The longest book of 2015 (so far)

I can't fully reflect on "The Goldfinch" just yet. But I do love these two earmarks so much, largely because they describe my relationship with great books - pieces of artwork in themselves that move and change me and consistently push me to be committed & convicted. This book was also a profound reminder of the less tangible things that are hardest to let go of, that bury themselves deeply in your heart and re-emerge at the right moment, only to return back to a crevice in your soul - memories of loss, of pain, of love.

"...if a painting really works down into your heart and changes the way you see, and think, and feel, you don't think 'oh I love this picture because it's universal.' 'I loved this painting because it speaks to all mankind.' That's not the reason anyone loves a piece of art. It's a secret whisper from an alleyway...four hundred years before us, four hundred years after we're gone - it'll never strike anybody the same way and the great majority of people it'll never strike in any deep way at all - a really great painting is fluid enough to work its way into your mind and your heart through all kinds of different angles, in ways that are unique and very particular. Yours, yours. I was painted for you."

"And I add my own love to the history of people who have loved beautiful things, and looked out for them, and pulled them from the fire, and sought them when they were lost, and tried to preserve and save them while passing them along literally from hand to hand, singing out brilliantly from the wreck of time to the next generation of lovers, and the next."

The main character was in so many ways different than me, but also incredibly the same - in many passages, especially as he described his mom, I felt pangs of connection; he described a dream and I swear I had one similar.

Mine, mine. Sometimes books are stories are written for me (when I most need them).

~MJ

6 Things I've Done Instead of Blogging

I failed at the weekly publishing of blog posts. But I will try to do it semi-regularly. The past couple of weeks, when I haven't been at the doctor for a mysterious ailment, I was doing one of a few things:

1. lounging on my couch recovering from said ailment. There were days when moving tiring, so I went from my bed into fresh pajamas and under a blanket on my couch. It was raining most of these days, which made the couch and the blanket all the more appealing.
2. working. It's a busy time of year, which may or may not have contributed to said ailment. Some work happened from my couch, but I did go into the office to get at that grind.
3. watching television. Although the writing time has certainly supplanted some TV time, I finished "Friends" and all the current seasons of my favorite shows; I've started "Mad Men." I've replaced my Today Show watching habits with watching the latest episodes of The Daily Show and the Nightly Show (and once weekly, Last Week Tonight.)
4. reading in my bed, on the couch, in the waiting room, waiting in the room until the doctor showed; reading at lunch, before dinner, at bedtime, and in the morning when getting out of bed was too hard. I'm reading "The Goldfinch" by Donna Tartt and also "The Opposite of Loneliness" by Marina Keegan. I'm almost done with Keegan, but stopped reading once I got hooked into the Goldfinch. 
5. writing. A three-day weekend combined with rain and mysterious ailments apparently yield 30+ pages of creative writing for me. I've been wanting to write more, and I do find it to be relaxing, so I'm doing it every day. Since Memorial Day Weekend, 30 pages has turned to 45; there is little to add at this point to the plot, but I am actually really enjoying re-reading and revising for different details. Sometimes I focus on dialogue, sometimes imagery, sometimes technical details or word choice. Ah, writing. 
6. Reflecting on how nice it is to be out of grad school and to do more of what I love doing (reading, writing) for pleasure and without guilt. When mysterious ailments interrupt this joy, I am saddened, but I manage.

The ailment funk seems to be subsiding, so I hope to add the gym back to this list, along with outdoor activity and friends - and blogging about books. Because, reading.

For now: 26 Reasons Why You Need to Read More

Thanks for reading my blog, not about reading.

~MJ

Hopeful words (and their opposites)

"Promise. What a good word. What a hopeful word."

