Be The Hero Of Your Book Club

Reading good books ruins you for enjoying bad books. —Mary Ann Shaffer, The Guernsey Literary and Sweet Potato Peel Pie Society

I have a love/hate relationship with book clubs. Love—because what's not to love about getting together with friends who love books and consuming large quantities of treats? Hate—because I'm sometimes forced to read books I would never choose and find a polite way of saying that slogging through said book made me want to scratch my eyes out.

We care about you and your eyes, so we've compiled a list of guaranteed crowd pleasers. Throw in some edible delights and you're sure to be a star.

BEST BOOKS FOR A GREAT DISCUSSION

A Man Called Ove (see our review here)

FOR THOSE STILL DOING THE ENGLISH MAJOR THING

The Snow Child (see our review here)

The Bartender's Tale

FOR GROUPS CRAVING A LITTLE INTROSPECTION

The Gifts of Imperfection (see our review here)

My Grandfather's Blessings (see our review here)

IF BEACH READS ARE MORE YOUR STYLE

After You (of course, you must read Me Before You first - see review here)

Posted by Rachel

Words Are Her Brilliance

Maybe, I am thinking, there is something hidden like this, in all of us. A small gift from the universe waiting to be discovered.

This book is a gift. For the young, the old, and the in between—as every children's book should be. C.S. Lewis of course put it best: "No book is really worth reading at the age of ten which is not equally—and often more—worth reading at the age of fifty and beyond." I don't understand people who refuse to read children's literature. Good children's literature, that is. No one should read bad children's literature, least of all children. But the good ones? Read them. And read them often. To quote another author with initials for a first name, J.K. Rowling: "The true dilemmas of childhood are the dilemmas of the whole of life…belonging and betrayal, the power of the group, and the courage it takes to be an individual."

Brown Girl Dreaming is one of the good ones. It is a memoir of childhood; a portrait of a writer as a young girl, and the stories, people, and places that shaped her. In a voice so pure and lyrical and unaffected that not once does Jacqueline Woodson betray herself as an adult—savvy young readers would never stand for that—we see her world as she did then, as a young African American growing up in the 1960s and 1970s. How different this novel would have been were it told from an adult's point of view, looking back. How infinitely better for us all that it's not.

Raised in South Carolina and later Brooklyn, New York, Woodson was torn between two completely different worlds, and never felt entirely at home in either place. In the South, kids teased her and her siblings for their northern way of talking, and its prejudices made it harder to remember that she was "as good as anybody." In the North, being a Jehovah's Witness meant following rules her friends didn't understand. But home was her family, as was her forever friend, Maria.

And words. Words become her home too. Beginning with her insatiable love of stories as a young child, to her initial struggle to read on her own, to the thrill of her first blank composition book, and finally, to her ultimate discovery that "words are [her] brilliance."

Here's an example of that brilliance:

I am not my sister.
Words from the books curl around each other
make little sense
until
I read them again
and again, the story
settling into memory. Too slow my teacher says.
Read Faster.
Too babyish, the teacher says.
Read older.
But I don't want to read faster or older or
any way else that might
make the story disappear too quickly from where
it's settling
inside my brain,
slowly becoming a part of me.
A story I will remember
long after I've read it for the second, third,
tenth, hundredth time.

I know will remember this story long after I've read it for the second, third, tenth, hundredth time.

Posted by Rachel

I'm A Snowfall Kind Of Girl

Snow was falling,
so much like stars
filling the dark trees
that one could easily imagine
its reason for being was nothing more
than prettiness. —Mary Oliver

Photo courtesy of Kristen Howey

Photo courtesy of Kristen Howey

It's after midnight and my fifty-something husband is out driving around in the snow with a couple of our kids, spinning donuts in every empty parking lot he can find. This is one of the many reasons I find it easy to forgive him for not being a reader. I've stayed back to keep my sick daughter company and am content to sit and watch those big beautiful flakes quieting the world outside my in-laws' front window. I could watch this show for hours. I ask, as I do more times than I care count, how did a snow lovin girl like me end up in the desert? Following that donut-spinning husband of mine, that's how. Truth is, I'd follow that boy anywhere.

We're in Utah for my nephew’s wedding and Donut Spinner forgot his suit. He’s questioning his priorities a bit as he's pretty sure he did remember to bring every piece of ski clothing he owns. Someone's got visions of Snowbird dancing in his head. While my nephew, Gavin, would understand if he showed up to celebrate the nuptials in ski clothes, my mother most definitely would not. Looks like we’ll be doing some quick shopping in the morning, so I thought I better hop on and write this post while I have the chance. Forgive me if it’s a quick one, I’ve got a snowfall to watch.

We like to keep things positive around here, so as a general rule, you won’t find negative reviews. We’re in the business of recommending, not writing scathing critiques. That smacks of pure drudgery—for us and for you. Every once in a great while, we may feel the need to warn you about a book we find exceptionally awful. Go Set a Watchman was such a book. If you haven’t read it yet, and are thinking you might, please read this first and I’ll sleep better tonight.

