Ella Enchanted

There are some books from your childhood that you can re-read as an adult and nothing quite seems the same... and then there are books like Ella Enchanted, where it feels as though you've only set it down a few days before, all the details are still so clear. The same charm and intelligence of the heroine, the same frustrating situation of her curse, the same thought of "I know he's the prince, but couldn't Ella do just a little bit better?"

Ella Enchanted is Gail Carson Levine's empowered spin on the classic Cinderella story, though readers who don't know this might not figure that bit out until quite close to the end of the book. Rather than simply talking about some girl who's happy to let an evil stepfamily walk all over her for no reason, Levine makes the story her own and gives a great deal of background to the young woman with a fairy godmother who's destined to somehow wear glass sippers and ride in a pumpkin to a ball.

The basic premis is this: as a baby, Ella was "blessed" with a gift that really turned out to be a curse. A fairy (though not her fairly godmother, it turns out) gave her the gift of obedience, which translates into the fact that Ella has to do anything that she's commanded to do. She can hold out for a little bit, but her limbs strain to obey and her head begins to hurt until she yields to the command. Over the years, she's learned the loopholes and figured out ways to do as she's told without actually submitting to an order, but it still qualifies as the world's worst "blessing" in her book. With a loving mother and mother-figure in the family's cook, Ella manages for herself a bit... until her mother dies and her father (who wasn't ever in the running for world's best dad) sends her off to finishing school with two dreadful girls who are clearly destined to be her step-sisters as soon as their mother gets their hooks into Ella's father. Ella finds a friend at school -- only to be ordered to give her up -- and runs away in pursuit of the fairy who cursed her, hoping that she'll take back her "gift" so Ella can have her free will. In the course of this trip, she is nearly eaten by ogres, saves herself from their clutches (with just a little help from Char and his knights), and shows off her knack for learning languages before the story twists to give her even more stumbling blocks before what you know simply must be a happy ending.

Prior to being shipped off to school, Ella befriends the Prince (Char) and while the reader can clearly see that Char is becoming more and more smitten with his friend as they get a bit older, Ella remains unaware of his affections. When he ultimately confesses his feelings, though, she realizes that she's never before realized just how cursed she is, for she can be nothing but a danger to the prince if others manipulate her with commands. Char clearly has a good head on his shoulders and is not one of those gad-about princes, but even though he's steady and kind, one does find him to be just a touch dull. He can, at least, appreciate humor and their letters show that there's a deeper connection than a few storybook balls might provide. The only frustrating bit about the romance is that it all really does come down to Ella's love for Char that will be responsible for breaking the curse. One might prefer it to be more about her own self, but at least what breaks the curse is her desire for what's best for Char as opposed to an insistence on having him for herself.

Levine's twist on the Cinderella story takes a classic fairy tale and injects it with life and female empowerment. True, Ella's in a terribly awkward situation, but our determined and independent heroine never lacks for intelligence and wit while she seeks to end her predicament. Actually, every one of the female characters in the book is strong in her own way, from Ella's meek school friend that insists upon correcting any errors of belief about Ella to the evil stepsisters who focus on what they want for themselves (whether it's misguided or not). One wishes Mandy (the cook who turns out to be Ella's real fairy godmother, but who insists on only doing small magic) were inclined to take a few more risks for her goddaughter, but all turns out well, so it's hard to fault her.

If you're worried that your daughters might be getting the wrong messages about heroines in fairy tales and the all-consuming need to win a prince, you should certainly have them read Ella Enchanted, as it's a great gateway book to all kinds of other fairy-tale-based novels for girls where the heroines are a bit stronger than the stories would otherwise suggest. (If you need a movie counterpart, direct your girls to Ever After as opposed to the movie version of Ella, because while it might be fun to revitalize Queen's "Somebody to Love," the movie's way off-base on the book and the heroine's strength.) In the end, I still found Ella to be an enchanting read as an adult and would heartily recommend it to any young heroine in the making.

Anne of Green Gables

I would venture to say that for young girls of an imaginative nature (who hit their pre-teen/early teen years from 1910 through the end of the 1900s), there is no book more influential to their romantic notions than L. M. Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables. And when that young girl is a redhead? Well, let's just say that we all knew that this was going to be one of the most significant books of my youth before I even opened its pages. (Quite frankly, only the Tamora Pierce series about redheaded Alanna could rival it.) I can't say much about girls that have reached those critical years post-2000, but I certainly hope that a large number of them are still being charmed by this series. While visiting my parents, my bedroom stuffed with the books of my childhood (despite the fact that it's not my childhood bedroom, but my parents could never throw away my library), I decided it was time to visit Green Gables once more, at the beginning of the long series that features one of the most beloved heroines of children's literature.

Anne 's arrival at Green Gables was a complete mistake. Marilla and Matthew Cuthbert, siblings, live on Prince Edward Island and had decided that they were going to adopt a boy of ten or eleven so that he might grow up and be of help to Matthew, in exchange for providing the boy with a comfortable home and an education. However, when Matthew Cuthbert arrives at the train station to pick up the child, he finds a red-haired, freckled, slip of a girl by the name of Anne Shirley and she will not stop talking. Matthew is already terrified of women, no matter their age or size, but as he drives the girl back to Green Gables (so Marilla can decide what to do), he finds himself listening with pleasure at the girl's chatter. Marilla is less enthused at first, but even she comes to find something charming in the girl and the prospect of sending her back becomes slimmer with every passing moment until finally the decision is made to keep the child. Anne has many faults, but she becomes the focus and pride of their lives as they decide to keep and raise the young orphan with the wild imagination and boundless energy. She finds a "bosom friend" in neighbor Diana Barry and settles herself upon a life-long hatred of Gilbert Blythe after he calls her carrots and humiliates her in class (though fans of the series know that "lifelong" lasted approximately five-six years and her emotions toward this handsome young man became very different with time). She re-names most every location in town to suit her fantastic notions and enlists her friends in writing wild stories. Incredibly bucollic worries (will Anne be allowed to attend the picnic or drive to the exhibition?) mingle with more serious issues (like Marilla's missing brooch and the ill Barry baby) and ridiculous mix-ups (Anne's attempt to dye her hair and Diana getting drunk on wine mistaken for cordial). The substantial middle of the book follows several scenes of adolescence, which simply contribute to the heroine's development, even if they don't necessarily prop up an overarching storyline. As a result, I always thought this would be an excellent book to read aloud to one's child. Anne of Green Gables follows its titular heroine for something like six years, watching her make both good and bad decisions, almost all of which have amusing consequences. With an imagination that far outstrips everyone in Avonlea, she captivates the entire town, whether they'd admit it or not, and this is just the first in a long series of books about the vivacious redhead.

I cannot remember how many times I've read this book, but last count probably hovers around at least nine or ten. It had been years since I'd picked it up, but everything rushed back with fond familiarity. Anne is so bold and romantic, but the book feels a little dated in how quaint and idyllic the town seems. Perhaps it's just that I live in New York City, where kids seem to grow up long before they should, but I was incredibly worried that this might no longer be the same kind of childhood classic for this generation. Will it be added to the list of books that mothers beg their children to read, ultimately abandoning the effort and simply forcing them to watch the filmed series? I went to dinner with a few college friends and even the young men in the group could remember watching it (only one admitted to reading the book, but played the "I have sisters" card). I just don't know if it's something that children today (particularly city kids) can relate to without drawing conclusions about "the good old days" and "what life would be like if we moved to a farm and I was home schooled."

The only bad moment that I experienced came with the ending of the book, when I remembered my own significant criticism that, even as a child, I had to make of this first book (spoiler alert!) -- Anne's choice to give up her scholarship and stay home to care for Marillia was something that never sat well with me. One of the best things about Anne is the fact that she is incredibly intelligent. Geometry might be her Achilles heel, but every other subject would see Anne fighting with Gilbert to come out at the head of the class. Not only is she smart, but she's diligent about studying and set on doing her absolute best with her schoolwork, which makes her final decision all the most frustrating. Yes, Anne mentioned taking courses to ultimately get her college degree, but I remembered thinking to myself that no good parent (or pseudo-parent like Marilla) would allow her child to abandon her education in favor of staying home to care for the parent. My mother would have plucked out her own eyes to hasten the whole going blind thing rather than let me give up on such a significant opportunity. Chalk it up to the era, perhaps, but I still dislike the message that it sends with the ending of the book. Everyone understands *why* Anne does it, but it still doesn't make it the right decision.

Anne of Green Gables is, however, a major classic and despite this final flawed message about higher education, I will always love it. It inspires loyalty and dedication, so the next generation of girls better hope that it cane still appreciate Anne, or they're in for some long, frustrated hours, as I find it unlikely that their mothers will let this one go. I know families that have gone on Anne-inspired trips to Prince Edward Island. I know women who attribute their dyed auburn hair to the desire to be Anne. And I myself was always a little miffed that I could never pull off pigtail braids. Indeed, Anne Shirley is firmly rooted in even my generation's cultural consciousness and I hope that she retains such a place of honor with the generations to come.

