ponderables and/or irritants of the day

1. no matter what time of day i come into the library there is always at least one person sitting in their car doing nothing, it always makes me rather curious to say the least…

2. as part of our summer reading program we have something called an “i-spy-bottle” sitting at our reference desk: basically a big soda bottle filled with bird seed and twenty small items (things like a stamp, a screw, a game piece, a golf tee, etc…) and people have to find the items and list them on a form to enter for a prize. It is rather difficult to find all the items (i know what they all are and there is still one i have been completely unable to “spy”…) Anyway, what ends up happening, is that all day long we/i have to listen to the very annoying sound of the bottle full of bird seed being shaken and shaken and shaken as people look for tiny items inside. It is enough to give you a raging migraine even if you are not prone to them (and if you have them constantly, well, its enough to drive you into a raving, maniacal, rampaging, homicidal rage…)~if we Ever do this again i'm strongly suggesting sand instead of birdseed (in fact i think i remember making that very suggestion but...oh well...)

3. i keep getting email saying “Now’s a great time to join AARP…” excuse me, but i’m not THERE yet, or at least i don't think i am...perhaps i've slipped into some kind of early senility, or forty is the new sixty now?)

4. speaking of email, why do i get so much spam at my work email and pretty much none at my hotmail address~can’t the I.T. guys work something better out???

5. Mr. NeedsRapToDownload is back and asks me if i have somehow tagged all those cds he asked me about in our system so that now we (don't we just love the use of the plural pronoun here?) can place holds on them. Of course i haven't as there is no way to do that... Damn, and him without his ipod too. Damn! Damn! Damn!

6. there is a woman who always makes a big pile of our newspapers to sit on when she uses our computers which i find a bit distasteful (would you want to read a newspaper a stranger had been sitting on for a couple of hours, or what if someone was looking for one of those newspapers at the time she was using them~she piles up pretty much all the papers she can find.) I can relate to shortness~i am short myself (and i don’t think i have more than an inch on Her) but our computer chairs are adjustable, i’ve showed her how to adjust them every time i tell her to please not use our newspapers as a booster chair, and she’s always SOOO apologetic like it’s the first time she’s ever heard it from me…

7. this guy wants me to locate the dvds he turned in from another library system because "the librarian" told him he could turn them in to "any library" (yes any library in their system) and they haven't shown up yet. "I'm sorry sir, but i have no way to do that," He looks incredulous, "You mean you don't just slap a barcode on them?" yes, because that's what we do with all items that we don't own, that's how we make all of our acquisitions...

8. i'm watching a discussion (is that an oxymoron in this Web 2.0 age?) on one of my bulletin boards about subject limits on books (i.e. an individual can only check out a maximum of three items on one particular subject~it seems a number of libraries do this so that people can not wipe out their entire collection in one fell swoop~call me naive, but i had never heard of such a thing). The discussion was initiated by someone questioning whether or not she should begin this process at her library because people check out over ninety items on one subject at a time~though we don't limit by subject we do limit to 30 items per check out which does seem reasonable to me. I do wonder a few things:

   1. how exactly do they determine subject (do they break it down by Dewey 10s, 1s, 0s, what?)

   2. do they also limit fiction and genres in this way?

   3. does this seem odd to anyone else (or is my system too limiting~I mean there was the recent book thief (not to be confused with the book by the same title) to consider~he wouldn’t have been able to get away with QUITE so much in my system)?

"She didn't even perm her hair,"

“It’s hard to understand, without being immersed in the poisonous air of then.”

~Doris Lessing, Under My Skin, Vol. 1

Georgia Tann was the highly lauded American social worker who changed the way America thought about adoption in the early twentieth century. That she was also an abusive, negligent kidnapper of babies, children, and adolescents; selling her charges to the highest bidder, caring for no one's welfare but her own is chronicled in Barbara Bisantz Raymond's highly readable, informative and immensely interesting The Baby Thief: the untold story of Georgia Tann, The Baby Seller who Corrupted Adoption.

The Baby Thief begins by placing Georgia and Memphis in their time and place in history, which were uniquely suited to each other. Before Georgia's time (although this book is a bit contradictory on this particular point) stranger adoption was not a common option in England or the American society modeled after it. Eugenics was becoming popular and children of unwed, poor mothers were thought to be genetically inferior. Georgia Tann introduced the idea of adoptive children being "blank slates" ready to be written upon by the environment of their new, wealthy homes. She also was a very strong supporter of closed records, to protect the adoptive parent (and in her case, often, to hide kidnapped children from parents who might be seeking them). It is rather surprising to learn how much of modern "closed" adoption practices came from this self-serving woman and at the same time we do have some things to be grateful for her to. There is a certain sense of her place as well as our modern concept of adoption in the broader culture of adoption's history.

