Mennonite in a Little Black Dress

Think you have nothing in common with Mennonites? Think again.  Did you ever bring weird lunch to school? Did you ever wear ill fitting/out of style clothes? Were you ever forbidden (even if it was for the best) to participate in a school play? Has your mom ever tried to fix you up with your cousin? Despite all that, do you still love your parents? Rhoda Janzen's memoir, Mennonite in a Little Black Dress was like Eat, Pray, Love, but the food is borscht, the praying happens in her family's Mennonite community in California and the love...is her family.

After her heart is broken by her husband leaving her for a man he found on gay.com and her body crushed the same week in a car accident, Ms. Janzen returns home to recuperate and write.  She weaves hilarious and poignant stories from her childhood alongside stories of her more recent past (now over 15 year marriage) and her parents' past.  She reminisces with her sister and finds herself at odds with her brothers. But despite having broken with the traditional ways of the Mennonite, she holds no bitterness.  We're allowed to laugh not at her family, but with them, and that makes all the difference.

This memoir gets 5/5 netflix stars in part because I'm easy with the stars but mostly because it was a wonderful read and made me want to shove it in the hands of several friends right away.

Lit

I had a recent foray into reading my old journals and found them beyond cringe-worthy.  So I'm pretty much amazed by writers who can squeeze more than one memoir out and even more amazed when those memoirs are not completely filled with self hate.  Mary Karr had a childhood made picture perfect for memoir writing: sometimes absent and flighty mother, poor and drunk father, small town in Texas. 

Lit could best be described as Drink, Pray, Love, with Ms. Karr describing hitting rock bottom after the birth of her son, finding support from various AA chapters and sober friends and ultimately having enough love for her parents, husband and son to not just continue living and writing, but to do so with grace.

I've been trying to write this for weeks and there's no way I can do it justice; Lit isn't preachy, it isn't predictable and it is, in short, inspiring. Lit was Trail of Crumbs without the blame and Crazy Love with more self confidence.

5/5 netflix stars.

A Walk In The Woods

My mom liked to say that from Kansas, you could get to somewhere fun in a mere 12 hour drive.  The beaches on the Gulf were 12 hours to the south, the mountains 12 hours to the west, and deserts and cacti 12 hours to the southwest.  We spent many summers in Colorado or Santa Fe, and most vacations involved some rustic cabin living and lots of hiking.  We had our favorite trails-- the Alpine Trail near where we stayed in Buena Vista, CO and the ski basin in Santa Fe.  But these trails would represent just a centimeter of the 2,200 miles of the Appalachian Trail from Georgia up to Maine.  In the mid-90s Bill Bryson and his friend Steven Katz decided to hike the AT over the course of several months, and A Walk In The Woods is Bryson's record of that adventure.
I started this book as part of the Emergency Holiday Challenge and remembered Steph loving it and was even told by someone in my yoga class how funny it was.  And while it was funny, it was also wistful and kind of sad.  Bryson would intersperse details of the hike (lots of walking, lots of trees) with facts about the AT and the environmental changes.  We've all heard about the demise of the passenger pigeon, and the relatively quick fell of the American Chestnut trees...Bryson lectures us just to the point of depression and then says, "back to the trail!"
Even though this book is just about 10 years old, at times it felt dated.  Bryson writes with disdain about people to bring modems hiking so they can share stories from the trail (um, that would be blogging) and writes with amazement that some people have brought satellite tracking devices (what we now know as GPS!).  Every few days they arrive at a small town where they check in with their families from payphones.  Cell phones were not rampant yet.
2,200 miles is a lot of hiking and without giving anything away, a six-mile day hike on a trail of woods, streams and mountains maybe gives you the same idea as 6 months of the same.  Day hikes let you get back to the relative warmth of a cabin (and maybe access to some soothing hot springs) by 6 pm.  Nevertheless, I feel lucky that we have the luxury of wilderness to hike in, that despite the extinction of species, we generally value unspoiled nature.
4/5 netflix stars

A Homemade Life: Stories and Recipes From My Kitchen

"She makes cookies with Leslie Fretwell!"

"I think her prom date was Billy Bozalis, Lisa's little brother."

Above, just a few of the excited emails between my mother and me regarding Molly Wizenberg's delightful book, A Homemade Life: Stories and Recipes From My Kitchen Table.