Catwings & Catwings Return

After recently reading what I at first considered to be my first Ursula K. Le Guin work, I was reminded of the fact that I was quite wrong... and that as a child, I had actually loved two Le Guin books, though that may have been because they included the young-Alana prerequisite for any good book: cats.

Catwings focuses on the Tabby family, or rather, the four children of Mrs. Jane Tabby. Without a father and with their home in a neighborhood that was growing worse, Mrs. Jane Tabby has her paws full and so there was no real time to worry much about the fact that her children had wings. There comes a point when Mrs. Tabby believes that her children need to leave and find a better life for themselves, and so she insists that they use their wings to fly away and do just that. She is left behind, newly engaged to a good tomcat, and while her words are a bit brusque, no one doubts that all Mrs. Tabby wants is the best life possible for her children. So Thelma, Roger, James, and Harriet fly into the country, where they make a life for themselves, but learn that life can be just as dangerous there as it was in the city. Ultimately, they befriend two human children who understand that they can never tell anyone about the flying cats or everyone would try to trap them. Instead, they give the cats a home in the top of their family's barn and the story ends happily with the semi-domestication of the flying cats.

Catwings Return focuses primarily on James and Harriet, who decide that they wish to visit their mother in the old neighborhood, and so they leave their siblings in the country for what is supposed to be a simple visit. (Roger and Thelma believe the children they have befriended would be far too worried if everyone left, so they stay behind.) Of course, when James and Harrier arrive, they find that construction crews are demolishing the neighborhood, their mother is nowhere to be found, and their attention is caught by a mewing sound -- which turns out to be a black winged kitten in a condemned building. With patience, they befriend the kitten (who clearly must be their mother's kitten, they believe, given the wings) and manage to save him in the knick of time from the encroaching bulldozers. They find Mrs. Jane Tabby in a rooftop garden, their mother having recently been taken in by an old woman after the first bulldozers drove her from the neighborhood. Her husband was away on business (and she seems little concerned with his loss) and she cannot get down from the rooftop garden, but now that she knows her kitten is safe, Mrs. Jane Tabby is perfectly content to stay right where she is -- provided James and Harriet take her kitten with them to the country. They do so and the kitten is named Jane, happy in her new country surroundings with her older siblings.

There were two other books in the Catwings Collection -- named Marvelous Alexander and the Catwings and Jane on her Own -- but they never really captured me the way the first two did. At the time, I was charmed by the drawings and, let's face it, any story that featured kitties. Now that I'm older and know a bit more about Le Guin's work, I find them to be embedded with deeper concepts about parenthood, survival, independence, and trust. With Le Guin's interest in gender roles, it's unsurprising that we have a strong single mother and a similarly strong female leader in Thelma. The dangers of the world are quite present, both in the city and the country, and Le Guin is not afraid to make those manifest in attacks on the individuals and long-term repercussions.

I hadn't been that keen on picking up another Le Guin book after reading a series of her stories for adults, but this re-read of Catwings may have actually won her another chance. It's all a bit deeper than the simple story of flying cats and touches upon ideas of growing up and finding one's own way in the world (though there's still a healthy reliance on family). Catwings: not just for kitty-obsessed kids anymore. Though if you have one of those, then you should definitely introduce them to Mrs. Tabby and her children.

The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle

If you are a parent looking to expand your young daughter's horizons, teaching her that she can do anything that boys can do, but need some good heroines to convey that message, then I might be inclined to recommend The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle. It is, essentially, the girl's guide to being a cabin boy. There are diagrams with vocabulary and everything. So many classics might write of young men on ships, but I look to Avi's Charlotte Doyle as the girl who taught me that rebellious young ladies could also partake of such adventure, sailing the high seas and learning a great deal about herself.

The year is 1832. Charlotte Doyle is the daughter of an American businessman, but has lived in England with her family since she was six. Now that her father's work is returning them all to their home in Rhode Island, Charlotte is to finish out her school year and journey to America on her own. She will keep a journal of her experience that her father is to read upon her return home and he will pay particular attention to her spelling. Lest you think her parents are complete idiots, let me assure you that they arranged for Charlotte to be accompanied on her voyage by two upstanding families that her parents know and trust, but even Charlotte is aware that with a long journey ahead of them, this is a bit of an adventure. She has no idea.

The first surprise comes when Charlotte arrives on the ship and learns that the families will not be joining them. Assuming this will delay her voyage, she's further shocked to learn that the little man in her father's employ who is responsible for making sure she reaches the ship sees absolutely nothing improper or wrong about leaving Charlotte totally alone as the only female passenger on a ship full of rugged sailors. Even the mate who receives Charlotte tells the man that he would be better off finding another ship for the girl, but Charlotte is left to her minuscule cabin and feelings of helplessness. By the time she works up the courage to tell the captain that she wants to be put ashore, the ship has left port and nothing but the vast ocean stretches in front of them. If you thought all this was bad for a proper young lady, then just imagine how she'll deal with the fact that the ship's Captain Jaggery has a terribly villainous reputation and the sailors might have all joined up exclusively for the prospect of mutinous revenge.

Indeed, Charlotte has to cope with quite a lot on her voyage, but perhaps the worst of it comes when she realizes she has placed her trust in the wrong person and her actions have severe repercussions for herself and others. Having fallen for Captain Jaggery's genteel manners and status, she realizes that by providing him information about the crew, she has sabotaged their mutiny. This might not be so terrible except one man dies and, in punishment for their actions, Captain Jaggery singles out Charlotte's closest friend on the crew, the elderly black Zachariah, and flogs him to death. Believing that her wrong has cost her friend his life, Charlotte seeks to make amends by joining the crew (now a man short) and becoming a sailor to endure hard labor alongside everyone else. But now with Captain Jaggery turned against her, Charlotte cannot make a single wrong move or her own life might be forfeit.

Ultimately, an adult can look on this book and note that Charlotte is ridiculously lucky in her tenure on the ship, though her courage and determination go a long way, too. Captain Jaggery is a bit one-note in his villainy, though some effort is made to explain his reasoning. Perhaps the most surprising thing is how terribly kind most of the crew is to a young girl seeking to prove herself. This might be the gateway book for parents looking to have their daughters love Treasure Island and other similar seafaring books... or simply those who wish to inspire an interest in sailing. (I picture this as an excellent book to read prior to a visit to Mystic Seaport.) Charlotte's attention to detail on the ship is educational -- indeed, in this re-reading, I found myself clearly remembering the plot but I had forgotten just how much one learns about ships from the text. Charlotte, herself, is a winning heroine -- despite her faults, she always means well and her sense of honor is what drives her to do what some might see as an extreme action. Her subtle struggles with navigating class boundaries and gender/racial issues would make for an interesting discussion with a young person learning about history.

The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle is a Newbery Honor book from the early 1990s and it's easy to see why. Young women in a historical setting that defy the socially accepted norm to do something right and honorable. Not a bad message for any time period, though, so I still believe the girls of today might find something of value within. And if nothing else, they'll learn a whole lot of vocabulary about ships.

Post-script! After writing the above, I did a bit of Googling and discovered that there are, indeed, plans to make this into a movie. Buzz seems to suggest that a lawsuit against Danny DiVito (listed as writer/director for the film) held it up, but it could be in theaters in 2011, starring Saoirse Ronan as Charlotte, Morgan Freeman as her friend Zachariah, and Pierce Brosnan as Captain Jaggery. Any film that promotes strong young women is a-okay in my book, so let's hope it turns out well.

The Adderall Diaries, Stephen Elliott, and a class on memoir

In late January of 2010, I attended a function at 826NYC in Park Slope, Brooklyn. Stephen Elliott's book, The Adderall Diaries had been published in September and this would be part reading, part memoir workshop. It was held on a Wednesday night in the back room at 826, behind the darkened Superhero Supply Store and in the brighter light of the tutoring center. I confess that I had no memoir-writing aspirations; I went mostly because Steve is a friend of mine. I try to attend his New York readings whenever I can, the way most of us with writer-friends do. We met when I volunteered for LitPAC, a literary political action committee that Steve started in early 2006 to get authors more involved in the political process. I helped run the NYC reading events, spurred to volunteer by a sense of uselessness which came with the knowledge that I'd been out of college for a year and hadn't done much outside of my regular job. The novelty of freedom from reading lists and being able to pick up whatever fiction I wanted had worn off (a bit), so I started a book club and helped promote progressive congressional candidates. Naturally. Only one of the candidates that we supported actually won her race, but it got a lot of people involved in the political process and I wound up with Steve as a friend, so I considered it a decent success. When LitPAC ended, Steve founded and still runs The Rumpus, a website with literary leanings that "focuses on culture as opposed to 'pop culture.'"

