Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions

After I took the required Algebra, Geometry and Trigonometry in high school, I was done with math. I wasn't good at it, it wasn't a "fun challenge" and it made me anxious and miserable. I knew practical applications of math, like how to calculate 25% off while shopping, and even how to calculate a nifty 18% tip. I knew how to count change back using the fewest coins possible and I could balance my checkbook. But in the IB program everyone had to test in some math...realizing that some of us were more artistically based, a class called Math Studies was created just for us. Have you ever had to compose a term paper for a math class? I did. I wrote mine on the geometry of sailing. Annie wrote hers on the geometry of billiards (keep in mind that diagrams added to the total number of pages submitted-- another practical math application!). I can't remember what Caron wrote hers on....Caron? By the time I got to college I did have to take Calculus. My mom signed me up for an intro class at Butler County Community College the summer before Sophomore year, figuring that a failing grade in a community college would be serve as a prep for my BU class, and hopefully allow that I get a C+ there. My mom is very smart.
Fast forward ten years. Mihee rightfully encourages teens, especially girls, into math and science careers. She mentors and leads a fulfilling life in the lab (with excursions to bars, parties, and book club). When it's Mihee's turn to pick a book for book club, we all groan and know that she is earnest in her obscure pick, which this month was Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions by Edwin Abbott. Despite Mihee assuring me that it was a "romance" I wasn't fooled for long. THIS IS A BOOK ABOUT MATH! There is even a quote on the back from Mathematics Teacher. It was only 83 pages, so I read it. A square in flatland is introduced by a sphere to the novely of spaceland. But more than onerous math, this book contained the 3 things I most despise in this world: sexism, racism and religious proselytizing and persecution. Because I respect Mihee and because she tries to educate, I will give this book 2 netflix stars. Also because it was only 83 pages. That's it.

Lulu in Marrakech

If you could travel to exotic locales and live a life of percieved ennui, maybe just volunteering for some local projects, would you? Would you forfeit your identity, even from your family? Would you risk your life and be prepared to go to jail in a foreign country? Lulu Sawyer does all this, in Diane Johnson's book, Lulu in Marrakech.

We don't know a lot about how and why Lulu became involved in the CIA, but as a young agent without a family, she is able to deftly move place to place without prompting suspicion. Lulu isn't a robot; like many 30 year old, liberal educated women, she questions the role of women in world society, specifically focussing on her new post in Morocco. She yearns to marry Ian, the man whom she ostensibly travels to Marrakech to be with, although he could in fact be part of a larger plot which Lulu is supposed to keep tabs on.

Ms. Johnson expands her themes of Americans abroad much as she did in Le Divorce. Lulu and a fellow guest and expat, Posy, try to navigate as women in a Muslim (albeit liberal) society and are confronted with other European women who have conflicting views about the roles of Muslim women-- some believe they deserve to learn to read, while others think, "what's the point?".

Lulu's covert task comes to a head by the end of the book, but along the way she has to decide where her allegiances lie; are the friends she's made really friends? What personal risks, if any, will she take to maintain those friendships?

Ms. Johnson, through our heroine Lulu, is able to address non-PC topics and sterotypes and ultimately, those become the main themes of the book-- not Lulu's mission.

I loved this book. I loved that it was current and provacative, yet at times also really funny. I give this 5/5 netflix stars.

Unaccustomed Earth

My first job out of college I worked with a woman named Alo. Originally from India, she and her family had lived in Newton for nearly 20 years. She worked so that her children would have access to her employee discount of education. Once her youngest was through school, she would retire. Despite her years in the US, she always wore a sari and beautiful jewelry to work. Even in winter she would wear colorful, sheer and silky saris, covered with a thick cardigan. Alo had a vast network of fellow Indians and when she learned that I had loved Jhumpa Lahiri's book Interpreter of Maladies, she divulged that she was friendly with her family and thereafter took every opportunity to share with me stories about Ms. Lahiri. "Baby", she would say, "Jhumpa wore the most gorgeous sari to a wedding shower." She would tell details of her clothes and how she styled her hair, telling me how beautiful she was. But I couldn't imagine her clothes being half as beautiful as her stories.