Of the four cities I've lived in, Molly writes about the two which we overlap-- Oklahoma City and Seattle. And being a third generation Oklahoman, I eagerly picked apart the clues to places and faces she referenced. She writes about running through the yards at the Oklahoma Art Museum's summer jazz concerts (which caused me to call my mom squealing, since I did that too!) and her references to school prompted me to contact my Oklahoma friends, and sure enough, she attended the same school as me! (Although she must have been at least a year behind me).

She also writes about never feeling quite comfortable in Oklahoma and packing her bags at 18, nary a plan to move back. Sounded familiar.

I had my doubts before starting this book. Sometimes bloggers are good at blogging but not so good at writing (and vice versa). It's two different mediums. And sometimes memoris devolve into rants. Would Molly's witty posts about food translate to a book format? Indeed, yes. The book was a narrative and memoir of sorts, detailing her life leading up to her father's death, and her life since. She moved and started blogging just after, so Burg's death was a key point in her life in many ways. Each chapter is a short story about her life and then includes an accessible recipe-- perhaps macaroons or cookies her mom makes, or perhaps the chocolate cake she serves at her wedding. She includes recipes like Chana Masala introduced to her by her now husband, Brandon and salads shared with friends.

Her stories are bittersweet, honest, funny. A rare combination. If, like me, you don't actually know Molly, but feel like you do or feel like you want to, there's a recipe for that: read, relax, enjoy.

5/5 netflix stars (I'm either really loving or really hating books these days).

Crazy Love

While reading Crazy Love by Leslie Morgan Steiner, I wanted more than anything for the book to be fiction. I wanted this in part because Leslie's story was sad and difficult and I wouldn't want anyone to suffer the injustices she described. But I also wanted it because the memoir was just so sloppily written that I wanted to just read it as a throwaway book.

Leslie writes about her first marriage in her early 20s to a man who first hit her five days before their wedding. She describes the violence inflicted on her during their honeymoon and also her isolation when they moved away from her friends and family to Vermont. Conor meets many hallmarks of an abuser-- he came from a family where he was abused and slowly controls Leslie, even though she doesn't think of herself as a "typical" battered wife. And in many ways, she's not what we think. She comes from an old, rich family, went to a prestigious college, interned at Seventeen magazine, went to business school. Not to be picky, but these are the exact reasons I wanted the book to be better written! The chronology was confusing, her's and Conor's characters were not multi-dimensional and there were some many inaccuracies (ie, Bostonians do not say "pop" for a Coke-- a detail, but if you're going to throw it in, it better be correct!).

I've read a couple memoirs in the past year or so. The best was An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination and the so-so was Trail of Crumbs. This leans more to the latter-- a need to get the story out.

I admire Leslie for telling her story and for the ultimate "happy ending" even though it wasn't as sophisticated as I would have liked. I'm giving it 3/5 netflix stars.

A Million Little Pieces

I'll be the first to admit those Oprah's Book Club stickers bug me. For awhile it was because I knew it meant the book was going to tell the story of incest or abuse with an amazing protaganist turn around by book's end (think The Lovely Bones). She started expanding her choices, including Faulkner and McCarthy, but still...her pushiness and cult following (ladies, really, does a multi-millionaire woman have so much in common with you, trying to pay off student loans while raising two kids and facing a home foreclosure?) irked me. I cheered when Jonathan Franzen rejected her and refused to be a guest on her show, and I cringed and rooted for James Frey when she publicly derided him.

Having not actually read A Million Little Pieces, I thought: now's the time, and why not compare it to Jonathan Franzen's book of essays, How To Be Alone (I'd read The Corrections years ago and loved it).

First up, A Million Little Pieces. Steph gives a nice synopsis here, so I won't go through all that. But honestly, I was disappointed. Maybe it was because it was hyped in so many ways-- before he was exposed, and after. I just didn't think the writing was that great. He capitalizes a lot of Things and is very repetative. I'm not sure if I was influenced by the fact I knew he had exxagerated and made up parts of his story, but I found a lot of it completely unbelievable, and was surprised so many people bought it, hook, line and sinker. It was all tied up very neatly and in fact read pretty well as a novel, save for the bad writing. I was captivated for sure, and won't become a drug addict anytime soon, so I guess in that regards it's successful. I give this book 3 netflix stars. And I recommend drinking gin and tonics while reading it, because it's kind of more kick ass that way.