We keep in touch vaguely (mostly through the illusion of keeping in touch that is Twitter) and occasionally grab coffee or a drink when he visits New York. We made out once, in a friendly, nothing-else-need-come-of-this kind of way. I had officially ended a significant relationship the day before and was scheduled to meet Steve for a drink that night -- he had told me that there would be several people and I needed to get out of my apartment. When I realized that he wasn't expecting anyone but me, I took the chance to relish my new-found singledom and as a result of this encounter, I popped up in one of this stories. I tend to remember my presence as occupying a single sentence, but I'm actually the subject of a whole paragraph. It begins with my red hair, as descriptions of me usually do, and our encounter sparks a deeper musing on the part of the author about his own sexuality. When I joke about my brief appearance in Steve's work and refer to it as my "sentence of fame," Steve will insist, "It's a very crucial sentence!" I told a few friends about this shortly before Steve released My Girlfriend Comes to the City and Beats Me Up, a book of short stories with a cover featuring a redheaded dominatrix in leather. My friends knew it was coincidental ("Um... it is, right?") but when Steve gave me a warm welcome at a Strand reading to promote the book, the whole audience kept shifting their eyes back to me. At the time, I tried to sink into my seat, but now I rather wished that I had a whip to crack them back to attention.

I arrived a bit early for the 826NYC event and got to chat with Steve... mostly about his latest DIY book-tour that he wrote about for the New York Times, where readings were held in the living rooms of people who could promise at least twenty attendees. He presents a very unassuming and compact figure, with a pleasant smile and look to his eye that suggests he's always thinking. I don't think I've ever seen him in clothing where at least one article doesn't have a tear in it. It makes me want to buy him new shirts, but sometimes I suspect the rips might be intentional. His cuticles are always ripped, too, and their bloodiness always seems rather seemed apt, given his stripped down writing style and how he must pick at his own self to achieve such honesty in his work. It must be strange to meet people who already know so much about you... not the way movie stars' fans know details pried from their lives by gossip columnists and paparazzi. People who write memoirs offer their experiences up for dissection an discussion; they invite others in to share intimate and personal scenes. I'm never surprised that his events feature a largely female audience. Whether it's just that more women attend literary functions or that women are drawn to him like moths to an honest and communicative flame with a damaged past... well, perhaps it's both.

Soon, the real attendees of the memoir workshop arrived and we settled in for the session. Steve told us that this particular two-hour memoir class was distilled down from a longer workshop that he'd been giving, so this would feature some key points, using his latest memoir as a touchstone. The book came free with the price of a ticket for the session, or Steve would let you trade it in for two paperbacks of his other work. He kept them all in a rolling suitcase and I had a feeling that if he had any other clothes for this trip beyond the ones he was wearing, they were stuffed in his backpack.

Stephen Elliott has some very definite ideas about writing from personal experience. There might be other authors out there that are just as synonymous with the protagonist-author novel, but if there are, I don't know them. I have never found a writer to be so unflinchingly honest in his writing and still wind up on the fiction shelf. His childhood, group homes, drug use, politics, sexual proclivities... Steve offers them up to the reader in an effort to communicate and connect. He writes almost exclusively about things that have happened to him, and whether that gets labeled as fiction or memoir, you're aware that it's all pretty close to the bone. Consequently, he's had some time to develop opinions on this topic.

Perhaps the most important lesson of the session is an obvious one, but one worth stressing, and it has to do with honesty. Where writing rules are concerned, Steve insists upon what he calls "radical honesty" in one's memoir. The main thing is to never intentionally lie to the reader. They'll figure it out and will not forgive you. Though if there's anything he's learned from his writing, it's that truth is a tricky thing. There's no such thing as one truth when it comes to memories. As an example, he spoke about his father and their very tumultuous relationship. They both remember specific events very differently, which led Steve to note that his father's "truth and memories were valid, even though they directly contradicted [Steve's] memories." (There was also an important reminder to everyone about keeping one's success in perspective, as the memoir genre isn't generally a best-seller game and being a success consists of making maybe $20k a year. As a 38-year old man with two roommates in a one bedroom apartment and seven books to his credit, I hope they understood that he speaks from experience.)

Within The Adderall Diaries, questioning the nature of memories is an overarching theme. There are multiple storylines at play in this memoir, connected to each other by their relevance to Steve and some other surprising links. Struggling with writer's block and an Adderall addiction, Steve started following a court case that involves a man accused of murdering his wife. Hans Resier was an American computer entrepreneur, lacking certain social graces and the ability to connect to many people. We all know a computer geek that merits this description, though few go on to murder their wives. While working in Russia, Hans met Nina through a dating company that bears a resemblance to mail-order bride systems. They had two children and then separated, when Nina supposedly left Reiser for his best friend, Sean Sturgeon. That relationship also ended and Nina began another, but her divorce to Reiser was never finalized. In September of 2006, Nina went missing after dropping off her children with Hans and he was the last person known to have seen her alive.

The Reiser case provides the framework for the book, but this is not a true-crime novel. Not every storyline has to do with murder, but they all have to do with guilt and the loss of innocence. For most of us, murder is shocking enough, but in this story, there are far worse things that people can do to others. The Adderall Diaries is about the pain we inflict on ourselves and each other, addiction to more things than drugs, and the potentially futile struggle to ever know what someone else might be thinking. The tenuous link that the case has to Steve comes through Sean Sturgeon, with whom Steve shared a few girlfriends along with a similar presence in the bondage and sado-masochism sexual scene in San Francisco. Sturgeon purportedly confessed to eight and a half murders, but never gave any names and was never charged. When it comes to the question of why one confesses to a murder that one may or may not have committed... well, that gets us a bit closer to the crux of The Adderall Diaries, for Steve's father also may have committed a murder, though Steve can find no evidence of it. Did I mention that this novel is also about the scars our fathers leave on us by what they did or did not do? There's a lot going on here.

People can recall events in different ways and come to different conclusions after reading the same book. This is a memoir told from a single perspective, but that just seems to make it all the more prone to leave people with separate insights. Stephen Elliott has been telling his story for a long time, but in this, his seventh book, I found a level of communication and conversation that has never before been reached. His writing style here echoes the Adderall: straightforward, focused, and quick... with jittery moments of introspective questions that come with the crash. Just as he is left gasping for breath, so are we -- not because of plot twists or action scenes, but because of the unflinching reality of his story and its confessional fragility, which makes for something that is heartbreaking, haunting, and lovely. Simply put, this is Stephen Elliott's best book to date and I cannot recommend it highly enough.

If you haven't read any Stephen Elliott before, you're in for a very eclectic treat as you start through his wide-ranging list of titles. If you're in San Francisco or New York, you have a better chance of learning about memoir from the man himself if you're interested, or even just seeing a Rumpus function. Check out TheRumpus.net or his twitter feed (@S___Elliott) for amusing updates and to see if he ever offers this class again. Clearly, it contains a great deal more insight about the art of writing from one's life experiences. Otherwise, be sure to catch a reading of his, or a Rumpus event, as they're always entertaining. In the spring, Steve was back in New York to preside over a function at the Highline, something The Rumpus was hosting with Flavorpill that featured authors, comedians, and performers. When I arrived, he gave me a large hug and didn't set me down for a while, finally moving back to give me his somewhat sly and boyish grin that's never too far from his lips at events like this. He's in his element when he promotes communities of writers and artists. Steve started the evening off by reading, not from The Adderall Diaries, but a shorter and sexy piece before turning the stage over to Lorelei Lee and others, including Jeffrey Lewis and Michael Showalter. It all seemed a far cry from The Adderall Diaries, which I had only recently finished reading prior to the Highline event, and yet similar elements were there (though no Russian mail-order brides that I could spy).

I did, however, feel like The Adderall Diaries had emphasized to me an important fact of the creative world, which still seemed embodied by several readings and performances from the evening. "Radical honesty" applies to more things than just memoir; it's at the heart of creative expression in most any medium. It's that kind of open communication that fosters interaction and leads to passions that stretch beyond ourselves while diving deep into ourselves. It takes one's story from being a monologue to a back-and-forth discussion, something worth sharing with others. And it's books like The Adderall Diaries and sites like The Rumpus that remind me I'll always find an enlivened and enlightening discussion when Stephen Elliott is as the helm. So check out The Adderall Diaries and let me know what you think. And if you keep reading his other work, I think you're smart enough to not assume every half-naked redhead is me. Just the one.