Unaccustomed Earth takes advantage of Ms. Lahiri's distinguished writing style. In a sense, it picks up where Interpreter of Maladies leaves off; a book of longer short stories which can be read individually, but when combined tell a larger story. Her stories explore the relationships between generations of immigrant familes, and their relationships with people outside their immediate circle of friends and family. But far from playing the race card, Ms. Lahiri's stories commentt on the universal feeling of otherness. How losing a parent or spouse can be the most lonely feeling in the world. Or the feeling when you are untethered with no permanent home. And by the regret that comes with age, over decisions and actions made when younger. She writes capably of love and loss, but also resentment and fear.

Ms. Lahiri's stories are beautiful, but less like a brightly colored chiffon sari, and more like Alo's sweater-- old and dependable, meant to comfort and warm, holding the knowlege of its owner's years.

Netflix stars: 5/5

Later, At the Bar



When I'm not reading books off my shelf, I sometimes refer to the New York Times list of notable books. It's nice to have a short list of well reviewed books that may deviate from what I would normally choose to read. A "novel in stories" called Later, At the Bar, by Rebecca Barry, however, appealed to me immediately for it contained two of my favorite things: short stories, and a bar.
Based in a small town in upstate New York, each story chronicles the lives of a small group of down and out townies, with blue collar jobs, who usually end up at the bar, Lucy's. They sometimes aspire to something more (a longer marriage, a successful job), but know no matter what they live in a community where they are accepted without regard to their shortfalls. The cast includes Harlin and Cyrus Wilder, hard partying twins for fall hard for cheating women. There's Grace, one of the cheating women who marries Harlin. Linda writes an advice column for some small papers, and usually drinks vodkas while composing her answers. My favorite is Elizabeth Teeter, a woman whose husband recently left her for another man. She admits to being annoyed by people who talk to their pets, but once her husband leaves, she finds herself having conversations with her cat, Roger.
Ms. Barry does a wonderful job of giving human qualities to otherwise unsympathetic characters. The stories can be read separately, but taken as a whole, they really provide a snapshot of some sort of Everytown, USA. The stories read kind of slow at times, but otherwise I enjoyed them, and will give Later, At the Bar 4/5 netflix stars.

Netherland

How much does public tragedy drive our private lives? Can we redirect our personal trajectories after public events steer us off course? How will our lives be perceived in the space of our generation; or in the space of two, three or four generations? What does it mean to be an American (Ich bin ein American?)? How do we chose our friendships? These are some of the questions Joseph O'Neill asks in his beautifully and thoughtfully written Netherland.

Hans, a Dutch native, his English wife and their young son relocate to New York for work prior to 9/11. They live downtown and are moved to the Chelsea Hotel after their building is contaminated. Rachel becomes more and more agitated and anxious after the attacks, and decides to move with their son back to London. Faced with the unexpected, Hans flounders. He lives in a bohemian hotel with transient to non-existent friends, a job in which he's successful and makes a good living, but without friends and family doesn't translate into happiness. But as friendships often happen, he randomly meets Chuck Ramkissoon and soon strikes up a friendship of convenience with him, and others who meet to play cricket throughout the outer boroughs.

For Hans, cricket is a transport back in time to his childhood in the Hague. Throughout the book Hans enjoys the anonymity his ragtag group of immigrant friends provide. He doesn't question their motives and they don't question his. Maybe for all of them it is a way to connect in vast America, and they do. To connect with his son, Hans frequently logs into Google Earth and swoops from lower Manhattan to London, getting down close enough to see his wife's car and son's bike in the lawn. We are, and as Hans intimately knows, in a very small world, but also one that is still so immense.

O'Neill deftly navigates the reader through real events in the years following 9/11 (ie, the blackout of '93) and challenges us to wonder whether public events really do affect our current and future relationships. He writes about the mundane and the profound in the same tone, giving us a guide, Hans, who is equally confused and assured about his own decisions.

Netherland isn't a page turner, but it is captivating. I give it 5/5 netflix stars.

