The Mountains Sing

Posted on September 25, 2020 by Amy @ A Librarian and Her Books

Human lives were short and fragile. Time and illnesses consumed us, like flames burning away these pieces of wood. But it didn’t matter how long or short we lived. It mattered more how much light we were able to shed on those we loved and how many people we touched with our compassion.

– Nguyễn Phan Quế Mai

A good book tells a story that keeps your attention and brings a smile to your face or a tear to your eye. But you find yourself walking away from a good book without giving it much more than a passing thought. It was a leaf on the wind whose beauty touched you for a moment and then faded from your memory as quickly as it came. But a great book? A great book seeps into your brain and imprints something. You don’t just feel emotion, you become deeply entrenched in that emotion. You aren’t just reading about a person and their experiences. You are living those experiences along side them, and you feel intimately their terror, their loss, and their triumph. You see with their eyes and feel with their skin in a truly visceral way. For a brief moment you can’t separate yourself from this person who only exists on a page but whose existence has become so vital to your own.

Nguyễn Phan Quế Mai has created such a book. It’s greatness lies predominantly in a lyricism that immediately pulls the reader in and and won’t release them. Don’t get me wrong, I had to put this book down on some occasions. The events in this novel are horrifying. This is a family saga that spans The Vietnamese Land Reform from the years following WWII through the Vietnam War to the present. At one point I didn’t know if I could take anymore death, torture or starvation. But I see that as a testament to the power of this book. It cuts deep, and it should. What use is showing the horror of war if you don’t give an accurate glimpse into the truth of it? There’s no truth in delicacy. There’s only artifice, and artifice is a slap in the face to people who endured pain and suffering in order to bring a better tomorrow.

One thing Mai does expertly is crafting the perfect character. I deeply understood the love Guava’s Grandma had for her children and her children’s children. I felt her pain when she had to make sacrifices, even going so far as to leave them behind in the care of others to ensure they survived. I could imagine myself in that position, walking away from my children as my heart broke knowing it was the only choice I had. The terror of not knowing if I’d ever see them again. And I felt deeply her intense resolve to return to them and to provide the life that all children deserve, no matter how old they may grow or how far away they may be, both literally and figuratively. I could only aspire to be as brave and selfless in my own actions as this astounding woman. Though it was difficult to understand, I grew to know her heart enough to be able to accept and admire her capacity for forgiveness. Her faith was unshakable. Even at her darkest moments, she was still able to say, “as long as I have my voice, I am still alive.”

I realized that war was monstrous. If it didn’t kill those it touched, it took away a piece of their souls, so they could never be whole again. – Nguyễn Phan Quế Mai

Another impressive thing about this novel is that it doesn’t present a good or a bad when it comes to war. Beneath the surface is pain and desperation, good people and bad people making the only choices they feel they have to make. We all have the capacity for good and evil, and desperate times force us over a precipice. Which way we go depends upon whether we have the strength to do good or the will to do harm. Whether we are willing to fight to regain our own happiness or whether we seek to steal the happiness of others through cowardice.

This book is so infinitely beautiful and worthwhile despite the sheer heft of the weight it places on your soul. It’s one I will never forget.

5 stars.

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The Book Woman of Troublesome Creek

Posted on September 9, 2020 by Amy @ A Librarian and Her Books

One of the things I value most about being a part of a reading group is that I’m exposed to books that I otherwise may have never stumbled upon. This next selection is one of those, so a big thank you to the member who chose this book as our September discussion selection. The Book Woman of Troublesome Creek is a fascinating piece of historical fiction. Richardson has crafted at once a nostalgic and searing look at life in the Kentucky hills in the 1930’s in the latter part of the Great Depression. Kentucky is presented as thoroughly and as bravely as are the other characters in this book. She’s cruel, twisted, and astonishingly beautiful. The power she wielded against the fragile inhabitants that occupied her hills was both awe inspiring and frightening. One moment draining the life from the hill people through starvation and sickness only to cradle them to her bosom the next with a whisper of comfort. Sleep, child. The new day dawns soon if you can make it through the night.