Venice Observed

'I envy you, writing about Venice,' says the newcomer. 'I pity you,' says the old hand. One thing is certain. Sophistication, that modern kind of sophistication that begs to differ, to be paradoxical, to invert, is not a possible attitude in Venice. In time, this becomes the beauty of the place. Once gives up the struggle and submits to a classic experience. Once accepts the fact that what one is about to feel or say has not only been said before by Goethe or Musset but is on the tip of the tongue of the tourist from Iowa who is alighting in the Piazzetta with his wife in her furpiece and jeweled pin. Those Others, the existential enemy, are here identical with oneself. After a time in Venice, one comes to look with pity on the efforts of the newcomer to disassociate himself from the crowd. He has found a 'little' church - has he? - quite off the beaten track, a real gem, with inlaid coloured marbles on a soft dove grey, like a jewel box. He means Santa Maria dei Miracoli. As you name it, his face falls. It is so well known, then? Or has he the notion of counting the lions that look down from the window ledges of the palazzi? They remind him of cats. Has anybody ever noticed how many cats there are in Venice or compared them to the lions? On my table two books lie open with chapters on the Cats of Venice. My face had fallen too when I came upon them in the house of an old bookseller, for I too had dared think that I had hold of an original perception.
-- Mary McCarthy, from "Venice Preserved" in Venice Observed

Despite the fact that her first chapter is an insistence that nothing original can be said of Venice anymore, I always find myself looking to Mary McCarthy's Venice Observed as one of the great volumes on Venice. It's a lovely dip into the history and atmosphere of the world's most fascinating city. I've read this before, so this time, everything had a familiar feel to it... perhaps like a lot of Venice (or any city) when you make a return trip... and since I'm planning to go back to Venice next month, it seemed like a good thing to re-read.

The book is divided into small, self-contained chapters that focus on different elements of Venice's history or the author's experience with the city, always focused on the city and the people within it. McCarthy has a lovely way of strolling through the lessons in an effortless fashion, a font of Venetian wisdom. Even if she might have some small criticisms, she is always aware of the magic of the city, the thing that enchants us all, even if it's just a construct for tourists. The city has been a touristic location for four hundred years, after all. Its very existence is improbable and yet it continues to delight, spinning a history of the fantastic and surprising. Many of her observations, indeed, took root in my mind and stick with me as I think of Venice. In particular, her descriptions of qualities that took root in Venetian character, such as the Venetian's inventive and clever nature (the result of a city "with nothing of its own," and so it had "to steal and improvise"), or their complicated relationship with Rome on a political and religious level ("The pope was in Rome, and God was in heaven, but they were in Venice."), and that Venetians focus on "applied reason" (there are no real Venetian writers or philosophers -- "Venetians printed books but seldom wrote them"). She discusses the fairy tale nature of the city (and how people tend to be surprised that Venetians were so money-oriented, but what are fairy tales except stories filled with treasure and gold?) and spends a great deal of time on the many people who have painted the city.

McCarthy's prose is beautiful and detailed. Despite its short length, this really isn't a book one can gobble down with speed -- or at least one should not. It should be savored and the reader should take time to think about each chapter, lest they blend together and the nuggets of illumination be forgotten. Ideally, one might be the perfect companion to a drink while sitting in a Venetian square... because when one looks up from this book, that is the only view one wishes to look upon. One yearns for Venice after reading this book, and while the longing for Venice might always accompany those who have visited that magnificent city, there's something rather painfully delicious about piquing that hunger with books like this that make the city come alive in one's mind.

Belle de Jour: Diary of an Unlikely Call Girl

Well, there's no subtle twist to this book; it's exactly what it promises to be: Belle de Jour: Diary of an Unlikely Call Girl offers a glimpse at a year in the life of a high-class London working girl, though as far as "unlikely" goes, it might be up for debate... perhaps just pleasantly atypical. The original title (or at least the British title) is Belle de Jour: The Intimate Adventures of a London Call Girl and that seems a bit more apt. Thankfully, it is not the kind of diary kept by those who feel the need to document every moment of their day, but rather, Belle writes down snippets -- interesting encounters, conversations, or lists that pop into her head, which are somehow related to her profession or sex in general. While she does go into detail on occasion, I honestly didn't find the sex to be particularly salacious. (Though this book was recommended to me by my very sweet and ladylike roommate, which surprised me a bit.) Perhaps it's the mark of a good sex worker that she can be both detailed and detached. One didn't feel like there was a total lack of intimacy; if anything, her enthusiasm for her work means that she's certainly in the moment, yet Belle is still an intelligent, thinking woman who can step back and assess a situation. When done for the book (and originally, her blog), this means that she can see the truly funny facts of many situations, even if you know she probably didn't laugh at the time. Belle does seem to be a consummate professional.

Quite honestly, I found her life outside of her profession to be the even more fascinating tale. After all, for Belle, prostitution is just a job... though granted, it's a job that frequently impacts her ability to go out with friends on a Saturday night... and her ability to tell the whole truth about her days at work to family or friends, but it is just a job. The thing that makes this particular tale of prostitution unique is the fact that no one is forcing Belle into some kind of sordid lifestyle, fueled by drugs and pimps. After failing to find a decent/interesting job after attending University, she needed to pay rent and almost inadvertently stumbled upon this option, thus allowing her to make a good amount of money doing something she enjoys. Quite frankly, it makes the whole scene practically appealing, particularly as this volume doesn't contain any violent or unpleasant encounters with clients (which would certainly toss in a more somber note to the diary). The worst that happens in Belle's professional life, really, is that she's given a bit of the cold shoulder by her madam after Belle takes an extended holiday and turns down a few client meetings.

So really, work is simple; it's her personal life that can be a bit complicated. Belle tends to not have female friends, but rather, she has a collection of male friends (a group of them are identified as A1, A2, and so on, then collectively referred to as the As), including particular friend, N, who is a bit of a closer friend (and a somewhat stronger personality/presence) as opposed to the As. When the diary begins, Belle also has a boyfriend (referred to as The Boy) who is aware of her chosen profession, but the relationship ends and Belle embarks upon dating (though The Boy does pop back into the narrative once in a while, as exes tend to do). It's Belle's relationships with her male friends that really make the book interesting, for most of the relationships have, at one time, had a sexual element to them. That everyone remains friends and civil is the impressive feature, but it also puts an interesting twist in the dynamics between them, particularly when Belle brings potential suitors along, as these fellows often feel a little possessive and protective of their Belle.

As far as the writing goes, Belle is smart and has an amusing perspective on her industry. It's the insider's look that most people will want and this certainly provides it, though one has to wonder if darker elements were edited out, thus allowing the book to be a sexier read, or if there really weren't any nasty encounters. Honestly, if Belle's experience of the sex industry was the norm, then the world would have much less of a problem with the industry in general, though unfortunately it's just not the case. Belle generally has respectful clients simply looking to satisfy sexual cravings and Belle enjoys sex. She gives the impression of being a generally happy person, pleased with her professional career (though aware that it is a young woman's game) yet not terribly pleased at the secrecy surrounding her life that makes her unable to share certain things with loved ones for a multitude of reasons. When considering the perspective of her friends, it's hard to find fault with her choices. Certain people can be judgmental and naturally, they can be concerned for her safety, but most of the guys in her life seem supportive and Belle herself seems quite level-headed. The book itself doesn't have much of a trajectory, but then, it is a diary. Things just kind of fizzle out and one can hardly insist that there be major plot points and revelations to produce some kind of coherent closure to the year. Reading this on my nook, I was a bit surprised at the abrupt ending, though I'm not sure what else I might demand to make it more satisfying. Some of her encounters with clients are amusing, though on the whole I found myself wishing that I had the income to support Belle's lingerie habit.

Clearly, Belle de Jour is a pseudonym and the book was originally published with the author listed as Anonymous. Originally, there was a blog (http://belledejour-uk.blogspot.com/) kept by an anonymous London call girl and that was the basis for the book. Two "further adventures" sequels were published, too (though only the second one is listed officially as memoir and the third is deemed a fiction even if it was based on real events). Showtime bought the rights and ran a series that lasted two seasons called Secret Diary of a Call Girl, starring Billie Piper. In late 2009, Dr. Brooke Magnanti came forward as the author after reportedly being threatened with exposure by an ex. At the time, people called the anonymity of the author to be one of the great literary questions of the time, with speculation rampant over who might be the real author. It was around the time that Dr. Magnanti stepped forward that I remembered hearing about the book (and, more specifically, remembered the sexy ads for the Showtime series), so I rented the series and then read this at the recommendation of my roommate. Even though the world now knows the name of the woman behind the lingerie, I still think of the writer as Belle.