Izzy, Willy-Nilly

Reading adolescent books with adult eyes is more enlightening than I'd ever imagine. I know many books I read as a child my mom did not necessarily approve of (like the Sweet Pickles series...I think because of gender inequality?) and many I read I would not now approve of (although I would never discourage the reading of any book, even if it is crap). So I read the "classic" Izzy, Willy-Nilly by Cynthia Voigt in part to see how my adult self would react to it.

Voigt was the Jodi Picoult of the 1980s. She wrote books that dealt with sensitives subjects for young adults; Izzy, Willy-Nilly has the tagline, "One drunk driver changed her life forever." I don't remember reading this book as an adolescent, but if I did, I would probably be in awe of Izzy and her friends dating, being cheerleaders and popular and going to parties. The lives of literary teens never seemed to quite mimic mine at the time. But as an adult, I really identified with the friendship that Izzy and Rosamunde formed. It seemed entirely plausible that many of Izzy's friends would lack the maturity and introspection to know how to transcend from a friendship with a perfectly mobile Izzy to a friendship with Izzy with a "leg and a half".

A lot of the book was very 1980s-- the big hair, the references to Stevie Wonder's "I Just Called To Say I Love You" and most notably, for me, the lack of independence and career motivation for Izzy and her friends. There was definitely a lot of talk about "having a good figure" and not so much talk about extracurricular activities and volunteering, which are a way of life for all teens now. Most noticebly absent from this book was the lack of repurcussion for the drunk driver.

Izzy frequently imagined a tiny, imaginary, replica of herself who perfectly reflected her feelings at given moments, even if she didn't publicly display those emotions. And Izzy was proud, scared, nervous and catty. All realistic for a 15 year old girl.

Despite it shortfalls (seriously-- address the drunk driving if you're going to bring it up!), I would be happy to recommend this book to a teen girl.

Netflix stars: 3/5

How To Be Alone

An Open Letter To Jonathan Franzen:

I'd like to start by thanking you. Your book The Corrections entertained me for a good couple days at my first post-college job. But perhaps the joy that was The Corrections bears re-reading, because I found your book of essays, How To Be Alone, in a word, annoying. In two words, annoying and obnoxious. The book consists of essays written from the early to mid-90s and finishes with one written on Inauguration Day, 2001. Many of the earlier essays are stuck in their time-- ruminations on the deterioration of society due to cordless phones and answering machines. I guess it's noble to write one's novel on an old typewriter...if you're 78. But Mr. Franzen, at the writing, you were in your early thirties! Isn't that a bit young to become a curmudgeon? Personally, if I had written an essay predicting that the Internet would fall the way of beta max and AOL email, I'd want to make sure it stayed hidden, presumably under lock and key in old gray file cabinets, and not compiled in a "Best Of" album. I felt embarrassed for you.

You lament that people don't read anymore and inform us that you gave away your old tv so that there would be no distractions from reading. While you might like to think you are a martyr for doing this, the reality is, Mr. Franzen, that many, many people read. And many, many people can just turn off the tv for a couple hours. I daresay that even Mr. Frey would be able to abstain from tv for an evening to read a forlorn and dusty book in the prison library.

But Mr. Franzen, it's not all gloom and doom. I sincerely enjoyed your expose on the deficiencies of the Chicago Postal Service (because who doesn't enjoy bitching about the mail?) and your last essay on Inauguration Day 2001 showed growth and insight. The essay about your father's brain was poignant and your interviews with prison inmates were thoughtful. But when you just offer your opinion on a given issue, you often straddle both sides, leaving me wondering which side you are really on.

I'm sure you'd be happy knowing the Marie Claire Book Club probably would not wade through your verbiage of "big" words (two words missing from your essays are "hubris" and "humility"). In fact, I couldn't finish the book. I decided to take the challenge you proposed and read...but life's too short to read condescending opinions set forth by spoiled artists.

Mr. Franzen, your book may be so lucky to fall into the same company as your beloved typewriter and even the answering machine-- at a garage sale in a box of $.10 books.

Sincerely,

Andrea

Netflix stars-- 2/5