There is the usual bias though that all adoptees have a hole that can only be filled by finding their genetic parentage. Raymond feels a certain sense of guilt as an adoptive mother. I, of course, am a biased bystander but i am also in the majority in that i have no wish to seek (the statistic that fewer than ten percent of adoptees actually do choose this option is often left out of those "missing piece" stories~though this is one of a much different colour.) I am definitely not against legislation to make opening records easier but i resent the implication that we are all seeking wanderers...(just had to add my [not-so-missing] piece...)

up in the night

I remember way back in the dark ages (like 1993 or thereabouts) of the internet i would sometimes get caught up, wrapped up, taken away, whatever, by the many possibilities~the many linkages, for lack of better words (here and above)~but it was oh-so-different then. My computer was a monochromatic laptop (well, i did have a colour monitor i could hook it up to but it would have just been a blue screen full of text then...)

Anyway, back then linking was a much different thing than it is today~you could click on links, but they were all text based (not that there was much visual stuff going on yet anyway~except for some early experimentation with Mosaic) and once you clicked it was rather difficult (at least for me) to find your way back. I often found myself heading down "alleys" and winding up lost on some "dead end"~it wasn't the best distraction for insomnia/migraines (though the migraines didn't need quite as much distraction back then).

I didn't seem to waste as much time on the internet in the middle of the night then as i do now (or at least not following links). In some ways the ease of internet research and hyperlinking is a librarian's nightmare come true. All that research at the literal tip of your fingers. And it truly is endless.

When i was a kid (even further back in the prehistoric past) i used to love looking things up in the encyclopedia set we kept in the living room, one reference would send me to the next reference (or two, or three,) and so on, and so on... At some point i would tire of pulling books and flipping pages, back and forth and back and forth and back and forth. Things are so much, ahem, easier, in the computer age.

And it just plays right into the hands and heads (or is it the other way around?) of we insomniacs who can't quench the knowledge thirst. Tonight i was doing just a quick survey of "What's New?" over at Snopes and somehow here i am, about four hours later, with multiple tabs open, full of knowledge about the history of the AIDS epidemic (as well as a number of other pandemics~and when something is determined to be a pandemic) the difference in meaning between zoophillia, bestiality, and zoosexuality; what methemoglobinemia is; as well as many other incredibly useful tidbits (and who knew that there was such a thing as a cuddly little Ebola toy you could have for your very own? I certainly didn't, until now that is.) Now, you may ask, what the relationship is between these things. Perhaps there isn't a visibly direct link, but somehow or else each one of them led to the next (or quite a few others i've left out for the sake of some brevity.)

Sometimes i long for those dead ends.

weeding in an inhospitable climate

Every once in a while weeding can begin to feel like the chore that it is. Like when it's extremely hot. And when you have inherited the collection of an old-fashioned, Luddite librarian who believed that your small library branch should serve the function of an archival branch (or maybe she didn't really believe that but she Did Not believe in weeding, this i know.)

(once when i was out bar-hopping with roommates and one of them was wondering what librarians did (with all their copious free time) and i mentioned weeding she thought i said reading and she was shocked that i would have to spend time at work reading and my other roommate corrected her~i mean can you imagine a librarian...Reading? and she actually was shocked, and a little horrified as well, i believe...)

We are part of a large library system. We are a small branch. There is only so much room. Books can easily be brought in from other branches. Even out of print books can be brought in from Somewhere through ILL (yes, i am one of THOSE librarians~if only i could weed my personal book collection as easily...) But i really don't like old ugly, dirty, used, soppy books~and yes there does seem to be a question begging here, but not by me (unless of course it is one of my favorites, one of those books i think Everyone should read~but of course Those books aren't ugly~Or i'll invest in a pretty edition.)

I remember when i was a teenager i discovered one of my absolutely favorite books at my local library, First Person, Singular by Vida Demas. And i had to keep going back to check to make sure it was still on the shelf, because somehow, i intuitively knew those books would sometimes suffer some mysterious demise (which it eventually did.) With the advent of the internet used book search, i eventually, years later acquired my own copy, but was so sad to see the library's copy go...

So i've been weeding lately, all those books on computers from the early 1990s and the like (and i'm also having nightmares about the old library manager coming into the library and demanding to know where all Her books have gone~actually i think it's a sign i might have gone a bit overboard~the shelves are looking a little more empty and i'm feeling a little insecure) I also discovered Will Manley's Unsolicited Advice published in 1992. For those who may not know Will Manley (pictured above~a picture i've always found just a bit...interesting, by the by), he is a rather ubiquitous presence in library land and i have always found his columns rather humorous so i thought i might check out his book and at least give it a circ stat before deciding what to do with it (though some may call this inflating statistics, i can't very well take it home without checking it out now can i?)

Anyway, i didn't find the book quite as insightful or as entertaining as his columns. I have to wonder if it's twenty-first century sensibilities imposing themselves on the rather stuffy-seeming sensibilities of the turn of the century or its just me (i can be a bit radical...although i am very much in support of a graduate degree for professional librarians~and not just because of the debt i incurred obtaining mine {i also think we should be state certified and there should be testing standards...gasp} i did not know what Festschriften was until Manley defined it~must have been daydreaming in library school that day~tho i never did that~so maybe my, very excellent, library school neglected that subject {more gasping}...) I also found myself wondering if his letters were really sent to him or created by him so he could compose his own witty answers. Or perhaps i'm just cranky...