Ultimately, if you think that reading a short and mildly clever take on being a London call girl is something that might interest you, I think you'll be pleased with the result. I did, however, feel like I was left wanting more and that's not quite the mark of a good call girl (after all, shouldn't she leave you feeling satisfied and, if anything, wanting a repeat performance in the future?), but there's always the sequels. Perhaps I would have been happier with the book if I hadn't seen the Showtime series first, which (obviously) provides more narrative structure and sexier visuals (though the second season features the introduction of another call girl to serve as a friend of Belle's and she's a bit annoying). Still, it was an amusing enough read, even if I was constantly reminding myself that this isn't a typical prostitution story. If nothing else, it's refreshing to see a smart woman writing about sex without an emphasis on eventually getting married and settling down. She's clearly a strong and independent person who's taken control of her life and is making decisions that might not be mainstream, but they seem to have paid off in the end. (Is it possible to use any turn of phrase in writing about prostitution without feeling the need to say "no pun intended"?) I don't feel any real need to read the sequels, but the writing is quick and smart while the book in general is fun and easy (see what I mean?).

Moby Dick

If you are one of the many people vaguely familiar with the basic story arc of Moby Dick (man, whale, revenge, conflict), and believe that this limited knowledge is probably sufficient to sustain you in life, then I would urge you to reconsider because you simply do not know what you are missing. As a girl whose interest in whaling went as far as "isn't the ocean pretty?," I think it's safe to say that I was not the prime market for this particular novel. I find its main proponents are, let's face it, generally men or anyone who has a great appreciation for the sea and vessels upon it. That said, I still found Moby Dick to be a marvelous work of literature whose place on the shelf of classics is well deserved. It might require a bit of persistence at times, but in the end, you'll be amply rewarded for your dedication. Indeed, I was incredibly surprised at how funny Herman Melville can be (perhaps even more so when he's not intending it) and I couldn't be more pleased that I was all but forced to read this seminal work of English literature.

For many people, there will always be certain classics that do not leap from their time-tested space on the shelf to say, "Read me! I'm still relevant and exciting and funny!" Indeed, many classics fail to do this with the larger population and as a result, lots of people become inordinately proud of themselves if they manage to read a book deemed "a classic" after graduating formal schooling. I'd like to think that I'm not quite that bad, but Moby Dick was, I admit, not high on my list of "books I ought to eventually read if I want to consider myself a well-rounded literature enthusiast." It's actually a possibility that I might not have ever even read Moby Dick if it wasn't for my significant other. This is his *favorite* book. He is one of those previously mentioned men who has a great appreciation for the sea and its vessels. He corrects me when I interchange the words "boat" and "ship." He insists on touring submarines or other large crafts when we happen to find ourselves in a city that features such tourist activities. I suppose that it was somewhat inevitable that Moby Dick would be his favorite book... and I also suppose that I may have misled him with my personal interests when I bought him the pop-up version of Moby Dick for Christmas one year. (I eagerly pulled tabs to open the white whale's mouth and, as he saw my enthusiasm, an idea crept into his head.) While I generally believe that those whom I choose to date have excellent taste in literature, whenever I submit to read their "favorite book," it rarely goes well. (I'm looking at you, Watership Down and Spoon River Anthology.) My current fellow and I, however, made a deal; we wouldn't simply read the other person's favorite book, each of us would read our own favorite *to* the other... aloud and in its entirety. He had actually read my favorite Austen during our own courtship (already he's a better person than I), so I moved on to select Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility. Why did I get two? Well, he chose Moby Dick and simply by virtue of page count, I managed to get through two Austens while we sailed on the high seas in pursuit of the white whale.

As far as Moby Dick goes, you know the story. A sailor going by a potentially fake name (famous first line alert: "Call me Ishmael.") narrates a voyage on the whaling ship known as the Pequod where a somewhat obsessed Captain Ahab seeks to kill the albino sperm whale called Moby Dick. Ishmael, a former schoolteacher who has never previously embarked on a sea voyage, travels to Nantucket and finds himself sharing lodgings with a harpooner named Queequeg (whose entire body is covered in tattoos and who hails from a cannibalistic tribe in the South Seas). The two become fast friends and decide to sign up on the Pequod together, despite some forebodings on land. The mates of the Pequod (named Starbuck, Stubb, and Flask) are each interesting and very different characters. Starbuck is a Quaker and a thoughtful man, who often seems to be the only person on board with any sense when Ahab works everyone up about hunting down Moby Dick. He insists that it's lunacy to seek revenge against a dumb creature, particularly when their very lives are at stake, but it's unsurprising that Starbuck's objections fall on deaf ears. (Fun fact! The coffee chain Starbucks was named for this particular first mate and Battlestar Galactica fans will also recognize the name.) Stubb always has his pipe clenched in a smile and his constant talk (be it on deck or while lowered for whales) is reminiscent of the wise fools of Shakespeare. Finally, there's Flask, who is stout and reliable, but seems to believe that "the great Leviathans had personally and hereditarily affronted him; and therefore it was a sort of point of honor with him, to destroy them whenever encountered." There are also three harpooners on board the Pequod, aside from Queequeg; all of them are foreigners and non-Christians (aka savages, naturally, in this book), consisting of a Native American, an African, and a Persian. They don't speak much but each has significance on the ship. The rest of the crew members originate from across the globe to create an impressively international crew, though more focus is really made on those Nantucketers who always look towards home with eagerness.

Of course, there's still one character that everyone is a bit awed by/scared of, and that is the infamous Captain Ahab, who takes his sweet time in making an appearance on deck. In a previous encounter with Moby Dick, Ahab lost his leg and gained an unwavering series of revenge fantasies that motivate his every action. He also has a long scar on his face that is implied to run the length of his body, acquired after being struck by lightning. Ahab might simply seem a bit fanatical at the beginning of the journey, but his obsession quickly takes over the narrative as Ishmael, Queequeg and just about everyone else fade into the background. He is, perhaps, one of the greatest creations of American literature.

Melville (who went to sea in a whaling ship during the 1840s) was deeply committed to presenting a thorough account of what it was like to live and work on a whaling ship, so the reader will learn a great deal about the experience whether s/he likes it or not. The chapters on types of whales are often cited as being particularly vexing (though I found them to be quite funny) for the fact that modern science has left them riddled with inaccuracies. Quite honestly, I think this only makes them better because it forced me to go look up a few things so I could see if Melville's understanding had been proven wrong yet or if he was, indeed, spot on (though more often than not, the former was true). One has the sense while reading Moby Dick that Melville's writing style was to sit down and write furiously for hours or days at a time, then the next time that he picked up his pen, it would be with a totally different objective or outlook. As a result, you'll find those "educational" chapters every now and then, between scenes of doom-riddled mumblings or whale-dismembering. We even, randomly, have a few chapters that are written like a play with stage directions and soliloquies.

Some of the events that take place in Moby Dick were inspired by the real-life tragedy of the Essex, though frankly, Melville didn't focus on the truly horrific/fascinating parts of that story. The whale ship was charged by a large whale and sank in 1820, an event that was apparently quite rare. The men of the Essex, many of whom survived the ship's sinking as their boats were lowered and in pursuit of another whale, eventually landed on an island but quickly exhausted its resources. The rest of the story consists of illness, starvation, and cannibalism... none of which make it into Melville's masterpiece. Like Ahab, he focuses relentlessly on the whale... which evidently has its inspiration in life, too, with stories of an albino sperm whale called "Mocha Dick." All the general summaries of Moby Dick mention the Essex as a primary inspiration, but once I read about Mocha Dick, I feel like we've got our main culprit right there. A whale-induced shipwreck is one thing, an albino whale covered in futile and twisted harpoons is quite another.

Evidently, Moby Dick was not all that well-received upon its initial publication, though that might have had a lot to do with the fact that the publisher screwed up and forgot to print the epilogue, which is kind of important. It wasn't until years later that Melville's popularity grew and Moby Dick struck a chord with the disillusioned masses (particularly after WWI), who were finally able to appreciate a story of futile and tragic obsession. Since then, Moby Dick has been heralded as the greatest American novel and while I'm not honestly sure I can cheer that statement, I'm also not sure what else merits that title, so let's just put it in the top ten, shall we?

I could go into the symbolism behind Ahab and Moby Dick, the themes of obsession, religious fervor, prophesies, quixotic endeavors, fate, and so on, but I found more to love in the details of the novel and the characters themselves, like poor, doomed Starbuck and delightful Queequeg (with his creepy idol, Yojo). Pip, a cabin boy who loses his wits after being thrown from a boat, annoyed the heck out of me; when you have Ahab, then you know you're all stocked up on crazy so Pip seemed an excess. I was sorry to see Queequeg and Ishmael fade into the background as Ahab's revenge took over the narrative entirely, but obsession does kind of take over. Few people have probably taken more delight in the potentially homosexual undertones that frame the relationship between Queequeg and Ishmael -- one can easily revert to the state of a twelve-year-old when reading how they share a bed together and, later, Ishmael starts blissfully squeezing the hands of his shipmates while kneading collected sperm oil. Thankfully, my reader also seemed to be amused by these points, though he'd loyally insist "they're not gay!" when I gave him significant looks after questionable passages. He may be right, but Melville did seem awfully devoted to Nathaniel Hawthorne. I'm just sayin'.