I applaud the authenticity with which Richardson presents every fine-tuned detail of this story. Not that she didn’t take creative license, as she changed certain aspects of the historical record to suit the narrative. In the author’s note she points out these edits and pays homage to the real individuals whose lives in the mid-to-late 20th century were affected by the true events which inspired this book. One won’t get very far before giving in to the compulsion to set the book down for a bit to google “the blue people of Kentucky.” Your first instinct is to say that sounds like a big ole’ load of Kentucky manure. But you’re wrong, because the blue people were as real as you and I. Though the name Fugate was changed to Carter and a new heroine was presented, their story played out much the same way. They experienced the same vilification by the townsfolk and encountered an unimaginable amount of prejudice simply because of the color of their skin. It’s no surprise that one of the few people in this story to see clear to Cussy Mary’s heart is her fellow pack horse librarian, Queenie. Queenie is also vilified for her blackness, but she’s one of the only characters with the strength of character to seek friendship with someone unlike herself. Queenie was undoubtedly one of my favorite characters in a book teeming with richness and authenticity. She’s second only to Junia, whose ability to judge character is purely unrivaled. There wasn’t one superfluous individual among the pages of this book, even those that made me want to scream and slap them about. Lord amighty, there were plenty of those. (Looking at you, Harriett, you mean ole’ cow.)

Ok… sidenote about Harriett. As horrid as she was, Cussy Mary saw the value of education for all, and we get a glimpse of this in one of her interactions with Harriett. Sure, we realize that Harriett will probably always be a wretched beast of a woman, but we do feel a twinge of softness for her when Cussy discloses, “I loved the way Harriett loved her books. It changed her into something different, better.” This is, in a way, a foreshadowing of the future hope. That books and knowledge were the antidote for the ignorance that was the true plague of the hill folk. Though many of them detested her for reasons beyond her control, Cussy Mary was one of those hard working women and men who risked their safety and their comfort to bring knowledge to the people who were desperate and starving. She fought for them. She loved them fiercely despite their faults. She believed in a better tomorrow. And through her and the other librarians of the Works Progress Administration’s Packhorse librarian project, they’d find their hope and their will to live in the pages of books. Some would successfully navigate the starvation and desolation to live another day. Some would not. Also, I’m pretty sure I’ll never be able to hear the name Peter Pan without shedding a tear. “All children, except one, grow up.”

Plenty of children died in the hills of Kentucky with a gnawing hunger that burned in their bellies. That was one of the hardest aspects of this book. But if we didn’t see the harshness of their reality, we would never fully grasp the sheer resilience of these amazing people. Not just Cussy Mary. Jackson Lovett. R.C. Cole. Miss Loretta. Angeline. Elijah. Queenie. Oren Taft. One of the most beautiful moments in this book came during Cussy’s conversation with Mr. Taft, a simple hill man from one of the poorest communities on the mountain who walked miles to meet the book woman every Friday so he could bring knowledge to his people. He tells her that she reminds him of Picasso’s blue lady and asserts that God chose for her the color he’d reserved for the sky, one of his most beautiful creations. It’s a simple but wonderful connection, and it’s precisely what Cussy Mary needed to hear. Through Taft and these others we see the power of caring. Simple actions and words can hurt or they can save. We merely have to ask ourselves in life if we want to be one of the weak, mindless fools or if we want to be one of the brave souls that risk our own comfort for the sake of others. Only then does the world truly become a better place. History is full of these people but most don’t make it into the history books. However, we are where we are today thanks to the hard work and the perseverance of these fine people. And Kim Michele Richardson has done a remarkable job of paying homage to them.

5 stars for this richly beautiful novel.

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Chasing Fireflies

Posted on August 31, 2020 by Amy @ A Librarian and Her Books

Every now and then you come across a book in which, despite its possible flaws, you can find nothing but beauty. Chasing Fireflies is one such book. First, before getting into anything else, I want to talk about metaphor.  If an extended metaphor is done well, deep within you it’s thoroughly understood without the author having to completely spell it out for you. Within Chasing Fireflies we find several beautiful and complex metaphors that are woven within the story to make an intricate tapestry. Firstly, the title. The title winds up being both a literal and a metaphorical interpretation. We see our characters bonding and healing old wounds by participating in this age old southern tradition. It’s expertly crafted, and it’s not until the very end that the reader understands the vital importance of the chase, the discovery, and the capturing of enlightenment. We see how the firefly blinks, intermittently pulling you closer, illuminating for a brief moment before succumbing to darkness again. Briefly you fear that you’re again lost in darkness, losing hope, only to see once again the glow of the thing that eludes you. It’s that hope that keeps you chasing when all else seems swallowed by darkness.  Martin didn’t have to tell me this, but I knew it. I felt it.

