  She and her family live in Napa and have rather more on their plates than books at the moment.    On Sunday an earthquake measuring 6.0 on the Richter Scale hit their city, which must have been terrifying.  This first shot is inside their house.

And the next inside their garage.

It seems that whatever could fall down did.  Including some things that no-one expected to fall.  The clean-up and repair work ahead of them is huge - and daunting.  My heart goes out to them.  However the whole family, their dog and their cats are safe.  Which is what matters.

I hope that the clean-up, tidy-up and repairs for them, and for everyone affected, goes smoothly, and that life resumes an even (not rocking, lurching or crashing) keel soon.

Returning to my bookaholic ways.  I always have at least two (and often more) books on the go at once.  They can be fiction or non-fiction and I don't restrict myself to any particular genre either.  I have favourites, but few restrictions.  I read for education, comfort, beauty, escape, humour and delight.  And achieve it.  Often.

I read every day, no matter how busy I am (or should be) and regardless of how I am feeling.  These are some of the books which have been taking me away from domestic duties recently.

The first, The London Jungle Book by Bhajju Shyam was one that  Dinahmow flagged as one that I might like.  And how right she was.

Bhajju Shyam is an artist from the Gond tribe in Central India, and this book reflects his first encounter with a western metropolis, and with international travel.
He went to London to paint murals in an Indian Restaurant and the book is a visual travelogue - and a delight.  The Gond traditional way of thinking and painting says that reality is less important than how things are seen and perceived by the onlooker.  Accordingly, the things that were important to him were drawn much larger than other things.... so a train can be smaller than a human, and thoughts can be expressed as birds - carrying him in all sort of directions ever higher.
He saw, and drew the airport as a huge bird of prey.  An eagle which swallows the humans who line up to be let inside.  Not a perspective I had ever considered - but it made a heap of sense to me.

As did his discussion about 'becoming a foreigner'.  He had seen foreigners before but when he landed in London he discovered that his colour was different, and that his language had been taken away.  He had become a foreigner!!!

The cover to the book is taken from his illustration of Big Ben - the temple of time.  He has a watch - but his symbol of time is a rooster, which wakes you up at sunrise and allows the day to follow its course.
This slim book is a pictorial and philosophical delight.  I have read it several times - and get more from it each and every time.

The next is Kate Atkinson's Life after Life.

I think I have read most of her books - and am likely to continue.  She is a very varied author.  Varied subjects, and her 'voice' and style changes with each novel as well.

This one I had reservations about after reading the blurb.  'What if you had the chance to live your life again and again, until you finally got it right?'

And I was wrong to doubt her.  The books starts with a snowstorm in England in 1910.  A baby is born.  The baby dies before her first breath.
During that same snowstorm, a baby is born - and survives.
And we follow that baby and her family through to 1945.  Characters die, characters get second, third and further chances.  Some fundamental things change, and some retain a form of permanence.

That baby grows up, and develops/acquires a strong sense of deja vue.   Which causes difficulties.

As I said, I had reservations when I picked it up.  I wondered whether it would descend into confusion or mawkishness.  Which it didn't.  There was one time slip/life relived that I found unsatisying, but only one.  Ambitious, and gripping.

My next featured book is again courtesy of Dinahmow.  A gift.  The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern.

The Night Circus arrives without fanfare or warning.  It simply appears.  Materialises.   Within the black-and-white striped canvas tents is an utterly unique experience. It is called Le Cirque des Rêves, and it is only open at night. And is a circus like no other.

Behind the scenes, a fierce competition is underway: a duel between two young magicians.  The rules are uncertain, the goal is uncertain.  And, for much of the book the magicians are not certain who they will be competing against.  Or what the prize will be.  Or the cost of losing.

It is a highly descriptive book.  Sometimes lyrical, sometimes foreboding.  Always complex.  

And I loved it.  And would go to that circus if ever I got the chance.  Again and again.

Thank you Di.  Very much.

And the final book to this post is different again. Heart Sick by Chelsea Cain.

 I have a weakness for murder mysteries.  My uncertain memory means that I am not certain who dies, let alone who the culprit is so I can read them again and again. 

Gretchen Lowell, a serial killer, captures her last victim.  The man who was in charge of hunting her down.  She tortures and maims him, just as she has her other victims.  And then, instead of killing him, calls for medical assistance - and hands herself in, and is sentenced to life imprisonment.

Two years later, he is back at work.  Searching for another serial killer.  And as he searches we learn more about his time in captivity.  And more about his captor.  

I understand that there are more novels in this series also featuring Gretchen.  It is a fascinating premise, but I am not certain whether I am strong enough to read them.  This was apparently Chelsea Cain's debut and it is clever.  And very, very nasty. 

It is crowded inside my head - and every thing I read feeds, nurtures, sustains that crowd.  And gives rise to further growth.  Which I think is a good thing.