Moby Dick is a truly magnificent novel and now I can clearly see why it has endured to hold such a revered place in the canon of American literature. Captain Ahab is the poster boy for doomed obsession and a magnificent character. I can hardly believe that there was a time when I thought I could probably skip reading this particular novel. I'm not sure I'll be diving directly into another work by Melville, but I certainly don't feel as daunted at the prospect as I did before. It's also rather nice to know that, for perhaps the very first time, I can wholeheartedly embrace a significant other's favorite book. If you're looking to read only one book about albino sperm whale revenge, then look no further, you've come to the right place. You will, however, have to get your own reader if you seek to repeat my experience... and if your reader doesn't do a Captain Ahab voice for you, then you're not getting the five star experience.

The Red Pyramid

For those of you thinking that The Red Pyramid is code for Percy Jackson Does Egypt, I'm here to let you know that you're wrong. Mostly. Well, about 50/50. The tone of voice is pretty similar and we're still working with the idea of kids saving the world while trying to figure out the complicated god-mortal dynamic, but there are enough differences that Percy Jackson fans won't feel like I've read this book before. Of course, it's still Rick Riordan taking ancient history and making it fun for modern day kids without totally slaughtering every story, which is kind of why I liked him in the first place, so it's not a bad thing to have some similarities. Personally, I thought that a huge part of his success with Percy Jackson rested in his comprehensive knowledge of Greek mythology, thus enabling him to create modern characters and yet still promote the myths. Evidently, his knowledge is not limited to Greek mythology and he's got Egypt pretty down pat, too.

The Red Pyramid is the first in what will become "The Kane Chronicles," focused on Carter and Sadie Kane, two kids who are about to realize that their family is way more screwed up than they could ever have imagined. Their mother died six years ago and as a result, their grandparents in England (their mom's parents) received custody of Sadie while Julius Kane (their dad) retained sole custody of Carter. Sadie stayed in England while Carter traveled the world with their father, a noted Egyptologist. Each thinks the other must have it easier. The two children have grown up as virtual strangers and because they're multi-racial kids whose appearances each favor a different parent, they don't even look related (and with Sadie's accent, they don't even *sound* alike). Carter, raised by his father, was taught to always appear as an impeccably dressed and proud black man, whereas Sadie has remained in England and been raised as a fairly normal English girl. They see each other only when Julius is permitted to visit his daughter for a single day every six months and that isn't much time to develop any real bond. That all changes when, on one of these visitation days, Julius blows up the Rosetta Stone, unleashes imprisoned gods, imprisons himself while channeling one, and destroys life as his children know it.

You see, Sadie and Carter come to understand that their parents were not just magicians (a bit of a major revelation in itself), but they're the descendants of ancient Egyptian pharaohs. With these two royal blood lines united in Sadie and Carter, they are incredibly powerful... more powerful than any two mortals have been in centuries. Part of the reason behind splitting them up rested with the fact that together, their powers only seem to grow. Once their father disappears, their Uncle Amos (dad's brother) steps in and the children are taken on a crash course of Egyptian mythology and present-day manifestations of that. Years ago, it was decided by the House of Life (a powerful group of magicians) that the gods needed to be controlled and imprisoned. In the magical event that killed their mother, the Kanes seem to have been working against this desire to imprison the gods (just *why* they did this is something Sadie and Carter intend to find out), and thus became enemies of the House of Life. Now, Sadie and Carter have to figure out a way to either work with the House of Life or stay a few steps ahead of them so they can save their father and possibly the world. The Egyptian gods become particularly fascinating here as Sadie and Carter realize that they're each hosting a god and need to maintain their own independence or the god might take them over. They do, however, need the power that comes with hosting a god if they're going to defeat Set, a god of chaos who is intent on destroying the world.

My description sounds a bit muddled, but it all makes more sense in the actual book. It's a very quick read -- as evidenced by the fact that I took advantage of the Barnes & Noble "read in store" offer and read this for free on my nook over the course of a few days an hour at a time. The narration is passed between Carter and Sadie, allowing each to present their perspective of events and bicker with each other in the telling. It's hard to believe that they ever spent time apart, as they certainly act like feuding siblings who would be loathe to admit that they love the other. Their narrative voices can sound similar at times, but on the whole, Riordan does a good job of keeping things clear -- it helps that both Carter and Sadie each have a potential "love interest" (Carter is 14 and Sadie is 12), so their storylines sometimes veer towards some particular notice given to those respective interests. Sadie and Carter learn to work together and it doesn't take much for them to learn the real value of family. Whether or not they can make theirs whole once more, though, is the real dilemma, as they'll ultimately have to choose between personal desires and the good of the world.

Riordan has certainly made some kind of deal with the gods, if not the devil, because he's really got the golden touch when it comes to these YA novels. The Percy Jackson series was quite charming and the Kane Chronicles look as though they'll follow a similar successful trajectory. I only hope that he can keep things as original and interesting for however many books he plans to write -- particularly because I believe he's got another series coming out that's set in the Percy Jackson vein of things, with new kids headed to Camp Half-Blood. Hopefully he won't simply bounce between Egypt and Greece, though, because I'd love to see which culture he tackles next. Norse? Sumerian? In the meantime, though, I'll be quite pleased to continue reading the Kane Chronicles.

How Did You Get This Number

Sloane Crosley's debut novel I Was Told There'd Be Cake earned her a spot on the "writers to watch" list for many people, myself included. Now I can say without a doubt that I will purchase anything Sloane Crosley happens to publish from here on out, I don't care if it's a grocery list. She's a delight, a fantastic wordsmith whose small observations are to be cherished as comic gold. Indeed, it's often the sentences spoken as asides that have me laughing out loud in the presence of strangers. Her command of language means that she always seems to have the perfect phrasing for the most bizarre or whimsical circumstance... and she knows when to let the simple description of a thing speak for itself. She, herself, is credibly droll even in the moment (as opposed to reflectively looking back on the event) with a knack for locating the absurd and mapcap in everyday situations... though her own poor luck (or good luck as far as the reader goes) does tend to stretch these scenarios into the farcical. As a twenty-something New Yorker with thirty looming on the horizon, she strikes an obvious chord with me, but I think that her humor should be accessible to anyone... or at least any reasonably intelligent person who understands that we all have our own flaws and if we can't laugh at them once in a while, then we're in for a long, dull ride.

I Was Told There'd Be Cake was so fresh and funny that I worried that there might be too much pressure placed on Crosley for book two, but if anything, I think she's gotten better. As with all delicious things, there is the dangerous tendency to gobble down How Did You Get This Number without any time to breathe. Try to take some time between stories so you can savor the humor... or maybe just re-read it all over again as soon as you finish the first read-through. The stories seem a bit longer, but that's only because she takes her time with each, exploring multiple emotions and ideas that can all be wrapped up in a single experience. She's a little older and a little wiser, so there are fewer foolish events and a greater number of wry observations, though there's still plenty of ridiculous inner turmoil. Part of Crosley's charm for me is the fact that she's very much a New Yorker and the stories in this collection are often set in New York, though she ventures out for various reasons, ultimately always desperate to get back. She starts off with "Show Me on the Doll," describing an impromptu solo journey to Lisbon that gives us all ample justification for not taking more impromptu solo journeys the way our ten-year-old selves might have thought we would when the definition of adulthood encompassed doing whatever we wanted. "Le Paris!" discusses two different trips to Paris, one of which involves a contender for "most awkward conversation" in Crosley's life as she finds herself in confession at Notre Dame, despite the fact that she's Jewish and the priest only speaks French and Japanese. In "Lost In Space," Crosley describes her mother's dreams of a genius child quickly thwarted after discovering that Sloane has a learning disability resulting in terrible spatial relation skills. You might not think this is funny, but wait until you read about Crosley's method for cheating at the SATs which involves padding her bra with post-its. "Take a Stab at It" and "It's Always Home You Miss" are both very New York tales of apartment woe and cab smells, respectively, while "Light Pollution" sees Crosley head to Alaska for a friend's wedding (where "bear bells" are part of the wedding favors). "If You Sprinkle" is a story that any girl can relate to, describing the horror of middle school and then "An Abbreviated Gift of Tongues" is for everyone with a catalog of family pets buried in the backyard, though the Crosley family pets are all interred in duct-tape sealed tupperware. The final story, "Off the Back of a Truck," is perhaps the most poignant of all as a shady arrangement to furnish her apartment with stolen merchandise is described alongside a doomed love affair. This might be the true gem of the collection, for while Crosley often admits to faults and flaws, in "Off the Back of a Truck," she manages to convey emotional vulnerability, heightened by the sense that the wound hasn't quite healed. Through it all, Crosley presents a fantastic image of a strong and independent Manhattan woman... who never has it all quite as together as she might wish. It's easy to relate to Crosley on nearly every level and by the end of each story, you feel as though you've just been told a hilarious story by an old friend over cocktails.