Now here’s where I’ll talk about one way in which this book is an odd choice for me. Martin is often considered as a Christian fiction writer. However, I wouldn’t classify this book as Christian fiction though others may disagree. Sure, it’s fairly sentimental, has some various mentions of the Bible and faith, and there’s no overtly inappropriate content that would make a good protestant woman fetch her smelling salts. But it’s not preachy or over the top. Now I would vehemently disagree with Unc that the firefly’s butt blinks because of God’s divine intervention. I’m on team science. But I also appreciate that there are people in this world who hold to a faith that propels them. They need that. They crave it. Honestly, I think we all have those things, but they take completely different forms.  Unc is one of the most complex, quirky, and lovable characters I’ve ever read, despite the fact that I don’t share his ideas about the universe and all its creations. But I admire his integrity and his ability to think rationally and honorably in the face of severe obstacle. I also absolutely love his little words of wisdom, or “Willyisms.” One way Unc and I do agree is in seeing the beauty of the natural world as a reflection of our character. Unc treasures the land that his father treasured, and he detests seeing the way his brother rolls over it for the sake of greed without returning what he took. I wish more self-professed Christians were like Unc instead of like Jack. We wouldn’t be where we are today.

Back to metaphor, I’m not a chess player, but I know enough about it to understand that sometimes you can’t just play the aggressive game. You have to play the long game. You have to give a little and take a bit of a beating, but you can’t lose sight of the end. That one final move that will decide the whole thing.  Now there will probably be people standing over your shoulder wondering what the hell you’re doing. They’ll think you’re useless. They’ll think you’re stupid. They’ll jump ship and root for the other guy. But you know what they don’t. And you’re saving it for the right moment. And when you play that final move, everything will change. At the same time, you’ll lose a lot to get there. Is it worth it? How much of the army on your board will be left after that final move? How will that have changed you?

I’m going to avoid saying much more about this book, because it’s one that should be experienced.  I was caught off guard by some details, and I love that, because I hate it when I can see the end coming even if it makes me feel good that I figured it out. Ultimately this is a book about identity, family, and finding your voice. It’s ultimately a bit unbelievable, but that’s ok.

Sometimes it’s ok for something to just feel right.

4.5 Stars

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A Man Called Ove

Posted on September 24, 2015 by Amy @ A Librarian and Her Books

A Man Called Ove A Man Called Ove is a spectacular novel. It comes from a Swedish author named Fredrik Backman. It is effortlessly brilliant.  It’s at once hilarious, wise, and heartbreaking.

The man called Ove is a grumpy curmudgeon who detests the changes that come with so-called modernization and progress.  He’s a hard worker who doesn’t much care for art or books or technology.  But give him a hammer and a 2×4 and he can build you a house, by God, and every man who’s worth a damn should be able to accomplish the same!  As the novel progresses, we see alternating sections that delve into Ove’s present and Ove’s past.  Each chapter begins with either “the man called Ove” or “the man who was Ove.”  I found this to be a brilliant device that easily allowed me to transition between the present narrative and the flashbacks. This is a slowly developing novel that perfectly develops the character of Ove at just the right pace. We get little tidbits of information at a time, allowing us to come to know Ove as we do a person who winds up becoming a close friend. At first we keep them at arm’s length, only knowing those aspects of their person that exist on the surface. As time passes we peel away the layers to find depth and beauty that most people will never see.

The most important thing to know about Ove is that it’s time for him to die.  He had two things to live for – his job and the love of his life. His love for his wife is described beautifully in the book. Ove is a man who sees the world in black and white, but his wife, Sonja, was pure color. She was the only color he needed in life. I am paraphrasing, here, as I don’t remember the exact quote, but the language was as beautiful as the sentiment.  His two purposes in life are gone, and Ove wants nothing more than to reunite with his beloved Sonja, so he will be going to join her. This novel somewhat comically depicts how his plans to off himself are continually thwarted by dimwitted neighbors, a mangy stray cat, and a host of other rather quirky characters. I laughed out loud numerous times while reading this book (I recommend the listen, because the narrator, George Newbern, is superb) and I also did quite a bit of weeping. I’m sure it’s a strange sight to see the driver in the car next to you dissolving into a puddle of tears. I apologize to any individuals who may now be worried about the emotional stability of a stranger, and I assure you from afar that I am fine. In fact, I am a much richer person for having grown to know Ove. I don’t want to discuss this book in too much detail for fear of spoiling it for prospective readers, so I’ll stop here. In closing, I will just say that this book needs to be read, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!

