Come Sit Next To Me October 16, 2009

In keeping with Alice Roosevelt’s seminal (eewwww on the alternate definition of this word) quote of “if you haven’t got anything nice to say about anybody, come sit next to me”, here is a gorgeous bit of prose discovered in Cornelia Read’s The Crazy School.

We couldn’t stand each other, but I hated her more.  She was so shallow she couldn’t even dislike people properly.

In a decidedly listless week, these simple lines has brought me untold joy. I could absolutely buy Nora Charles tossing them off while consuming martinis in The Thin Man (If you haven’t seen The Thin Man, well shame on you, and I hope we can still be friends.  It is the bee’s knees.)  How Hemingwayesque is the structure here?  Two sentences-straight, colloquial, to the point.  Not bad for an ex-debutante with only two strange little thrillers under her belt.

And apropos of nothing, here are some of the best gin-soaked moments from Nick & Nora.  Enjoy & happy Friday!

Tell Me A Story September 28, 2009

When I was growing up, my daddy spent a lot of time parked under the trees at the local library-windows rolled down, steaming Hardee’s coffee at the ready, perusing the daily paper.  Thanks to his forbearance, I was free to roam the stuffy rooms of our library, at that time housed in an old no-nonsense brick foursquare located downtown.  After graduating from Nancy Drew, Trixie Belden, and their ilk to adult fare, I clung to a lengthy list of influential books recommended by college professors.  Those photocopied pages were gifted to my English class by our teacher, a formidable woman who did not hesitate to bus a group of brainy eleven year olds to the nearest university library in order to instruct us on conducting research.  Under her tutelage we scoured the basement stacks for scholarly tomes and conquered microfilm machines which would spit out stinking black copies of our prized articles.  Thanks to Ms. Crowder-Davis, I could turn out a proper research paper on the effects of Agent Orange, complete with a thesis statement and works cited, by the end of Sixth Grade.  She was, in a word, amazing.

I carried that list until the type had faded, the pages were tattered, and it took a good amount of squinting to even make out the words.  I mourn for it twenty-odd years later and still hold a vague hope that I’ll run across it tucked away in a box of nostalgia stored in my dad’s basement.  That worn collection of paper was my golden ticket into the adult world.  A world where Tess is soundly seduced but still remains a pure woman.  A world where Gatsby spends a lifetime gaining entrance into a rarefied society in which he will never truly belong.  A world where happy families are all alike, but unhappy families are each unhappy in their own way.  A world where a stoic Atticus Finch defends a black man in court to the detriment of his own family’s security.  A world where an adolescent Holden Caulfield roams the streets of Manhattan; alienated, alone, foul mouthed but pure of heart.  A world where Blanche Dubois depends on the kindness of strangers.  A world where ship-wrecked boys revert to savagery when left to their own devices.  A world where Lizzie Bennet cannot see beyond her pride to the very evident truth in front of her.  Hemingway, O’Connor, Dickens, Hardy, Welty, Fitzgerald, O’Neil, Miller, Flaubert, Austen….life would be so very dull without them.

It’s banned book week.  If you know me at all, you probably know that the surest way to get me to do something is to tell me that I shouldn’t.  I’m a friend of the devil that way.  Give me a list of books someone somewhere out there thinks shouldn’t be loosed onto the public consciousness, and I will consume it greedily.  My daddy never saw fit to question me on a single thing I brought home from the library-though he may have raised an eyebrow.  My gratitude to him for that small kindness which opened up a vast universe.

So go ahead, read a “dirty” book this week and tell the establishment to stick it.

One of the Few Honest People September 1, 2009

“I like people and I like them to like me, but I wear my heart where God put it, on the inside. “

F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Last Tycoon

It’s Fitzgerald, no commentary necessary.  Happy September.

Careful, or Else You’ll Step in that Mass of Failure Trailing Behind Me August 5, 2009

Slightly dramatic title, yes, I’m aware. I guess that’s just the mood I’m in.

Several years ago, 4 or 5 now, we started a Book Club at work. It started as a time to read the same book then discuss – and quickly morphed into group-therapy time. We read, eat, laugh, cry, and love one another, as best we can.

We each take a month and pick the book that the group must read. Some I’ve hated. Some I’ve loved. Some have changed my outlook on life, like this one…

Jan picked Gilead, by Marilynne Robinson some time ago. (In a notebook somewhere I have the month and year, I just don’t feel like looking for it right this second.) A passage from that book has stayed with me, since my very first read:

This is an important thing, which I have told many people, and which my father told me, and which his father told him. When you encounter another person, when you have dealings with anyone at all, it is as if a question is being put to you. So you must think, What is the Lord asking of me in this moment, in this situation?  If you confront insult or antagonism, your first impulse will be to respond in kind. But if you think, as it were, This is an emissary sent from the Lord, and some benefit is intended for me, first of all the occasion to demonstrate my faithfulness, the chance to show that I do in some small degree participate in the grace that saved me, you are free to act otherwise than as circumstances would seem to dictate. You are free to act by your own lights. You are freed at the same time of the impulse to hate or resent that person. He would probably laugh at the thought that the Lord sent him to you for your benefit (and his) but that is the perfection of the disguise, his own ignorance of it.

And here is where I feel like I fail, daily.

Just the same as everyone else on planet Earth, I’m in the middle of a couple of situations which are testing my ability to remain calm and Christ-like.

I can freely admit – before these past 2 years, I was a horrible listener. I heard what I wanted to hear, whenever I decided to actually listen. I was usually forming rebuttals in my head, or defending my pride which was usually falling down around me. And, since “hurt people hurt people” – the hurt I was receiving usually went in one ear and came out of my mouth in the form of a sword that cut my opponent to the core. I can cut you with my words and I know it.