"(may the Siberian tundra lie lightly on your beloved bones)"

Waiting for the Barbarians

-What are we waiting for, assembled in the forum?

The barbarians are due here today.

-Why isn't anything going on in the senate?
Why are the senators sitting there without legislating?

Because the barbarians are coming today.
What's the point of senators making laws now?
Once the barbarians are here, they'll do the legislating.

-Why did our emperor get up so early,
and why is he sitting enthroned at the city's main gate,
in state, wearing the crown?

Because the barbarians are coming today
and the emperor's waiting to receive their leader.
He's even got a scroll to give him,
loaded with titles, with imposing names.

-Why have our two consuls and praetors come out today
wearing their embroidered, their scarlet togas?
Why have they put on bracelets with so many amethysts,
rings sparkling with magnificent emeralds?
Why are they carrying elegant canes
beautifully worked in silver and gold?

Because the barbarians are coming today
and things like that dazzle the barbarians.

-Why don't our distinguished orators turn up as usual
to make their speeches, say what they have to say?

Because the barbarians are coming today
and they're bored by rhetoric and public speaking.

-Why this sudden bewilderment, this confusion?
(How serious people's faces have become.)
Why are the streets and squares emptying so rapidly,
everyone going home lost in thought?

Because night has fallen and the barbarians haven't come.
And some of our men who have just returned from the border say
there are no barbarians any longer.

Now what's going to happen to us without barbarians?
Those people were a kind of solution.

~Constantine P. Cavafy

It seems i might be kind of hooked on this space odyssey thing (just like Arthur Clarke himself was, because even though he swore he had left it behind him when he finished 2001: a space odyssey {though Kubrick was the one to tear up his sets so no one could film a sequel~they did anyway~though i haven't seen it} Clarke ended up going on to write 2010: odyssey two~and two more after that~and i will probably end up reading the entire sage because that's just the type of girl i am...actually, i truly wouldn't mind taking a nice long space odyssey right about now...)

The trouble, sometimes, with books that seem to offer explanations for other books is that they might interfere with your self-made explanations which might have been working very well for you until someone came along and explained to you just how not-well they were working...

2010 is a bit different to 2001 in that the focus stayed more tightly on the journey of one ship, the Russian Leonov~sent to discover the fate of the Discovery, the failure of HAL 2000 (maybe he should have been HAL 2001...just a silly joke there...), and also gather further information on the "black monolith" if possible. Clarke also went into deeper exploration of character relationships which made it a little more of an enjoyable and page-turning read for me. The character of David Bowman seemed to change direction somewhat from the last novel and there also seemed to be some plot discrepancies (though i didn't have the first book to check it out). As always, Clarke is a master of his craft and extremely well-versed in his science. I just love reading his stuff...

"Everything should be made as simple as possible,

but not more so"

~Albert Einstein

In order to make sense of Gerd Gigerenzer's Gut Feelings: The Intelligence of the Unconscious you kind of have to stop making sense (to borrow from the Talking Heads) or at least let go of the idea that everything has to make sense. It is a very interesting book, and if you just let yourself go with it, highly readable.

Gigerenzer's basic principle is that many of our decisions are based on unconscious and instinctual heuristic processes and that these processes are often more efficient than statistical and/or logical decision making processes (until you try combining the two). He makes an interesting observation in the first chapter, that i have found true in my own life~if you take the time to apply Ben Franklin's "Reasons of Motive" (basically making a list of pros and cons~if I ever take the time to do so) at the end of the ordeal you often find you've already made you're decision, even if it goes against reason (though you sometimes needed to go through the exercise to find that out.) He also talked about the gut instincts of baseball players who estimate where a fly ball will land while running rather than making a mathematical calculation and then waiting for it at its destination (what he calls the "gaze heuristic"~and which seems a tad obvious for me, but is illustrative for many of the other points he makes.)

He offers evidence for less knowledge often being more help than hindrance for predicting things like stock markets and sports winners as well as behaviours of opponents. Gigerenzer is the director of the Center for Adaptive Behavior and Cognition at the Max Planck Institute for Human Development in Berlin, Germany but he makes this text highly accessible for the layperson (even concepts that may at first seem daunting deserve perseverance, for it takes just a paragraph or two). His extrapolation into the health care field and moral behavior is especially enlightening.

"Do you like headaches?"

I had an eight year old girl ask me last night.