5 Emphatic stars!!!

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The Woman at the Light

Posted on October 24, 2012 by Amy @ A Librarian and Her Books

This fantastic historical novel predominantly takes place in 19th Century Key West.  As a Cover art for Woman at the Lightpiece of historical fiction, it is a celebration of the female lighthouse keepers of this era.  It revolves around the character of Emily Lowry, the wife of a lighthouse keeper who finds herself widowed after the mysterious disappearance of her husband.  Rather than moving back to her original home of Key West, Emily chooses to stay with her three children at Wreckers’ Cay to tend the lighthouse by herself.  This sets her on a course that dramatically changes the rest of her life.

This novel is a story of perseverance, loss and love.  I applaud Brady for creating a female character who is possessed of a rare kind of strength and complexity.  At times I thought some of the events in the latter part of the novel bordered on convenient and slightly unrealistic, as if they were designed specifically to make the ending as happy as possible, but I have to admit I really have no problem with a happy ending.  And I don’t mind having to suspend belief in order to get one every now and then.  I will say that I wish I could stumble upon this financial good luck fairy that Emily finds, because he was really quite generous.

Overall, I’m quite glad that my book club won this title from an online book club site, because it’s a book I probably would have never picked up on my own.  But it was very engaging, educational and an all-around wonderful read.  4 stars.

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The Perks of Being a Wallflower

Posted on October 1, 2012 by Amy @ A Librarian and Her Books

Cover of Perks of Being a Wallflower

This is a book I heard a lot of buzz about during my Teen Library materials course at Mizzou a few semesters ago.  It is extremely controversial in many respects (as can be expected from most novels geared toward teens), but I believe this book has a lot to offer.  It’s full of references to just about any and every life situation that many teens will experience during their high school years.

Charlie is a freshman in high school.  This arguably the most difficult year in a teen’s life.  He’s struggling with finding a way to fit in, so for the most part he just sits back and watches as life goes on.  He shares his experiences with an unnamed and unknown older individual in the form of letters.  As the letters come and go, we as the reader begin to understand that there is more to Charlie’s story than meets the eye.  He has been through something traumatic, and he’s experienced loss in a way that few people are forced to face at such a young age.  This loss permeates all of his relationships, from those with the members of his family to those of his friends.  We understand that he is both a deeply caring and deeply troubled individual, who seems incapable of being able to attain what he truly wants.  He’s afraid to communicate his inner-most feeling with those who care about him and, in return, is forced to reap the consequences of these actions.

The subject matter of this book is deep.  We see such themes as teenage sexuality, family issues, abuse, sexual identity, teen pregnancy, romantic attachment, friendship, and personal loss among other issues.  A very prevalent issue is mental health.  Charlie’s problems and past have led to a deep and invasive depression that, like many adults, affects his relationships with others.

Overall I thought this was a profound and important book.  It reaches to the very core of our humanity and presents teens with many tools which they can use to shape their understanding of themselves and the world around them.  Many parents rail against authors who introduce teens to such things as drug use, abortion, and even homosexuality.  Whether these parents like it or not, these are things that teenagers are already exposed to and that many of them struggle with.  Why can these parents not see the value in exposing them to these subjects in a way that can help them understand rather than to throw them into each scenario in real life without the necessary tools to face them?

Too often we alienate troubled teens, calling them bad and useless if they struggle with drug use; calling a troubled girl who gets pregnant a whore and writing her off; calling a teen struggling with sexual identity a sinner who’s morally inferior.  None of these are true and, as adults we have an obligation to provide our teens with the necessary education and support to be able to work through his or her own problems in a mature and accepting way rather than hiding behind their fear.   All of these subjects are prevalent in this novel, and the result is powerful.  Overall, great book.  4 stars.

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Pray For Silence

Posted on September 26, 2012 by Amy @ A Librarian and Her Books

Cover of Pray for Silence by Linda CastilloLet me first preface this review by saying that the number of murder mysteries that I have read number in the singe digits, and the low single digits at that.  And two of those books were by Miss Castillo.  I can hardly call myself an avid reader and expert of murder mysteries, but I’ll do my best.   You might also want to check out my goodreads review of Linda Castillo’s first novel in the Kate Burkholder series, Sworn to Silence.  This review is about a second book in the series, but I seem to think they stand pretty well on their own, and there’s nothing you’ll really have spoiled for you by my reviewing this book on my blog without doing the first.

This is a wildly compelling story that does make you want to keep reading, but it gets bogged down in some details that should have been edited out.  I get really tired of reading about how Kate has trouble dealing with things.  The violence in this book is overwhelming, and it’s not made better by the fact that the author seems to be apologizing for it in her text by having Kate moon over how terrible everything is.  Honestly, I wish some of it would be toned down a bit overall.  We can get the picture without having it nailed into our heads over and over again.  Kate watching one video of a violent barbaric rape of an Amish girl would be enough.  We don’t need to have MANY of them described for us.