I just stopped reading A Song for Issy Bradley. As I mentioned my excitement about it in an earlier post, I thought it only fair you should know. I’m already lamenting the time lost reading over a half of its three hundred or more pages, so I’ll keep this short and as sweet as I can. At the heart of this story is a Mormon family grieving a horrible loss. The writing is good and the story, while sad, is somewhat compelling at the start. A little deeper in, I began to realize this wasn't so much a story about a family dealing with devastating grief, but an author's attempt to besmirch and drastically misrepresent a religion she's left behind. What a sad waste of talent.

The good news is instead of adding to your stack of books, as we are so prone to do, we've made it easier to take one off—which means more time for Downton Abbey viewing. I feel better already, don't you?

*This is posting 24 hours later than planned. While my in-laws have a lovely home with an even lovelier view, their wifi is not so lovely. I'm happy to report that proper attire was purchased and the wedding was enjoyed by all, especially the bride and groom—who, by the way, could not be lovelier. Congratulations Gavin and Meredith!

Posted by Rachel

Picking Favorites

Read the best books first, or you may not have a chance to read them at all. —Henry David Thoreau

I feel you, Henry.  I like to think that I’m a down-to-earth girl, but I will readily admit that I’m a book snob.  There I said it.  Even if time was my friend, and I assure you he’s not, I wouldn’t read drivel.  Please don’t hold it against me.  After all, books can be bliss.  

Is it snooty to suggest that you should pick books like you pick friends?  In other words, be choosy.  I feel like I have some stellar credibility on this one since I picked Rachel.  (Did I find you, or you find me?)  At any rate, I make it a point to get the scoop on good reads…you know, I do my homework.  Oh, and I have my trusted recommenders.  (We’re hoping to become those for you.)

So here are some books I’ve been eyeballin’—ones I’m ready to read in 2016, come hell-o high water.

At the top of my list is Paul Kalanithi’s When Breath Becomes Air.  I have a good feeling about this book.  It comes from a thirty-six-year old neurosurgeon who learns that he has stage IV lung cancer.  In the same vein as The Last Lecture, the dying author focuses on what matters most in life.  Award-winning novelist Ann Patchett wrote this of When Breath Becomes Air, “Those of us who never met Paul Kalanithi will both mourn his death and benefit from his life. This is one of a handful of books I consider to be a universal donor—I would recommend it to anyone, everyone.”

Another book that’s caught my eye is Girl at War by Sara Novic.  Here’s what Amazon has in bold print when you call up Girl at War. NAMED ONE OF THE BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR BY BOOKPAGE AND BOOKLIST.  For readers of The Tiger’s Wife and All the Light We Cannot See comes a powerful debut novel about a girl’s coming of age—and how her sense of family, friendship, love, and belonging is profoundly shaped by war.  Amazon had me at All the Light We Cannot See.  This will be in Rachel’s birthday package come February 1st.  (Lest you think me a spoiler, just remember the hope of a good book is grand like a surprise.)

Alan Bradley, mystery writer of the charming Flavia de Luce series, said that The Sultan’s Wife is “gorgeously written” and “cost [him] two days of writing time.”  Say no more Alan.  The Sultan’s Wife is now in my Amazon cart.  The minute I have a minute and I’m ready for a sumptuous read, I’ll hit buy now with 1-click without hesitating.

Don’t worry.  You’ll be the first to find out if this trio makes the best books list.  Yeah, I got your back!

Posted by Tracy

Playing Favorites

Picking five favorite books is like picking the five body parts you'd most like not to lose. —Neil Gaiman

I feel you, Neil. While I love reading other people's lists of favorite reads of the year, producing my own is as hard for me as giving up Coke Zero. Okay, clearly not as hard because I've managed to eek out a list and I'm nowhere near giving up Coke Zero. But there was pain involved, I assure you, and lots of anxiety. And as all my favorite lists do, it comes with the disclaimer that it is subject to change at any given moment. So for today, here are my top five books of 2015.

Kristen Hannah's The Nightingale is the book that helped me recover from my All the Light we Cannot See withdrawals. That was a tall order, I assure you. It's been awhile since I loved a book as much as that one, it was my hands down favorite read of 2014, no nail biting or gnashing of teeth involved in that pick. While The Nightingale doesn't quite reach those same heights for me, it's still one that will not disappoint.

Oh Ivan. I still owe you that ode. As complicated as my relationship is with picking favorites, I'm pretty sure The Bartender's Tale is my favorite of Doig's works. If Norman Maclean's A River Runs Through it makes your list of top reads, do yourself a favor and meet Ivan Doig. Read more about my love for him here.