(the question gave me pause~oh little girl, you don’t know what or who you’re asking…)

although there was actually a time, i think, in the distant past, i dimly remember, when these headaches Were Not an EverPresent part of my life

Very hard for me to remember/believe~i do rather vividly remember the very first time i had to go to the emergency room with a migraine and i thought i would just die~or at least wanted to~from the intense, mind-cracking pain~the very, very worst i had experienced up until that point...

now that intensity of pain would tip about a five or six on my scale of one to ten... it's all relative i guess (and am i really happy that i can now tolerate what was once intolerable???)

“No, i don’t think anyone likes headaches,” was the most neutral answer i could come up with, as i watched her rub her temples (i could tell the poor child had a headache~she had had a long evening~her uncle had been entertaining his work comrades~me included~for the first time in his new abode...)

I had also had a migraine for all of the day and all of the night (no big surprise there). But i didn't really want to miss an opportunity for saketinis (and the possibility of alcohol chasing the head pounding away if only temporarily) and a little socializing.

And, in fact, with the aid of a littile imitrex (thanks to my friend, because i had run out), and more than a little sake, vodka, and cherry juice, the big giant rock i affectionately call my migraine went a little less noticed for a while and i got a little more notice than i should have while i prattled on about things i probably shouldn't have (i mean talking about former libraries and former co-workers with people in admin when its all part of the same family might be a little ill-advised...at least i wasn't commenting much on current events~so to speak...). But it was all in good fun, right?

Isn't it interesting how inhibitions and pain receptors often seem to reside in the same parts of the brain?

Yet the question remains...

Does anyone REALLY like headaches?

(because they can have all of mine...)

they're ganging up on me

it seems

my favorite patrons/ customers/ malingerers/ vagrants (whatever the politically correct/in vogue term for {those people that are constantly coming into the library} is these days…)

and when i say

favorite

that’s not really what i mean

if you know what i mean…

last night, about five minutes before closing, i decided that i had seen just about every one of the most troublesome of the regulars that i regularly encounter at this particular library (even those who i had, quite gratefully, not seen in quite some time) except for one particular family, with the loud fit-throwing children, the intelligence-challenged father, and the reality-challenged mother, who does come in on a very regular basis~and i was more than a little apprehensive to even make this observation as we did still have five minutes left...

Not that it's much of a surprise, but i had come into work with a raging migraine, inflamed allergies (from who-knows-what-allergens), and the remains of whatever virus i'm currently fighting. The first thing i encounter is a man who is apparently calling all the car dealerships in town, attempting to negotiate buying a car over our courtesy phone. Of course our harried mother and my not favorite child are here, and i'm actually too tired to be unfriendly to my not favorite child, so i am treated to her incessant chatter.

When i return from my lunch break, i find the woman who USED to be so enamoured (but also so very, very demanding) of me (and seemed to have lost some of her attraction when i told her i would need to start charge her for printing anything in excess of ten internet pages per week as per management instructions~since all other customers paid for THEIR printing costs~and strongly encouraged her to obtain a library card and start doing her own research as she seemed to be so skilled in instructing someone else how to do it...) sitting in the chair for our handicap accessible online catalog staking out our parking lot. Eventually she went and grabbed a newspaper to hide behind. I never did figure out what she was doing.

Then, in creeps Mr. OldGuitarist, who i also hadn't seen for a while, luckily, there is less than two hours until we close, and he keeps his head down and heads back to the computer room so i will probably not need to interact with him. Then, simultaneously, i watch Ms. OddRecipeRequestWoman enter through one door while Mr. NeedsRapToDownloadToMyIpod enters through the other~i'm really not sure which is worth~both take mucho tiempo y mas paciencia (whoops, sorry, must have slipped a gear there...)

Mr. NeedsRapToDownload makes it up to my desk first (at least he is alone, sans screaming child brats, and whining wife this time). He hands me his card awaiting my service. I look at him questioningly. "We're going look up CDs again," he informs me. "oh, are we, now?" i question myself, wishing the answer could only be something other than what it is.

"Can it only be artist, or can it be by label or something else?"

"Who is the artist?" i avoid the question, not wanting to further prolong the process (although i have searched many, many labels for him in the past.)

He starts scrolling through his Ipod and listing names. I start searching artists and listing titles. I place three holds and then he reaches his limit, his "damn" wife has been putting movies on hold (not that i care). For some reason he wants me to continue the now futile exercise of telling him what cds we have in the system by his desired artists though i have told him before and he never remembers and we will go through this again and again...

He tells me he has so many already...

Hmm... (my head screams)

He laughs, "buying them is just not an option at $15 bucks a pop just to put them on the Ipod,"

Hmm...(head banging~and not in any musical way~should i play sympathetic~mention the illegality of it all~just wait for it to be over~i opt for that last one...)

This goes on for about fifteen minutes, OddRecipeRequestWoman leaves, he finally leaves, time for me to start closing up. I walk back to the computer room, tell everyone they have about five minutes left, some women actually shouts "HELP!" from about one foot away.

I sigh. She has inserted her computer access card into the disk drive. Just another night.