I also don’t feel there was any personal growth on the part of any of the characters in either book, the first or the second.  The first book made it seem like catching the killer would lead her closer to atonement and closure over the terrors of her past.  Eh… maybe it will work the second time around.  I bet you anything there are identical struggles in the third book with alcoholism, night terrors and the like.  And not just with Kate.  Tomasetti is also quite the bundle of rapturous sunbeams. If there had just been a smattering of details like this, it wouldn’t have been so bad.  But, like the violence, it is overbearing and eventually starts to annoy, making both of these characters not nearly as compelling as they have the potential of being.

One more thing that irks me – these poor Painter’s Mill Amish people must be cursed.  Either that or each one of them is smeared with serial killer and rapist attraction goo.  It’s perhaps a bit unrealistic to me that this one town can be plagued by so much horror and death at the hands of violent sociopaths.  Then again, anything is possible.

Overall, 3 stars for “Pray for Silence.”  It keeps you interested, but due to serious flaws in characterization and lack of proper editing, it could be much better

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The Fault in Our Stars

Posted on September 19, 2012 by Amy @ A Librarian and Her Books

I’m proud to make this novel the first of my book reviews.  Though I love a good intricately woven fiction novel geared toward adults, I also love a good (keyword: good) young adult novel.  John Green is by far, in my opinion, the best author out there for young adults.  I say this because he presents a real portrait of the youth of America.  These are not impressively hot chicks who have a thing for bad-boy vampires.  And they are obviously not impressively chiseled bad boy vampires.  These characters are teenagers.  They have acne.  They wear glasses.  They like video games.  And they are all too often not very good at talking to the opposite sex without saying something insanely stupid.

Hazel Grace Lancaster is no exception.  What sets her apart from most other kids her age is that she’s a cancer kid.  She is dying and she knows it.  She’s had a little time bought for her by an experimental new drug (fictional, as Green points out).  She has chubby chipmunk cheeks from the drugs she has to take, and she has to lug around an embarrassing oxygen cart because she would die if she didn’t.  However, when she goes to support group led by one-ball Patrick (he had a testicle removed following his bout with testicular cancer) she still takes the stairs because the elevator is for those kids who are currently on death’s door.  I loved Hazel.  John Green has a way of tackling intense subjects in a way that makes readers feel at ease.  We don’t feel guilty for getting the humor in this novel.  Yes, it’s about a touchy and intensely sad subject, but to a cancer kid that is life.  They still laugh.  They still get teenage crushes.  And they still live their lives until it’s their time to go.  Hopefully they’ll be able to see adulthood before that happens.  I think it’s important for healthy teenagers to get this real-life image of sick kids.  Too often, the sick kid becomes a pariah.  They confuse and scare other kids, because it’s impossible for other kids to know how to react.  For this reason they act in some negative fashion, whether it be complete avoidance, utter contempt or with overzealous pity.

Hazel eventually meets a one-legged teenage God, Augustus Waters.  He lost his leg during a battle with osteocarcoma.  He is cancer-free now, but he still understands what Hazel is grappling with, and he learns to love her even through the ever-present threat that he could lose her at any moment.  Together they embark on a journey to find the truth.  Inspired by the characters in Hazel’s favorite novel, they seek to find out what happens to the family of a cancer kid who’s lost the struggle to go on.  It’s a morbid question, but the reader starts to realize that for Hazel, this is a burning question that is not so much about the character from the book, but about her own future demise.

As usual, John Green’s characters are a bit flawed.  Though I love the snarky, intellectual humor, many of the teens come across as a bit overboard and unrealistic.  They use phrases often not even used by college professors thirty years their senior.  In this case, perhaps it’s not so out there.  They are kids who, for most of their lives, have been unable to do anything physical due to their illnesses, so they read.  They absorb more information than a lot of other kids their age, so I can see how they would have a bit of an intellectual edge.  This, to me, is a minor quibble.  I enjoy the banter, and I wish more teenagers were intellectual prodigies.  I would have a much more positive outlook on our future as a nation.

I don’t want to go much further into the plot, because there’s a lot about this I don’t want to give away.  Ultimately, this is a story about love, friendship and family.  It’s about the fleeting moments in our lives that can define how we will be remembered when we’re nothing but a memory.  And deep down it’s just an amazing story.  Thank you, Mr. Green, for another amazing story.  Five stars from a big fan!

And p.s., Mr. Green – Thanks for finally channeling a female protagonist.  You did a pretty damn good job.

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