Snap back to reality...

Hey, Carl and Tenley are reading my book reports. Yay!

My reading style is such that I'm usually reading one fiction book at a time. I'll often have three or four nonfiction books that I'm skimming through at any given time, though, because I need something to do while I watch baseball with Craig.

At the moment, I've been working through the following:

• A few vegetable gardening books, which are way more involved than I really want to be. I think I'll just look up a few tomato varieties on the MN Extension website and call it good.
  
• A couple of lawn books. I got these for Craig, but he didn't look at them much. I tried, but somehow it's just not interesting at all to read about lawns.
  
• The Millionaire Next Door. This is kind of hokey and poorly written, but it's a terrific reality check now and then. Although we're apparently on the wrong path, since we have no intention to start a trucking or plumbing business anytime soon.
  
• Smart Couples Finish Rich. Every so often I come across a financial book that actually motivates me to do something, and this one has done it for me. I think I've read it before, but it really takes on new meaning now that we both have steady jobs and a house.
  
• The Average Family's Guide to Financial Freedom. I really only skimmed a tiny bit of this. I liked Smart Couples Finish Rich better. But hey, the authors are from Iowa!

So there's a very complete accounting for the content that's been entering my brain lately. And for no reason at all, here's a cute picture of Phoebe.

Good in Bed, by Jennifer Weiner

Well, two weeks ago I proclaimed that Jennifer Weiner's Goodnight Nobody wasn't the pinnacle of the chick lit genre. It all makes sense now - see, she already wrote the book that is the pinnacle of the chick lit genre, and it's Good in Bed.

As with most of Weiner's heroines, Cannie Shapiro is a sarcastic, full-figured Jewish woman who went to Princeton. (See, that's me! If I were Jewish and went to Princeton, that is.) She's in the midst of breaking up with her long-term boyfriend, and picks up a copy of Moxie magazine to find that he's the new "male perspective" columnist. It gets better, though - his first column is entitled "Loving a Larger Woman." Good God in heaven, pass the margaritas.

I can't go much further into the plot without giving too much away, but this is as funny and witty as the rest of Jennifer Weiner's books (I'm done now, so you won't be subjected to any more.) It features a chain-smoking lesbian named Tanya, a hyper rat terrier named Nifkin (do NOT google), and a wide-eyed movie star who hides from her publicist. The only bone I have to pick with Good in Bed is the fact that the movie star's name is Maxi. I suppose I can forgive that in the name of hyperbole.

The best thing about Good in Bed is the way the story feels real. It doesn't wind up in a perfect, happy ending. Cannie doesn't become a new woman and learn to love herself after losing fifty pounds, as happens in Jane Greene's otherwise delightful Jemima J, and scads of other women's novels. The pothead ex-boyfriend doesn't turn himself around, begin a successful investment banking career, and show up on Cannie's doorstep with roses and a tearful reunion. There's only one piece of predictable romatic entanglement, and it's very manageable. I was rooting for it to happen, so I'm satisfied. It was a thoroughly enjoyable, fun read that didn't insult my intelligence.

In summary: I loved it. It's probably worth the price you'd pay at the airport bookstore. And that's a pretty high recommendation.

Wideacre, by Phillippa Gregory

Phillippa Gregory is the author of slightly fluffy historical novels like The Other Boleyn Girl. I usually find her books to be a few steps above Danielle Steele and a few notches below Sharon Kay Penman. Wideacre is her first novel, and it's a doozy, inspiring Amazon.com reviews such as "disgusting and unbelieveable," "just really, really BAD," "sadly, the first of Gregory's deplorable trilogy," and "pure trash, but..."

All those things are true, but it's the "but..." from the last review that kept me reading. To sum up the plot without giving too much away, the novel's main character is Beatrice Lacey, daughter of the Wideacre estate. Beatrice loves everything about Wideacre, and suffers a nasty shock in her early teens when she finally figures out that her older brother Harry will inherit instead of her. (That would be one of those unbelieveable things, yes.) She then resolves to do anything to preserve Wideacre for herself. Other than Wideacre and its running, the thing that consumes most of Beatrice's mind is sex. So things get rather interesting, rather quickly.