I am the first person in the library this morning. There was some kind of drug deal going on in the parking lot when i got here, or so it appeared. I ignored it. When i walked in the phone was ringing. Odd because, we didn't open for another hour. It was a call for the health department (we started getting all their calls at our circ desk yesterday afternoon, because somehow they were forwarded here~we thought they had stopped at about five p.m but probably it was just after hours). The fifth call was someone from the health department calling some one's extension in environmental health, he said he would try to get it taken care of. When i called the county phone system guy he said we WEREN'T getting the health department's calls.

oh well, must have just been my imagination (and the imaginations of all my coworkers...)

look at all the pretty colours

So here's yet another World War II book, yet another Holocaust book, yet another young adult book (though i'm not sure the classification is particularly apt in this case~it was originally published in the author's native Australia as an adult novel...), and yet another book i have to consider for that committee thing...

this one i've been hearing about for quite some time because my friend has been raving about how good it is and how we really should choose this one...

He's been bringing out the oppositional child in me.

Just a bit...like somehow i didn't want to read it, recommend it just because he thought so very highly of it...
but it really is a wonderful book (so now i'm almost finding myself opposing myself...)

Markus Zusak is a poet. I'm not sure if he calls himself that, but he is an artist when it comes to wordcrafting. The Book Thief is an exquisite, engrossing, and evocative book of poetry that flows as only a novel can. And Zusak is unafraid to use words in new ways (turning adjectives into adverbs, adverbs into adjectives, or just creating new forms of words) that make his meaning absolutely clear without sounding overly clever. Only a true sculptor can do that (it creates absolute envy at the touch~in addition to the shivers it leaves behind.) And this is a book about words. The power of words to create worlds. To destroy worlds. To save lives.

"It's the story of one of those perpetual survivors--an expert at being left behind.

It’s just a small story really about, among other things:

*A girl

*Some words

*An accordionist

*Some fanatical Germans

*A Jewish fist fighter

*And quite a lot of thievery”

(and i do so love it when chapters are given titles and contents are hinted at, as they are in this book)

The book thief is a young girl named Liesel Meminger growing up as a foster child in a poor, tough town just outside Munich, at the height of Hitler's Germany. From the time he took her younger brother on the train taking them to their new foster home on the rather misappropriately named Himmell (Heaven) Street, Death (the narrator of this tome), became fascinated with Liesel. The Grim Reaper (not so grim after all) found himself distracted by this living, breathing girl though he had much, much work to do (and a very, very harsh taskmaster) at this particular point in history, and knew he shouldn't let himself be distracted by such human concerns.

There are so many things that could be made maudlin in this novel. And they never are. There are so many tragic paths that could be taken that are avoided (though many aren't~and it truly is a heartbreaking work). But this is such a book of strength. And of quiet, unflinching, brutal grace.

This is not "just another" Holocaust book, it is a tale, tightly focused on the individual German citizens who did not blindly follow but at the same time felt trapped in their fate, and of one girl who did the best she could to hang on to the words she struggled to learn and to love (and learned to hate as well); and the people she learned to love; and the only life she had as one she had to love (see where the wordcrafting envy comes in???)...

Liesel is not a martyr and she isn't exactly a hero. She is real.

Although Death's narration is born of a personality and necessity removed from both the wonder and horror of humanity, his voice is filled with an appreciation for both. An amazing accomplishment. (what is perhaps more amazing than the writing though, is the difference in range of experience and memories of reading each reader had of this book~i am continually surprised by the fact that i see the world through different eyes than even my closest friends, but i really shouldn't be...) Don't let anyone else (especially not me) tell you what to think about this book or how to feel it. If you feel that this is something you want to read, the experience will probably move you somehow...

(and just in case you wondered~this mainly non-meateater was really craving sausages while reading THIS book~even though the characters never had the luxury of eating much of anything but bread crusts and pea soup {which i actually do like}~though they did have champagne once which exploded in Liesel's mouth and reminded me of the times champagne has exploded uncontainably in my mouth~just by the by)

can you hear me now, sisbaby?

Digging in my heels and dragging my feet (now, there's a mix of cliches) we Taureans can be a wee bit obstinate and loud about things we are not so thrilled with doing (and construct our sentences poorly, as well, apparently.) Mississippi Trial, 1955 by Chris Crowe is not a bad book, really. Actually, it's quite good.

It was a book i had to read because i'm on a committee considering it as part of a program that my library system is doing. I don't really consider it appropriate for the program and feel resentful of reading the book in the first place (there were a few other things i was annoyed with but they're really not relevant, so they will remain unmentioned...) It is a young adult novel. It's written as a young adult novel, and it reads like a young adult novel. It's also a message novel, with a lesson to teach, Crowe says that:

"the idea of writing Mississippi Trial, 1955 originally came to me because, I was concerned that despite its significance as one of the triggers of the Civil Rights movement, the Emmett Till case is still essentially overlooked in history books and classes. It's been a difficult story to study and retell, but it's a story that must be known by all Americans young and old."