What is the What

11:04 AM matt: did you make it through what is the what?

me: almost! I have about30 pages left!

what were your thoughts?

matt: well

it's too long by about half

11:05 AM and maybe it was very true to the guy's voice, but it seemed pretty flat.

i wasn't a huge fan

me: yeah, that's what I thought too!

11:06 AM matt: but i did like seeing how his refuge community sort of knit itself together

me: I actually thought the "voice" changed a lot-- it wasn't consistent

and I didn't like the narrating to the present day characters-- like the nurse in the ER or the attackers' son

I feel guilty for not liking it more

11:07 AM matt: yeah i didn't like that either - really really pedantic.

11:08 AM i started to feel guilty and then realized that a david eggars book is not to be confused with the actual plight of these people, you know

me: I think he would have done better to have a different ghost writer

Eggers I think was too focussed on his own story

(heartbreaking work of staggering genius)

11:09 AM matt: i also wonder if this type of book is just the P.C. modern version of travel narratives like the heart of darkness and robinson crusoe

me: it did seem politically motivated

matt: which would sort of cast in a light of appropriation of these peoples' story

me: I did like that the story became more real

11:10 AM It made it make more sense to me

I felt sad about William K, and Tabitha...

which isn't something you get from the news necessarily

11:11 AM matt: well true. the book definitely wasn't terrible, and is effective as a educational or political tool, which is probably what it was meant as

but if i'd realized that beforehand i probably wouldn't have started it

when is your book club?

11:14 AM me: book club is Saturday!

I might be the only one who read it

Russian Journal

I put greater trust in people with whom I share a name, Andrea. I picked a primary care doctor only because her name was Andrea and she was fantastic. All the Andreas I've ever met have been amazing. So when I discovered the writer Andrea Lee several years ago, I automatically assumed she would be a great writer. Not only do we share the same first name, but my middle name is Lee, so the sisterhood was sealed. And, true to form, she is a great writer.
Russian Journal is her first book-- it's a non fiction description of her time in the Soviet Union in the late 70s. Growing up in the 80s, the Soviet Union was a place completely off limits-- images of dark, dismal landscapes, people waiting in endless lines for scratchy toilet paper and root vegetables, plus, of course the constant threat of Communism to our freedom loving souls. Ms. Lee carefully paints a picture not unlike that described above, but with even more depth. She does not hide her distaste for the shortfalls of the huge Communist country-- the poverty, miseducation of its citizens and destruction of an imperial history in favor of boxy low rent conformity. But she draws a careful line between the institution that created this and the people who are a part of it. She makes friends who readily criticize the Party as well as friends whose patriotism is unmatched. She uses a journalist's eye to evoke character descriptions of her friends and the total landscape they inhabit. She finds herself missing "luxuries" such as freely speaking and going wherever she would like. She misses the glitzy advertising in the U.S. that is missing from the U.S.S.R. She misses the "whole" movie (sex scenes are edited out of imported movies). But when she arrives back in Boston, she finds she has a much greater appreciation for the lives and struggles of her Russian friends and finds herself appreciating them all the more.
Ms. Lee's descriptions confirmed many of my notions about Soviet Russia-- the coveting of American blue jeans and music, the cold and cramped housing. But now I'll also think of Grigorii, the student assigned to spy on Ms. Lee and her husband, but who they grew close to nonetheless, and his quiet appreciation of the nightingale's song. Or of Ms. Lee's descriptions of the ice breaking up in the spring, and the crisp cool air with eventual lilacs.
This was a beautifully written book so I'm giving if 5/5 netflix stars.