The old me used to scream and cry and fight to be heard. Usually, when imploring those methods the very thing I was fighting for I chased away.

Neither of those are communication. They are a hot mess of a girl who was so hurt she couldn’t articulate it, and failed miserably when she tried.

This passage though was a seed that was sown. I began (even then) to see the argument and the opponent differently.

And now, when disagreements come (daily in my world) I do my best to not respond until a few things have been accomplished: 1. I hear their side, clear to the end 2. I put myself in their shoes and try to see what is causing their hurt which is causing their anger 3. I pray before I open my mouth. Now. That typically looks like me just sitting silently – which let me tell you is an act of God to begin with. In my silence I’m not shutting down or checking out – I’m praying. Praying that I hear the criticisms that I need to, that I can start to change whatever needs to be changed, and praying that I won’t use my tongue to cut you from the tip of your head to the bottoms of your toes.

There is one person in particular who is challenging every bit of Jesus in me for the moment. I don’t want to hurt them – and now I look at them and see their selfishness and anger as symptoms of a larger issue. And that doesn’t make me angry – it instead makes me ache for them. But in their pain and selfishness I still have trouble talking to them. So, when it gets to that point where I can’t be trusted to keep my mouth shut, I just don’t talk to them anymore. End the conversation. It’s not safe for either of us if I don’t. In time though, I’m hoping to get to that place where I can live out that paragraph – where when they think back on this discussion they will see Jesus – not me – no matter how riled they get me.

For now, I’m failing. Miserably. I leave tiny little failure footprints all over the various discussions we have.

But, I’m trying my absolute hardest; and hopefully all that trying will one day add up to an ability.

PS: I have the sweetest kitten (Shem) sitting on my lap, who is now laying across the keyboard. Berkley and I say ‘thank you and good night’. sssssdddfffg (that was from him!)

My Agatha Christie List July 15, 2009

I believe the proper scientific name for people such as Kristina and myself is “Book Slut”.  roughly translated, we’ll do any amount of cheap and dirty deeds to get our hands on a good book.  Not really, but it does mean that we can never get enough – books, that is.   Get your mind out of the gutter.  Geez, perv much?  Both of us carry bulging totes crammed with at least 3 to 5 books whenever we travel more than an hour from home.  My current deepest desire is a Kindle so that I will no longer have to lug around 20 odd pounds of books anytime I go somewhere-but only if I can also have the new book smell in a can.

I adore  mysteries, likely due to the fact that I absolutely revered Nancy Drew when growing up.  I always have one on hand for when I need a break from heavier reading.   And I have my personal favorites which, lucky you, I’m willing to share.  So here is my go-to list for cheap thrills, perfect for summer:

The Jack Reacher Series by Lee Childs

Oh my God, do I love these books.  They are my crack cocaine.  My dad & I await each new installment with the giddy anticipation usually reserved for Christmas.  I have happily approached strangers in public when I spot a Lee Childs tucked under their arm or peeking out of their bag.  Jack Reacher is an ex-Army MP who drifts from one town to another and has a talent for landing in the wrong place at the wrong time.  He efficiently doles out justice to the numerous bad guys who are unfortunate enough to piss him off.  Jack Reacher is bad-ass, someone you definitely want in your corner.  The series is thirteen strong: fast-paced, tightly scripted, and entertaining as hell.  The first entry is Killing Floor.

The Maisie Dobbs Series by Jacqueline Winspear

First of all, I just love the design of these books.  They’re gorgeous, and yes,  I judge books by their covers.  Maisie is a young girl in service whose employers notice her intellect and arrange her education.  Her studies at Cambridge are interrupted by World War I and after serving as a nurse on the front in France, Maisie returns to England and uses her gifts as a private investigator.  Many of her cases deal with the aftermath of the war.  Maisie herself suffered great loss which has left her shell-shocked and leary of human connection.  The six books are rich in post-WWI era detail and Maisie is an unusually strong and confident heroine.  Start with Maisie Dobbs.

Gaslight Mysteries by Victoria Thompson

The eleven mysteries in this series follow Sarah Brandt, an upper-class woman who works as a midwife among New York’s immigrant population much to her family’s chagrin.  Her work brings her into contact with Detective Frank Malloy who is initially disdainful of her assistance but comes to rely on her discernment and powerful society connections.  The novels border on sentimental at times, but Thompson’s knowledge of late 19th century New York City makes this a worthwhile historical series.  Each novel is named for a landmark or neighborhood, and well, I am a complete sucker for turn-of-the-century New York.  Begin with Murder On Astor Place.

Shutter Island by Dennis Lehane

This book.  Oh wow, now this one here.  This one will fry your brain.  It is one of the few books that upon reading the last sentence, I muttered WTF and  immediately turned back to page one.  A total mind trip.  Dennis Lehane is the current golden boy of the contemporary crime novel, what with Mystic River and Gone, Baby, Gone both adapted into award-winning movies.  Shutter Island, helmed by no less than Martin Scorsese, is in the works for this fall.  U.S. Marshal Teddy and his new partner Chuck arrive on Shutter Island to investigate the escape of a dangerous female patient from the island’s hospital for the criminally insane.  A strong storm leaves them stranded and no one or nothing is what it seems, not even Teddy himself.  It is twisty and dark and unbelievably heart-wrenching.  Great stuff, this. And I’ll leave you with the trailer for Shutter Island.  If it’s just half as good as the book, it will be worth watching.  (If nothing else, the cast is absolutely pitch-perfect).

What about you?  Any recommendations for the perfect summer mystery?