I feel like i got the message. Loud and Clear, thank you very much. Reading this reminded me of all those things i had to read in Junior High (and then be tested on, or report on, or write on~hmmm...) I hate feeling like i have to do something.

The book focuses on the true story of the abduction and murder of Emmett (BoBo) Till, a fourteen-year-old black boy from Chicago in 1955 Mississippi and the subsequent trial of his accused murderers. It is told from the perspective of Hirum Hillburn, a fictional sixteen-year-old white boy who is visiting his grandfather in Greenwood, Mississippi, the town where he'd been raised but had left to move to Tempe, Arizona seven years earlier. Hirum has retained an idealized picture of his hometown and hadn't recognized the southern currents of racial hostility as a younger child.

When the abduction takes place Hirum has reason to believe his childhood friend R.C. is involved, and is subpoenaed to testify at the trial. The narrative seems just a little forced, and the plot seems to take a while to get started; but the short book does become more of a page-turner as it goes on. Hirum seems more naive than necessary and slow to catch on to some of the more predictable details (especially the biggest one, which i felt could have gone unstated and still remained clear...) But this novel does an excellent job of portraying a place, time, and pervasive environment that is perhaps difficult for some of us to understand today. It is an important story to be told.

Perhaps the fact that i was unable to sleep and had a terrible stomach flu at the time i was reading it affected my judgement slightly. Perhaps i didn't give it such a fair shake~like i said, though~it was a good young adult novel~worth reading on that level. Would make a great requirement for Junior High School (not for a public library program...~and notice how i make sure what comes around goes around?)

*and all the descriptions of Hirum's gramma's and Ruthanne's cooking made me crave my own gramma's, oh so wonderful, cooking (though she wasn't southern, she was an incredible cook~mashed potatoes and fried chicken especially...) Why must i always be nauseated and hungry at the same time? Terrible, terrible combination. And why do these books on such serious subjects always make me hungry? (perhaps to remind ourselves that we are still alive and well?)

"No matter how dark the tapestry

God weaves for us, there's always a thread of grace"

~Hebrew saying

“In Germany they first came for the Communists, and I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a Communist. Then they came for the Jews, and I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a Jew. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a trade unionist. Then they came for the Catholics, and I didn’t speak up because I was a Protestant. Then they came for me—and by that time no one was left to speak up.”

~Pastor Martin Niemoller

Although sometimes more good can be done by staying quiet. Not staying quiet in complicity; but remaining silent in defiance and working behind the scenes to help hide those who are in danger in the tradition of the, by now, well known Oskar Schindler, or an almost entire nation of good-hearted and brave Italians who sheltered almost fifty thousand Jews.

I remember hearing Mary Doria Russell come to speak about A Thread of Grace before i had ever read the novel. I had loved her previous works The Sparrow and Children of God and when i met her i was actually fawning all over her (something rather atypical of me~i was more than a little embarrassed~but she is an alumna of one of my schools, AND she says librarians are some of her favorite people...), but i had her sign a copy of the book and was quite excited to read it, after hearing Russell talking about it, though i never got around to it until now.

This is an incredible novel. It tells the story of a number of very human, very fallible characters involved in the Nazi occupation of Italy (much of the action is set in Liguria~if you are ever making pesto you must, must, must use Ligurian olive oil {i recommend the Roi brand} in my ever so humble opinion but also in the more expert opinion of Ari Weinzweig of Zingerman's~and if you think olive oils are all the same you have never tasted real quality olive oil~believe me it's worth the price) in the later stages of World War II. It will break your heart (and for the youth of today who think they're living in the worst of times~i even heard America referred to as a third world country the other day~go live in a third world country for a while, then say that...~here's a taste of some other times but it will also restore your faith in humanity. It brought back memories of my first stepmother's mother. An Italian Mama from the old world, she had a huge old house and farm in Modesto, California. I remember going to visit hear there and being served wonderful, huge meals (she would always want me to eat "more, more, more" because i was such "an ittie, bit of a thing".) She insisted i call her "Nonna" (and she was my Nonna~my only one, even though i had two other grandmothers) and would pull me into her lap, and put her arms around me and i would feel so much love from her. Her house and yard would always be full of people and there would always be room for more. I miss her, i will always remember her.

Thanks to her, i understand Italian hospitality and that's what this book is full of. If it seems a bit too idealistic, there is documented history to back it up (and soon, documents will be all we have to go by, as we loose more and more survivors each day...) It is a beautiful narrative that lingers in the mind, in the heart, in the soul; like a song whose coda keeps repeating and will not, cannot, let that final note rest.

When racial hatred raged in Europe,

Jewish refugees, uncertain of their fate,

coming from distant countries

--Austria, Belgium, Germany, Poland--

found hospitality and safety in these valleys.

Hidden in isolated cottages,

protected by the population,

they waited with trust and hope,

through two interminable winters,

for the return of liberty.

In homage to and in memory of those who helped them,

those refugees and their descendants

embrace the noble inhabitants of these valleys

in brotherhood.