If you need to compare Sloane Crosley to any other popular writer out there, then the closest you'd get is David Sedaris... except Crosley is female, straight, and the epitome of the neurotic New Yorker. She also manages to tell hysterical stories without giving the impression that she's completely exploiting her family and friends. Indeed, despite the presence of those people in her stories, somehow it's Crosley that always comes out as the ridiculous one or, more often, the situation itself is hilarious without injuring or offending any named parties (well, except the one about a bitchy classmate in grade school, but she deserved it). You can toss in some comparisons to Dorothy Parker, but Crosley retains her optimism and sense of whimsy as opposed to cynicism (though there certainly is enough of a New Yorker's suspicion). If you have not yet been privileged enough to read a book by Sloane Crosley, I pity you... but consider this your chance to set things right. Go out to get How Did You Get This Number and pick up I Was Told There'd Be Cake for good measure. I dare you to glance at the first page of either one and not get sucked in by her wit and charm.

The Mysterious Benedict Society

It's a pretty popular and time-tested children's book plot device to suggest that only a child can bring about the destruction of an evil power because said evil power would never see it coming. It's so very popular that I feel this concept should make it onto the list of things to beware if you become an evil superpower (along with monologues spoken just prior to your attempt to kill an archnemesis that might give away your evil plan and incompetent underlings). The Mysterious Benedict Society follows in the tradition of books where kids save the world, tossing in some healthy doses of "orphans banding together," "improbable boarding school arrangements," and "eccentric adult leaders."

Our main character is Reynie Muldoon, an orphaned child of impressive intelligence who answers an unusual ad in the newspaper after being encouraged to do so by his tutor, Miss Perumal. "ARE YOU A GIFTED CHILD LOOKING FOR SPECIAL OPPORTUNITIES?" the ad asks -- and Reynie notes with some surprise that the question is directed to children and not parents. After undergoing some very surprising tests that aren't simply looking for general knowledge, Reynie finds that he has passed and is offered a place working with Mr. Benedict, a narcoleptic genius who has uncovered a villain's evil plot to control the world through the television and radio. Reynie is one of four children (all of whom are orphaned or otherwise alone in the world) that Mr. Benedict has recruited to join a secret society of child spies who will help him save the world. These four children each have their own unique talents and to accomplish their goals, they'll have to work together. Sticky Washington, a nervous boy who fidgets with his glasses, has a photographic memory. Kate Wetherall, who would like to be known as the Great Kate Weather Machine, has recently been part of a circus and is like a pint-sized MacGyver, carrying a bucket of useful items and tools. Constance Contraire... well, she's small, stubborn, and pretty annoying, but don't worry, she has her talents, too.

Together, the kids (who dub themselves the Mysterious Benedict Society) infiltrate an elite island school called the Learning Institute for the Very Enlightened (one of the kids jokes that at least the initials don't spell out DIE). Apparently, the man who runs the school, Mr. Curtain, is somehow broadcasting subliminal messages to the people of the world, sowing the seeds of panic and discontent that make up "the Emergency" which is a generally perceived notion that things are going downhill. Upon arriving at the school, however, the kids are totally on their own and find that the man who runs the school, Mr. Curtain, looks exactly like their beloved leader, Mr. Benedict! Together, they need to figure out what this means, how the subliminal messages are being broadcast, what purpose the messages have, and how they can stop it all to save the world... which seems like rather daunting tasks for four kids all on their own, but these are no ordinary children.

Trenton Lee Stewart has created a charming story with fun characters. There were a few times where I felt things dragged on a bit or certain characters would be a bit annoying, but on the whole I thought this was really a wonderful children's/YA book with some very positive messages contained within. Fans of Roald Dahl will find a kindred spirit in Stewart, who isn't perhaps as wicked, but is still quite witty. For kids who enjoy solving clues and figuring out a puzzle right alongside the protagonists, this would be an excellent read. The book also deals with some pretty serious issues including parental abandonment, the true nature of family, dealing with one's fears, forgiveness, and loyalty to the people one holds dear. Ultimately, Stewart has written an excellent novel and given the creativity in this one, I doubt that he'll have much trouble sustaining a series.

Different Hours

Stephen Dunn, I love you. Different Hours might be, I suppose, Dunn's most famous volume of poetry, as it won the Pulitzer Prize in 2000. It's a bit darker and a bit more somber than I expected, clearly written by a man who is aware of his aging self. He primarily looks back on his own life, at the things he did and did not do, and yet he also looks beyond his own existence to the world and its issues. One of the blurbs in the front of this book calls his word "simultaneously haunting and reassuring," which I find to be a very apt description of Dunn and this volume in particular. It's lovely, wry, heartbreaking, and buoyant. It makes me pleased to know that Dunn received the Pulitzer, not necessarily for this work, but just in general so that he could be recognized for being such a strong and necessary voice for the contemporary world.

Below are a few of my favorites from Different Hours,


"Dog Weather"

Earlier, everyone was in knee boots, collars up.
The paper boy's papers came apart
in the wind.

Now, nothing human moving.
Just a black squirrel fidgeting like Bogart
in The Caine Mutiny.

My breath chalks the window,
gives me away to myself.

I like the intelligibility of old songs.
I prefer yesterday.

Cars pass, the asphalt's on its back
smudged with skid. It's potholed
and cracked; it's no damn good.

Anyone out without the excuse of a dog
should be handcuffed
and searched for loneliness.

My hair is thinning.
I feel like tossing the wind a stick.

The promised snow has arrived,
heavy, wet,
I remember the blizzard of...
People I don't want to be
speak like that.

I close my eyes and one
of my many unborn sons
makes a snowball
and lofts it at an unborn friend.

They've sent me an AARP card.
I'm on their list.

I can be discounted now almost anywhere.



"The Reverse Side"

The reverse side also has a reverse side.
-- A Japanese Proverb

It's why when we speak a truth
some of us instantly feel foolish
as if a deck inside us has been shuffled
and there it is --the opposite of what we said.

And perhaps why as we fall in love
we're already falling out of it.

It's why the terrified and the simple
latch onto one story,
just one version of the great mystery.

Image & afterimage, oh even
the open-minded yearn for a fiction
to rein things in--
the snapshot, the lie of a frame.

How do we not go crazy,
we who have found ourselves compelled
to live within the circle, the ellipsis, the word
not yet written.



"A Postmortem Guide"

For my eulogist, in advance

Do not praise me for my exceptional serenity.
Can't you see I've turned away
from the large excitements,
and have accepted all the troubles?

Go down to the old cemetery; you'll see
there's nothing definitive to be said.
The dead once were all kinds--
boundary breakers and scalawags,
martyrs of the flesh, and so many
dumb bunnies of duty, unbearably nice.

I've been a little of each.

And, please, resist the temptation
of speaking about virtue.
The seldom-tempted are too fond
of that word, the small-
spirited, the unburdened.
Know that I've admired in others
only the fraught straining
to be good.

Adam's my man and Eve's not to blame.
He bit in; it made no sense to stop.

Still, for accuracy's sake you might say
I often stopped,
that I rarely went as far as I dreamed.

And since you know my hardships,
understand they're mere bump and setback
against history's horror.
Remind those seated, perhaps weeping,
how obscene it is
for some of us to complain.

Tell them I had second chances.
I knew joy.
I was burned by books early
and kept sidling up to the flame.

Tell them that at the end I had no need
for God, who'd become just a story
I once loved, one of many
with concealments and late-night rescues,
high sentence and pomp. The truth is

I learned to live without hope
as well as I could, almost happily,
in the despoiled and radiant now.

You who are one of them, say that I loved
my companions most of all.
In all sincerity, say that they provided
a better way to be alone.

Everything Else in the World

Prior to reading Everything Else in the World, I had only come across Stephen Dunn poems by chance. An anthology here, a poets.org search there. Finally, after discovering the poem "The Kiss," I knew it was time to take a deeper look at this particular poet and so I bought Dunn's fourteenth collection of poems, which happens to contain the one that pushed me over the edge.

With only a few poems to form an opinion, I was not quite expecting what I found here in this collection. It all feels distinctly similar to Billy Collins, though Dunn seems to make more of what it means to be an adult in today's world. Playful at times, but always incredibly attentive to subtle shifts of thought and understanding. There's honesty and precision, coupled with a deep emotion and need to communicate more than just a field of vision. Dunn seems more interested in the people that inhabit the world and how they shape it as opposed to the world as it exists apart from them (perhaps noting that there really is no such world any longer). Indeed, more time seems spent in a mental world than a physical one, though one is overlaid on the other.