Trail of Crumbs: Hunger, Love and the Search for Home

I picked up this book after seeing an ad for it in the New Yorker; a memoir about a young woman's life in France and her love of food...having just finished My Life In France I was still hungry.  Trail of Crumbs by Kim Sunee delivered on the romantic just as Julia Child's book did.  But it was filled with bittersweet and sometimes downright depressing imagery as well.  The end of most chapters contained at least one recipe corresponding to the remembered time and place just described.
Ms. Sunee was adopted by a New Orleans couple after being abandoned on the streets of South Korea with just a handful of crumbs for three days.  Like other books I've read about an adopted child, Ms. Sunee is never quite happy, and doesn't fit in.  She and her sister are the only Asian children in school and she always feels uncomfortable around her parents.  She does find solace with her grandparents, especially her grandfather, from whom she learns the secrets of Louisiana cooking.  As soon as she's old enough to leave home, she does.  She spends a semester abroad in France as her first travel alone.  She wants to become a poet, a writer and learns French.  She is soon able to translate for work.
At a young age she meets men more advanced in years and experience, but being seemingly fearless, Ms. Sunee follows them, looking for her own history.  At 23 she falls in love with a wealthy, nearing 40 year old French businessman with an adolescent daughter.  Ms. Sunee is soon "adopted" into this family with various roles: lover, step mother, social hostess, home keeper and cook.  She only feels truly comfortable cooking and provides the reader for recipes such as spring pea salads and La Daube Provencale, wild peaches poached in Lillet Blanc and Figs roasted in Red Wine.  Some of her recipes are memories of a past both real (Monday red beans and rice, Crawfish bisque) and imagined (quick fix kimchi).
As the years pass she feels more and more unsettled, especially as her partner Olivier establishes a life for her more and more.  She ultimately has to make decisions that women twice her age have a hard time making, and her naivete and inexperience push through her strong facade.  While I respected her for her bravery, I was conscious of her seeming lack of appreciation for a life she had, whether she truly wanted it or not (probably an inherent trait in a young 20 something).
I liked this book, but I was hopeful for more sophisticated self reflection, a la Eat, Pray, Love.  Still, it was an enjoyable read, one that took the gloom out of a bleak Boston Sunday.  4/5 netflix stars.

My Life in France

Continuing on with the French theme...My Life in France by Julia Child with Alex Prud'homme  was my pick for book club.  I was first re-introduced to Julia Child through the popular blog the Julie/Julia Project, where a "serventless American cook" attempts to recreate all the recipes in Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking.  I then read Julie Powell's book based on the blog (so meta!) and netflixed some of Julia's old "French Chef" shows.  I was smitten! 

Julia Child is admirable in so many ways.  When I worry that I am getting older and have nothing to show for it and relatively little direction, I remember Julia.  She married in her mid-30s and only started cooking when her marriage took them to France.  In an era when women were not encouraged to work and were encouraged to raise a family, Julia broke the mold.  Julia threw her passion into learning, cooking, teaching, traveling and living life to its fullest.  I didn't intentionally pick a love story for February's book club, but it became evident that Julia loved Paul more than anything.  They had overlapping interests and supported each other in everything.  Julia did have conflicts-- as with anyone who collaborates with a friend, disagreements ensued.  But despite her frustrations, the friendship remained of prime importance.  And she flaunted her political beliefs, causing a familial rift with her father, but she stuck to her guns and beliefs.
I think my admiration and lovefest for Julia and this book is pretty clear.  I was even inspired to make French Bread!  This book gets an easy 5/5 netflix stars.

Angela's Ashes

Angela's Ashes by Frank McCourt may be the longest resting book on my bookshelf. Seven years ago, right after college, I lived in a big, old house in Allston, shared with 5+ individuals, none of whom I met before moving in. For a variety of reasons, I was miserable. At the end of the year, when we were all moving out, I went through Messy Jessie's room and scavenged stuff she'd left behind-- some Pottery Barn chairs and a copy of Angela's Ashes.
Here I'm going to compare my year of suffering to the McCourts':
The McCourts had to live upstairs in "Italy" because downstairs "Ireland" was always flooded. I had to live in my room solely because our living room wasn't furnished. The McCourts had to fight off rats and fleas in their flat. I lived mouse free because of Red Head's cat, Doodle. The rent collector threatened the McCourts with eviction because of non-payment of rent. When our landlord came to pick up the rent, Red Head told us not to answer the door and keep the apartment dark, so he would leave. We were also threatened with eviction! The McCourts were cold and ill-clothed. I was cold because we had to pay for our own heat and were advised to be frugal less we end up with a $200 heating bill.
In all, the McCourts were probably worse off, living poverty stricken in Ireland during the Depression and World War II. Both Frank and I vowed to move on to better situations-- he to America and me to Brighton, the neighborhood not of college slumming, but of young professionals.
Angela's Ashes was a delight to read in part because it's impossible to read without the lilting Irish accent. The vernacular of young Frankie is naive and hilarious. He knows if he asks too many questions he'll get a thump on the head. At times I thought the storylines a bit redundant, but Mr. McCourt earned his storytelling. I certainly liked Roddy Doyle's Paddy Clarke, Ha, Ha, Ha better, but I'll give Angela's Ashes 4/5 netflix stars.