~inscription chiseled in marble memorial stela erected in Borgo San Dalmazzo, 1998 by the Jews of Saint-Martin-Vesubie in honor of the people of Valle Stura and Valle Gesso.

we have always lived in the vice-presidential mansion

"How much does a house know?"

Bel Canto gathers together a rather disparate group of people of varying nationalities and classes in an unnamed South American country to hear a world renowned American opera singer perform and to make important political and business connections. Gathered at the vice-presidential mansion for an elegant party celebrating the fifty-third birthday of Katsumi Hosokawa, the CEO of a huge Japanese electronics firm whose business the country (and everyone else is hoping to woe). Hosokawa is there because of the soprano, everyone else is there because of Hosokawa. Once the soprano finishes her last song (the one Hosokawa requested) everything goes black and eighteen terrorists storm into the room taking everyone hostage.

At that moment few of the hostages feel they will escape the situation alive, and though Ann Patchett may write with a light and subtle hand, it is difficult for the reader to see this being an easy or terribly ecstatic read. However, in some ways those expectations are defied. Once i was about one hundred pages into the novel i found myself unable to stop until i reached the end (a little over two hundred pages later), i'm not even sure how long that took me.

As the first day of the crisis moves into the first week, and then into further weeks, finally moving into months; both guests and guards find themselves settling into routine; into an almost uneasy Stockholm Syndrome and taking the reader along with them. Although we gain glimpses into many of the characters' lives and pasts (of necessity, mostly male) we gain very little into that of the soprano, Roxanne Cos, except what we observe of her and filtered through the eyes of her many admirers; which seemed to me to be a strength rather than a weakness of the novel. This is a world peopled with characters whose lives revolve around Roxanne, around opera, both her opera and soap opera (those they watch and those they live. This is a world that never leaves the mansion. It has transcended time and reality, in the same way the novel transcends time, reality, and difference. Both the people living in this world and those reading about it know that it will come to a crashing, inevitable end, but somehow wish to escape that inescapable eventuality.

Apropos of nothing, there was also a (somewhat) hidden staircase in this mansion, something that i am completely enamoured of. I was always longing for some kind of secret passageway or stairway or secret rooms in the various houses i lived in growing up, and was always searching for them on the odd chance that i might find one (after all Trixie Belden~of the books i devoured at the time~was always finding them, not to mention the secret passage ways in Clue~although those weren't much fun just whisked you from one place to another.) Imagine my disappointment when, renovating my basement bedroom, my stepfather, shining a flashlight into a cubbyhole behind the furnace, exclaimed "Look, a hidden staircase!" only to illuminate the Nancy Drew book i had apparently dropped back there. I did live in a house in grad school where, we discovered a "servant's" staircase boarded over, right over our basement stairs, off of our kitchen bathroom leading to our second floor bathroom closet, where i kept my shoes (i once was late for one of my classes because my roommate was in there performing his "toilette"~whole other story...) Another roommate and i plotted how we could uncover those stairs but, alas, it was never to be. Anyway, the staircase in this novel brought a tiny thrill, and all those associative memories flooding back...

Both a friend and other reviewers have mentioned some dismay at the epilogue (perhaps a sense of tacking a happy ending on something that really shouldn't have one) but i saw it not so much as a happy ending as a fit conclusion for survivors of a truly tragic trauma (how's that for alliteration?) moving on in any way they can.

"How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world"

~William Shakespeare

big giant rock

in my head

big giant

sharp, pounding, jabbing

rock

in the right side

of my head

that won’t stop

pounding

throbbing

hurting

keeping

me from

thought

and action

and sleep

and

life.

rock that

jars

and hurts

big giant rock

that constantly shifts and changes

its surface

from sharp and ice-pick like

to dull

then spiky, rough

shifting, just enough

to cause the maximum amount of pain

until it is almost unnoticeable because it is too much

and then again

it changes

and throws itself against the limits of my skull

that is tender from

too much

pounding

and

jabbing

and always

reminds

me

that

it is here

and there

and just

won’t leave.

Big Giant Rock.

i've been hiding myself from myself

i think because i have somehow become someone i don’t want to be (or don't want to know about, or hear about, or something...)

my plants are longing for the sunshine i've been blocking out due to migraines...

this has been going on for some time.

i have somehow been growing older (and how could that possibly happen to Me?) and i'm not dealing so well with age.

(i know i am not alone in this particular phenomena, but somehow i thought i would not reach this particular stage in my life and the particular symptoms that come along with it)

mostly though i'm experiencing issues with not enough money catching up with me (and the creditor calls that come along with that, so i just don't answer the phone), the undone housework catching up with me (i'm not sure what the problem is here, i sit there and wish it done, and wish it done and still nothing happens...and nothing keeps happening...), dishes pile up in the sink, papers pile up unsorted, junk mail mixes with bills and other "important items", i've pretty much stopped eating to avoid the hassle of the grocery store and reduce spending (well not entirely, don't worry), if the cats didn't make noise (and lots of it) to be feed i'm sure they'd be starving too.