The last half of the book has all of the characteristics of books I really hate reading - all the wheels are in motion, and the reader is strung along as the characters are driven to their inevitable ruin. The first half of these books are usually very good, though - they suck you in and force you to stick around through the crap. Everything just crumbles, crumbles, crumbles, and there's nothing that can be done to stop it. (For me, the best example of this kind of plot is The Crimson Petal and the White. I still want to throw things when I think about that book.)

The saving grace of Wideacre, amid all the impending doom and conniving sex, is that Phillippa Gregory is a really good writer. The characters are perfectly presented, and you can almost smell the fields and woods that make up the estate. Even as I grew tired of the downward slide of the plot, the book was never boring. The scenes move right along with plenty of drama and tension, and that kept me reading until the end.

Wideacre is the first novel in a trilogy about the estate and its heirs - the following volumes are The Favoured Child and Meridion. I'm not sure if I'll be reading either of these, but they'll stay on my list of things to check out. Higher up on my list are Phillippa Gregory's later novels, especially those in the Henry VIII era.

In summary: Steer clear if you are easily shocked, but buy the paperback used if you're in the mood for some well-written trash.

Goodnight Nobody, by Jennifer Weiner

Goodnight Nobody is Jennifer Weiner's most recent novel. Like Little Earthquakes, which I read first but haven't recapped here, it deals with motherhood, but adds a murder mystery into the plot.

Like her other books, this was fun and easy to read. It pokes fun at suburban Connecticut living, down to the pretentious model names of the starter castles lining the town's streets. (Kate, the main character, has her very own Montclaire.) The other mothers at the park, also known as the Tal-bots, are perfectly dressed, coiffed, and exercised. The name nerd in me had a good laugh at the names of these women's children. Kate did reasonably well with Sophie, Jack, and Sam, but Powell and Peyton, Tristen and Isolde, Madeline and Emerson, and little Hadley scream "trying too hard."

The mystery aspect, though, just seems a little off. It involves politics, journalism, parenthood, and a sharply written Ann Coulter clone known as "Laura Lynn Baird." Kate, bored by her Montclaire and suburban life, takes it upon herself to investigate. She does this with her hip, single, and rich friend Janie Segal (of the carpet Segals) and an old flame who never really comes into focus. (Kate apparently almost slept with him years before, and never really got over him. Why is anyone's guess - he doesn't seem to have many redeeming qualities.) The investigation takes them all over New York City, Connecticut, and Cape Cod, and into a variety of bank accounts and bedrooms, but just sort of peters out at the end.

In short, Goodnight Nobody isn't the pinnacle of the mystery genre, and it isn't the pinnacle of the chick lit genre, but it's still pretty funny. If you're going to read one Jennifer Weiner novel, though, I wouldn't pick this one.

In summary: Fun reading, but check it out from the library.

I Capture the Castle, by Dodie Smith

I had never heard of I Capture the Castle, but have heard it referenced and had it recommended to me several times in the last year, so I dutifully checked it out of the library.

My paperback copy features a quote from J.K. Rowling, which proclaims, "This book has one of the most charismatic narrators I've ever met." It's certainly a set-up custom-made for Ellen: The Mortmain family, including two teenage girls, lives in an old, run-down British country castle in the late 1930's. Their father is a struggling writer who was once successful, and his wife (their stepmother) is a flamboyant artist's model named Topaz. An American inherits the manor down the road, and the two Mortmain girls and the two Cotton boys sort out their feelings for one another.

The story is told in journal entries by 17-year-old Cassandra. She is an extremely charismatic narrator, as there's no one quite as dramatic, confused, and enthusiastic as a 17-year-old girl. She narrates the summer's happenings in rich detail, and I could really feel everything from her perspective. The downside to this is that her introspective nature can be a bit much at points. I suspect that I would have found this brilliant ten years ago, when I was 17 myself, but it wore a bit as the novel went on. I wanted to know how the story ended, and even found myself peeking ahead at times. (That's simultaneously a good thing and a bad thing - I'm invested enough in the story that I really want to know what happens, but the writing isn't enough to keep my mind from racing ahead.)