Having now spent more time with Dunn's poetry, I can say with absolute certainty that I'll be seeking out even more of it. To give you a taste, here are some of my favorites, including the poem that brought me here and the one that lends its name to the collection:


"Everything Else in the World"

Too young to take pleasure
from those privileged glimpses
we're sometimes given after failure,
or to see the hidden opportunity
in now getting what we want,
each day I subwayed into Manhattan

in my new, blue serge suit,
looking for work. College, I thought,
had whitened my collar, set me up,
but I'd majored in history.
What did I know about the world?

At interviews, if asked about the world,
I might have responded--citing Carlyle--
Great men make it go, I want to be one of those.
But they wanted someone entry-level,
pleased for a while to be small.

Others got the jobs;
no doubt, later in the day, the girls.
At Horn & Hardarts, for solace
at lunchtime, I'd make a sandwich emerge
from its cell of pristine glass.
It took just a nickel and a dime.

Nickels and dimes could make
a middleman disappear, easy as that,
no big deal, a life or two
destroyed, others improved.
But I wasn't afraid of capitalism.
All I wanted was a job like a book
so good I'd be finishing it
for the rest of my life.

Had my education failed me?
I felt a hankering for the sublime,
its dangerous subversions
of the daily grind.
Oh I took a dull, well-paying job.
History major? the interviewer said, I think
you might be good at designing brochures.

I was. Which filled me with desire
for almost everything else in the world.



"You'd Be Right"

He often needed two women. Just one--
how unfair to expect from her so much!
Intelligence before and after sex,
a certain naughtiness during,
gifts of companionship and solitude.
But he liked the day-to-day of marriage
and its important unimportances,
quiet moments made livable
by the occasional promise of a fiesta.
And though he knew it wasn't enough
for her either, and always assumed
she had similar thoughts, if not secrets,
nevertheless you may be thinking cad,

maybe even monster, you who've been happy,
or differently unhappy, or obeyed all your life
some good rule. And you'd be right
if you guessed his wife's eventual coolness,
her turning away, and, when he didn't leave,
the slow rise of the other woman's disappointment,
which would turn to anger, then to sadness.
You'd be right, but can you imagine what joys
accrue to the needy over a lifetime of seeking love?
Can you say you're not envious, or that you're sure
it wasn't worth what he risked and lost?



"Cut and Break"

Each morning the sullen but excellent masons
arrived at six to cut and lay stone
for the riding walls of our walkway.
Hung over, they worked deliberately, didn't care
that anyone might be sleeping or disturbed.
We learned not to speak to them before noon.

It was western Maryland; for me a new home,
new love, at once connected and removed.
Guns and Jesus rhymed on many a pickup.
The local newspaper ransacked
the Bible to edify and guide. Democracy:
how hard to like it every hour of the day.

Meanwhile, when the stonemasons spoke
they cursed. When they were silent
they were making noise. At 6 a.m. I could think
of a few freedoms I wished to curtail.
But of course they worked with what wouldn't
easily yield. They had to cut and break

before they could make anything whole.
I should have been all sympathy,
I who'd recently torn apart a marriage,
discovered what was and wasn't there.
In a few weeks the walkway was finished.
They were out of my life, gone.

Sometime solid remained, and the mountains
seemed to collect around us,
seemed even to redefine the sky,
but not for long. In this foreignness
I recognized an elsewhere
I carried with me, no one's fault.

Yet my love had a way of finding me
wherever I was. And soon I'd meet a man
whose decline in tennis matched mine,
and another I knew would be a friend
after I saw the stunning useless art he made
out of metal, discarded things.



"The Kiss"

She pressed her lips to mind.
--a typo

How many years I must have yearned
for someone's lips against mind.
Pheromones, newly born, were floating
between us. There was hardly any air.

She kissed me again, reaching that place
that sends messages to toes and fingertips,
then all the way to something like home.
Some music was playing on its own.

Nothing like a woman who knows
to kiss the right thing at the right time,
then kisses the things she's missed.
How had I ever settled for less?

I was thinking this is intelligence,
this is the wisest tongue
since the Oracle got into a Greek's ear,
speaking sense. It's the Good,

defining itself. I was out of my mind.
She was in. We married as soon as we could.

The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner

The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner is, essentially, a character study that Stephenie Meyer expanded into a novella. You may not have noticed, but Twilight fans get a little obsessed, so it's not terribly surprising that Meyer is adding to the existing four-book series in small bites (particularly as it looks as though the main quartet will stay a quartet). Any book that offers a glimpse of Bella and Edward is sure to sell. Admittedly, at least The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner is telling a different story than the leaked-and-then-posted-online Edward POV re-write of Twilight would. Fans will know that Bree Tanner made one very short appearance in Eclipse, the third novel in the series. The vampire Victoria, desperate to have revenge on Bella and Edward for the killing of her mate James, created an "army" of newborn vampires so that she might strike out against Bella and the Cullen family. It consisted of twenty-or-so young vampires who were not well-controlled and if you've read Eclipse, then you'll know from the get-go that things don't end well for any of these young vampires, including Bree. It's not giving anything away to know this, and Meyer only wrote this to provide her readers with a closer look at a darker world of Meyer vampires and to let them enjoy another new, brief dip into the Twilight world.

Bree doesn't have much time to develop a personality that could be easily differentiated from any other nice-enough teenage girl dealing with a somewhat difficult situation. Her only true distinct characteristics seem to be a desire to stay out of sight and her tendency to read a great deal of books. Not even sixteen before she was turned, Bree had been living on the streets -- easy prey for those seeking lone individuals that could be conscripted into the newborn vampire army. She remembers little of her mortal life and instead, she provides us with eyes into a twisted and dangerous situation. Survival for Bree seems to depend on hiding in a corner, behind another vampire who has the ability to divert attention... or at least produce a zone around himself that makes others want to look away. Near-invisibility is not a bad thing, I suppose, for a vampire, and Bree tries to hide in the aura of this, reading books and waiting for her chance to leave the safe-house at night. She manages to find what she might be able to call a friend, a rare commodity in a place where losing limbs (don't worry, they apparently re-attach) is commonplace and lies form the foundation of their daytime prison. Since we know it will all end badly, the reader simply has to watch it all play out, seeing another side of the story and perhaps developing some deeper pity for creatures that Meyer evidently felt hadn't been properly examined.

For such a short piece, it's hard to really have any real character depth, but Meyer does have this magic ability to create girls who long to know and be known by quiet and beautiful boys. For Bree, this is Diego, a slightly older vampire (only by a few months in vampire life, but by two or three years as a mortal before being turned). They both consider themselves outsiders, unwilling to socialize with the other vampires who cannot think beyond their thirst for blood. Bree and Diego even find themselves questioning the rule that suggests they will turn to dust if they set foot outside in the sunlight. (Get ready for more sparkly vampires!) Naturally, they are considered "better" vampires than the others who are simply out of control and violent. The definition of "better" here still means Bree and Diego kill humans for their meals, it just also means that they think for themselves and are unwilling to let themselves be used as pawns in some revenge game once they get an inkling that something isn't right.

This is one of those books where those who read it are largely made up of true fans, so it's hard to go wrong as long as one doesn't over-promise a new look at the beloved lead characters. On the whole, I think fans will be pleased with this small new novella, though the glimpse of Bella and Edward is, indeed, limited to the end scene. Meyer seemed to go to a lot of trouble to emphasize that this novel is from the perspective of someone who doesn't know anything about Bella, Edward, and the Cullens... yet seems quite interested by them and so keeps track of them at the crucial moment (she does know her audience). Edward is referred to as "the redhead" at times, which surprised me and got a little annoying. I found it hard to develop any real connection to Bree beyond a small amount of sympathy for her situation -- after all, she seemed to have a sad life even before being turned and then was destined to have any small hope for improvement taken away. The Bree-Diego tragic romance is a given, along with the knowledge that they won't get to actually do anything about their attraction in chaste Meyer world. Readers will notice that the vampire with the gift to repel attention (described as quite handsome if one can manage to look at him) makes it out alive and thus gives Meyer some future potential to explore his past and future.

My cynicism about releasing such a short novella to capitalize on the Twilight craze is tempered by two things: (1) you can actually read this book for free on Stephenie Meyer's website for a short period of time and (2) the $1 donation to the American Red Cross is a kind of clever philanthropic move when it comes to a series about vampires. Thus, I find it hard to grumble too much about the situation. She does at least seem to appreciate her fans, which is important, as only real fans will enjoy this book. If you loved it, you'll appreciate the book. If the series annoyed you... well, then you probably won't bother with this either, unless your projected attitude of "this series sucks" is really masking your true feelings of "well, this series is entertaining, if extremely flawed" and you refuse to admit to the fact that you read the whole Edward rewrite on the Meyer website and already have plans to see Eclipse on opening weekend. Ahem. Not like that describes anyone here.