In talking to a few of my friends about this book, I'm realizing Ove may need to come with a warning label. While I loved this curmudgeon from the get-go, for some he appears to be more of an acquired taste. But fall in love they did, so stick with this one if at first you aren't as besotted as I am with A Man Called Ove. Read more about my obsession with Ove here.

This is the book I gave away most last year and I've yet to hear anything but rave reviews. Odds are you'll love The Rent Collector as well. You can read my review of this gem here.

The world needs more Wright Brothers and David McCulloughs. I am seriously smitten with all three of them. I can't think of a single soul who wouldn't love The Wright Brothers. At least not one over the age of sixteen-ish. Read my raving review here.

To stave off my impending anxiety attack over playing favorites with the books I loved in 2015, please check out the other seven that may well be one of my favorite five tomorrow, or in five minutes. You'll find them on our bookshelf.

Posted by Rachel

Book Club Monday

If sweatpants are your everyday attire, you’ll end up looking like you belong in them, which is not very attractive. What you wear in the house does impact your self-image.

Sounds like Marie may be a Seinfeld fan. She would probably be even tougher on George than Jerry. Do you think she feels the same about yoga pants? I cringe to think of what she'd say if she could see me writing this in my pajamas. This sister is tough. She may even scare me a little. But I've heard fear can be a great motivator, so here's hoping she'll be able to whip me into shape. She's definitely got her work cut out for her.

I've almost finished reading the book and am getting ready to dive in. First, I have to take down Christmas. Small obstacle. But I'm hoping to report some significant decluttering progress by next week. Perhaps I'll even be able to walk into my walk-in closet by then. A girl can dream.

How about you? Have you started? Are you being kinder to your socks? Have you stopped wearing sweatpants? Keep us updated on your progress!

Posted by Rachel

Happy Imperfect New Year

The thing that is really hard, and really amazing, is giving up on being perfect and beginning the work of becoming yourself. —Anna Quindlen

I just had an aha moment. Oprah would be so proud. This time of year I always think of my high school friend Christy and what we came to call the New Year's Eve Curse. Every year, bless our little naive hearts, we had big hopes for the perfect New Year's Eve. One that would find us at the right party and getting kissed at midnight by the boy of our teenage dreams. And every year, those hopes would get dashed into a million sad little pieces. It was comical really. It seemed we had a knack for always being at the wrong party, while our friends, and—more important to the success of the night, the boys we liked—rang in the new year somewhere else. The most notorious of all our New Year's Eve fails was the year the clock struck midnight while we were racing from one party to the next. We pulled the car over and laughed until we cried.

Which brings me to my aha moment: I'm afraid that New Year's Eve Curse is a metaphor for my life. I'm in the car (both figuratively and literally), racing from one task to the next, while the big stuff—the important stuff—is happening elsewhere, without me. Or if I'm present, I'm only partially present, with a million to-do's racing through my mind at any given moment.

If Christy and I had stopped chasing after the perfect New Year's Eve, we probably would have had some pretty great ones. If I'd stop letting society's, and in turn, my own, unrealistic expectations dictate how I live my life, I'd find that while my life may be far from perfect, it's pretty dang good. If I'd just slow down enough to enjoy it. Shift my focus. And give myself and all my glorious imperfections a much needed break. Learn to live with my whole heart, rather than my current standard of living: distracted, harried, and overwhelmed.

My aha moment and shift in thinking is brought to you...or really me...via Brené Brown's The Gifts of Imperfection. I can't recommend it loudly enough. I needed this book. I don't have time to write and you don't have time to read all the reasons I love this book. Especially when you could, and should, just be reading the actual book. It is a book that will change the way you think.

I'm new to the Brené Brown party, and I'm an instant fan. I love that this isn't a self-help, how-to book—we have plenty of those. Rather than describe what makes this book different, I'll let her do it. Is that cheating? It feels a bit like cheating. Maybe it's really just more of accepting that I don't have the words or the time to explain it as well as Brown does. How's that for embracing my imperfections?

"How-to" is a seductive shortcut. Why cross the swamp if you can just bypass it? But here's the dilemma: Why is "how-to" so alluring when, truthfully, we already know "how-to" yet we're still standing in the same place longing for more joy, connection, and meaning?

We know how to eat healthy. We also know how to make good choices with our money. We know how to take care of our emotional needs. We know all of this, yet...We are the most obese, medicated, addicted, and in-debt Americans EVER.

Why? Because...we don't talk about what keeps us eating until we're sick, busy beyond human scale, desperate to numb and take the edge off, and full of so much anxiety and self-doubt that we can't act on what we know is best for us. We don't talk about the hustle for worthiness that's become such a part of our lives that we don't even realize that we're dancing.

If we want to live and love with our whole hearts, and if we want to engage with the world from a place of worthiness, we have to talk about the things that get in the way—especially shame, fear, and vulnerability.

Amen.

Posted by Rachel