Sherman Alexie is one of my all-time favorite authors. When I picked up "Flight" I was seeking one of the few Alexie novels I haven't read yet, and also saw it recommended on a list of books for young adult men. I got the audio book and intended to keep it that way, but then got the e-book at some point. I think Alexie may have approved of the audio book, but the e-book was probably a disappointment (win some, lose some). The audio book was read by Adam Beach, an actor who is American Indian - Beach had been in Alexie's movie adaptation of "Smoke Signals" and around the time I started reading the book, I also saw him in a documentary about American Indians and mainstream entertainment ("Reel Injun" - highly recommended). I started the book in the fall as my "gym book," continued it on the cruise, and then put it down for awhile. I finished it, fittingly, during travel time to and from the White Privilege Conference in Louisville, KY. And so it became 6 of #30books this year. All this is to say, I think books come into our lives at the right moment and are usually finished when they need to be finished - and "Flight" worked out in all those ways for me.

The story is told from the perspective of a teenage boy, nicknamed "Zits," who is a foster kid. Zits' dad was MIA, and his mom died when he was young. Since his mother's death, he's been shuffled throughout the system and is the epitome of what one may think of as a troubled kid that just doesn't fit the system. He gets into trouble at school, with the law, and among his various foster households. It's clear that his foster families have not been the right fit - some are abusive, some are using the system for their own benefit, and some just don't care. It's no wonder why those homes don't work out for Zits. One time he gets in trouble and ends up in juvenile detention with another boy, Justice, who convinces him to engage in a very unlawful act - and then the story takes Zits through time, where he becomes several other people. As he takes on the identity of an FBI Agent aimed at undermining an American Indian tribe, a soldier fighting Indians over land, an old pilot who cheats on  his wife and trains a terrorist, and many others - he grapples with his own identity, history, and loneliness and convictions. The journey, as fantastical as it seems, helps him find his place in the his world with the people he needs to be with - and so naturally, I thought the book was perfect. It's about finding family, finding 'home' (whatever that means), and finding oneself. 

It also is vulgar and profane; dissonant and challenging; poetic and profound. Throughout the reading, I thought about my students who were in the foster system, especially my boys; I thought about what American history curriculum has taught me, what I've had to unlearn, and the multiple perspectives of wars (physical and otherwise); I also thought a lot about how we perceive one another, and what we don't know is occuring beneath the surface. I also thought a lot about family, about love, about loss - when Zits said, "My mother loved me more than any of you will ever know" in chapter one, I knew what he meant. And his search for a family after his loss felt the same and different to mine all at the same time.

I captured so many earmarks and I recorded some of them below. I also found listening to Beach's reading made some moments even more powerful - to hear someone say, "Promise. What a good word. What a hopeful word," carried so much more weight. It made me think a great deal about listening - and how differently I sometimes absorb what I hear compared to what I read. 

Recommending Alexie is something I do consistently. I also hope to find more authors who challenge and affirm my perceptions all in the same reading; who teach me something about others; who make me hear and live the words on the page.

~MJ

Earmarks:

"And I know there has never been a human being or a television show, no matter how great, that could measure up to a great book."

"What kind of life can you have in a house without books?"

"Remember, revolution is not about spontaneous combustion. The true revolutionary must set himself aflame."

"The individual has always had to work hard to avoid being overwhelmed  by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high for the privilege of owning yourself."

"He thinks of how many wives and husbands are cheating on each other. And thinks of how many fathers are abandoning their children. He thinks of how many people are going to war against other people. We're all betraying one another all the time."

"It was father love and father shame and father rage that killed Hamlet. Imagine that Hamlet, after being poisoned by his own sword, wakes in the body of his father. Or, worse, in side the body of his incestuous Uncle Claudius?"

PS. I also finished Book 9 recently - "The Last American Vampire" by Seth Grahame-Smith, and eventually there will be a post. I have three additional books going in contention for Book 10 (and beyond) - "In the Garden of the Beasts" by Erik Larson, "The Opposite of Loneliness" by Marina Keegan, and "The Goldfinch" by Donna Tartt (round 2 of that gem).