And i'm just living in denial. I find it's much less stressful this way. Just reading, watching movies, you know, hanging out, enjoying life. What could be wrong with that, i ask you?

a Faerie tale

In which we are regaled with YoSafBridg’s first foray into the mind of Neil Gaiman

Sometimes i get DVDs in the mail from Blockbuster which puzzle me as to why i ever placed them in my queue to begin with, but i figure that there must have been a reason, so i go ahead and watch them. This happens with books that come into the library for me from my hold list as well. Neil Gaiman's fantasy novel Stardust was one such book. Now what's a girl to do when such an event occurs but to read the book, even if nothing about it sounds familiar~because there must have been a very good reason~right? Right (didn't even notice until after i had read it that the movie is about to be released~maybe that's why someone mentioned it to me~so i'm completely unaware of things~i've noticed that even more so now that i spend less time in the car commuting, now that i have that LOVERLY five minute commute, and am kept busy enough at the desk not to cruise the internet headlines~and i refuse to watch the local news...) Now i must admit, this is my fist Neil Gaiman novel (or so i believe, my faith in my own memory is not the strongest of late...i'm not even sure if that's a shameful admission or not...)

Song

Go, and catch a falling star,

Get with child a mandrake root,

Tell me, me where all past years are,

Or who cleft the Devil’s foot,

Teach me to hear mermaids singing,

Or to keep off envy’s stinging

And find

What wind

Serves to advance an honest mind.

If thou be’est born to strange sights,

Things invisible to see,

Ride ten thousand days and night

Till age snow white hairs on thee,

Thou, when thou return’st wilt tell me

All strange wonders that befell thee

And swear

Nowhere

Lives a woman true, and fair.

If thou find’st one, let me know,

Such a pilgrimage were sweet,

Yet do not, I would not go,

Though at next door we might meet

Though she were true when you met her,

And last, till you write your letter,

Yet she

Will be

False, ere I come, to two, or three.

~John Donne, 1572-1631

Sometimes we might not know what our True Heart's Desire is until we get it. Sometimes we may think we know what it is only to find out we are mistaken once we have journeyed to seek it out. If there is a moral in that i'm not sure what it is (is there always a moral to be found in life?). This story starts out in the English village of Wall (so named for the Wall that separates it from the rather mysterious meadowland that no one is allowed to venture~well VERY occasionally they are allowed through but they are given a VERY stern warning AND there is the market that is held every nine years in the spring, and it is actually not all that much of a mystery because on the other side of the wall lies the land of Faerie, and there i go with my parenthetical run-on sentences again, oh well...)

A question like "How big is Faerie?" does not admit of a simple answer.

Faerie, after all, is not one land, one principality or dominion. Maps of Faerie are unreliable, and may not be depended upon.

We talk of the kings and queens of Faerie as we would speak of the kings and queens of England but Faerie is bigger than England, as it is bigger than the world (for, since the dawn of time, each land that has been forced off the map by explorers and the brave going out and proving it wasn't there has taken refuge in Faerie; so it is now, by the time that we come to write of it, a most huge place indeed, containing every manner of landscape and terrain. Here, truly, there be Dragons. Also gryphons, wyverns, hippogriffs, basilisks, and hydras. There are all manner of more familiar animals as well, cats affectionate and aloof, dogs noble and cowardly, wolves and foxes, eagles and bears.

This might give you some idea of the type of the of world you have stumbled into, in other words, a typical fairy tale, with the typical fairy tale fare, but told with a great deal more wit (if i may so declare.) Gaiman follows all the rules of good fairy tale telling, but with a modern twist and humour (tho the story is set at the turn of the nineteenth century).

Tristran Thorn has promised the beautiful Victoria Forester, the girl he (and everyone else) is incurable in love with, that he will retrieve the star she saw fall to the ground in the East (in the land of Faerie) for her, and she has, in return, promised she will do whatever he asks when he delivers it to her. So off he ventures into lands unknown (also unknown to him that his birthmother was from Faerie) to seek his fortune and his manhood.

Tristran is not the only one seeking the star (of course not, for what kind of story would that make?) We also have one of a trio of very wicked witches and a trio of brothers who are seeking the star to retrieve a jewel their father tossed into the air right before his death to determine who would inherit his kingdom of Stormhold (atop the highest peak in Faerie). Tristran encounters many characters along the way; helpful, hindering, and in-between, but all very colorful; as well as the feisty star, herself. Although perhaps predictable this is a wonderful fairy tale for adults and i don't think i'm giving much away if i tell you all ends somewhat happily~though with a healthy dose of gore and mild sex for all to enjoy.

This is a fast-paced, enjoyable story that could easily be read in an evening and leave one feeling satisfied. Makes for a nice little interlude spaced between more demanding fare (or if there is something you are trying to avoid, perhaps you/me are in denial about something...)