A lot of the charm of this book comes from Cassandra's tangents into religion, novels, differences between Britain and America, her father's relationship with Topaz, social class, money, and a plethora of other topics. I particularly liked the following foray into religion, as Cassandra speaks with the town vicar:

"How the intelligent young do fight shy of the mention of God! It makes them feel both bored and superior."

I tried to explain: "Well, once you stpo believing in an old gentleman with a beard...It's only the word God, you know - it makes such a conventional noise."

"It's merely shorthand for where we come from, where we're going, and what it's all about."

"And do religious people find out what it's all about? Do they really get the answer to the riddle?"

"They just get a whiff of an answer sometimes..."

And later...

I wondered if I was an atheist. I have never thought of myself as one, and sometimes on very lovely days I have felt almost sure there is something somewhere. And I pray every night, though I think my prayers are only like wishing on the new moon - not quite, though: I pray just in case there is a God. ... Certainly I never felt any sense of communion with God while praying - the only flicker of that I ever had was during those few minutes I wandered around King's Crypt cathedral at sunset, and it went off when I heard our head-mistress's voice droning on about the Saxon remains. Sitting there with the Vicar, I tried to recapture my feelings in the cathedral, but they merged into the memory of the cathedral-like avenue I saw when I was describing Midsummer Eve - and then the cathedral, the avenue, my love for Simon and myself writing about all these in the attic were in my mind together, each enclosed in its own light and yet each one part of the other.

In summary: The perfect book for a few lazy days, especially in spring or summer. Unlike many coming-of-age stories or most of chick lit, there's definite substance here.

Ugh.

It's been so long since I've written something that isn't a description of our work on the house, picture captions, or a description of the research resources available in the Department of Family Social Science, I feel like it's nothing but crap. I'll have to ignore it and hope my writing improves throughout this little book blogging exercise.

In which I resolve to be a better blogger

Well, I have sadly neglected this blog. It's hard to measure up to pictures of Phoebe in her Harry Potter costume and a European vacation. My everyday life is nowhere near as cute or interesting.

Since I obviously don't have enough witty observations about life to keep a blog going, I've decided to try something new. One of the great joys of my life since graduating from college is that I'm able to read for pleasure again. I read a lot, but I often don't retain much of it.

I'll be using this blog in an attempt to keep track of what I'm reading, and what I think of it. Miniature reviews, if you will.

So, without further ado, the last book I finished was In Her Shoes, by Jennifer Weiner. I've been doing a lot of work on our kitchen cabinets lately, and I needed something light and fluffy to relax with, so I've been on a bit of a chick lit bender. Jennifer Weiner was recommended to me as an author in this vein whose books don't insult the reader's intelligence in the way that many "women's" authors do, and I found this to be so. In Her Shoes and Little Earthquakes, which I also read recently, are easy to blow through, but very funny and real.

In Her Shoes is the story of two sisters and their estranged grandmother. Rose is the sister who has it all together - she's a lawyer with Ivy League degrees. Her sister Maggie has absolutely nothing together, and has had a rough time. The novel opens with Maggie in a bathroom stall, having drunken sex with a guy she just met at her high school reunion. Ella, the girls' grandmother, was shut out of their life after their mother died while they were young.

The book alternates between Rose, Maggie, and Ella's viewpoints, so the reader gets a good sense of what's going on in each woman's head. This is important, especially as Maggie does some really horrible things throughout the book, but is so sweet at times that it's impossible to write her off entirely as an evil character.

All three women have some of their personal issues resolved by the end of the book - one finds a man she loves, one finds a career she loves, and one finds a family. Some of the plot is a little cliched, but not terribly so. It's not so bad as to be unenjoyable or insulting to my intelligence. For example, one character is pursued by a man she doesn't care for at all, but it's obvious to the reader that he is The Perfect One for her. Weiner spares us a long, drawn-out chronicle of How She Comes Around and How They Fall In Love, and skips from their first date to their engagement. Yay!

Overall, I'd recommend In Her Shoes, and I've put Jennifer Weiner's other two books on hold at the library.