Category: Books I Loved Back in the Day

Haven’t I Read This Already?

~ Wendy-Marie ~ Leave a comment

Let’s play a game!

Guess That Anne Tyler novel!

Middle-aged quirky guy who has slender and niche book series has devastating life event, moves back to childhood home to stay with his spinster sister, spinster sisters finds live as the quirky guy has major house trouble and finds a measure of happiness in his life.

Guess! Now! Come on…do it! Guess!

<cue Blacklight “Who is Anne Tyler?”>

I’m waiting!

<taps foots>

Okay…ANY guesses?

Oh….The Accidental Tourist.

Wait…The Beginner’s Goodbye…

Hmmm….you know…both answers are correct.

A few weeks ago, after an Entertainment Weekly back issue binge, I put the latest Anne Tyler, The Beginner’s Goodbye, on hold. And when I did get my hands on it a few days later, it was a hard slog even though it’s a just wee, dainty, slip of a thing. Something wasn’t holding my attention fully. But I slogged through it and just chalked it up to trying to relax and read when Blacklight was sitting four feet away on the couch, flinching in pain every time he shifted or took a deep breath. Spouse in pain and you can’t do a thing to help make it better isn’t exactly the best setting for reading. And all the reviews said the book was slight but good. So it had to be me…

Fast forward to last night. Have just spilled full glass of cold water all over side table including on Mr Kindle. Snatch up Mr Kindle, tidy up the mess and collapse on Mr Couch in relief that Mr Kindle is okay. Because the last thing I need to do to replace Mr Kindle even though he’s the $79 one with special offers. And dive into The Accidental Tourist because do not want to read about the Triangle Fire, I want escape.

And I start reading, then pause and then start reading again. Something isn’t right and it’s not the people at the basketball courts playing late into the night, every other word a curse. Or that my back and left hip hurts. Or that I can hear Blacklight through the wall escaping his pain with watching My Little Pony videos. The book, something is wrong with the book. Have I had this much trouble re-reading The Accidental Tourist in the past?

Mr Kindle gets turned off and I headed to bed with The Intellectual Devotional Biographies.

And this morning as I’m blow drying my hair and wondering if I should even bother to put makeup on, it hits me (not the hairdryer). There are only so many plots in the world. Big Guy in R’lyeh knows I have a whole virtual trunk of failed chick lit novel attempts that boil down to the same plot and characters. If it can effect pudgy, needs to cut back on the Starbucks Gwen Never-Was, why can’t it effect Anne “Quirky Baltimore Lady with a Pulitzer” Tyler.

Because, let’s face it…Macon (The Accidental Tourist) and Aaron (The Beginner’s Goodbye) are pretty similar. And not just because in my head they are both played by William Hurt.

  • both suffer a tragic death of a loved family member
  • both go a little mental in being alone after death of said family member
  • both their houses’ go to pot and then fixing of said house is a sign of their returning to normalcy
  • both go back to their childhood home after the tragic death
  • both have a hyper organized and older than her years sister who finds love with a man connected to their grieving brother
  • both have worked for a family business that would have failed without the input of a hyper business aware sibling
  • both write/are in charge of a quirky, slender niche book series which is the title of the book
  • both are played by William Hurt in my head (try NOT to cast William Hurt as Aaron…try)

No wonder I felt a little deja vu during The Beginner’s Goodbye…

 

 

 

 

I Have A Sad (And A Mission)

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With a long waited for and most blessed vacation upon me this week, I flung aside my Kindle stuffed to the gills with free (i.e. public domain) books and went to the New Britain Public Library to scoop up some inter-library loans and get an armload of magazines (which my brain will always hear as “Madga seens” a la The Gunslinger in The Drawing of The Three). So Entertainment Weekly Summer Movie Issue stashed in my book bag I wandered over to The National Review to check out the latest The Bent Pin. And whimpered and dug through the pile until I found the farewell column. Once again, Florence King is retiring. And she’s sick. And I may just turn on the TV or see online one day soon that she’s passed.

Florence King is one of the very few authors I can tell you exactly what libraries have which copies. Or the places and circumstances I found and bought her works.

He: An Irreverent Look at the American Male? Noah Webster Library (the main branch of the West Hartford, CT library), three rows from the left of the Teen Room, very bottom shelf, about four books in. Amazing to even find copy in CT. Had only read excerpt in The Florence King Reader due to rarity and cost of used copies online.

When Sisterhood was in Flower? Fiction sections of both the New Britain Public Library and Southbury Public Library.

Reflections in a Jaundiced Eye? Southbury Public Library. Could find in three minutes at old library location. Would need about 15 minutes to find at the new, huge, shiny building near the other middle school/Heritage Village.

WASP, Where is Thy Sting? New Britain Public Library. Must handle with care because cover is separating from spine in the front. Section on the WASP who goes all rustic with his wife Faith is falling out and needs re-binding. Think might be the only person who has checked out this book over the last 10 years.

Confessions of a Failed Southern Lady? UMO (University of Maine, Orono to the average bloke) library, fiction stacks. Read to pieces.

 

The Barbarian Princess ? Her one and only bodice ripper under the pen name Laura Buchanan, mass market paperback from the 1970s found in an Old Town, Maine junk shop during a visit from my parents in the spring of 1993 for 50 cents right next to an ancient RCA proto-laser disc player just like the one my dad bought years ago.

With Charity Toward None: A Fond Look at Misanthropy? Purchased at hip, independent New Haven bookstore after a trip to the Peabody Museum in 1992 with my mother and one of her friends.

The Florence King Reader? Purchased at the Fifth Avenue Barnes & Noble on my first, ALL BY SELF NYC adventure and devoured on the Metro-North train back to Danbury.

STET, Damnit! Purchased three times, twice on Amazon, third and last time in late March at the Book Barn Downtown for $4 for the hardcover because am certain will never get back from co-worker loaned copy to. Which is okay, because it means Miss Florence King has another rabid reader in “Commander” Reynolds.

That’s just select titles off the top of my head. So my mission this lovely vacation week, (besides eat my own weight in Gummi Bears) is to photocopy all The Bent Pins in the back issues of The National Review.

Because Florence King is worth it.

The Caleb Carr Code

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Books that combine my interests in history, true crime and epics seem to fall off the shelves. Let’s face it, there’s a ready crop of these bricks at the book sales and used book shops. But what makes something worth a read versus only good enough to prop open the old windows in my apartment?

The book has to have a spark, a strong historical background and not feel like the author is playing with paper dolls. So if anyone asked me “Hey Gwen what’s a good historical read?”, Caleb Carr would definitely be on the short list.  The Alienist and The Angel of Darkness will keep you pinned to Mr Couch until the bitter end, emerging back into the real world at 1:30 am going “Frosted Pop Tart, I gotta be at work in 5 and half hours!” while Blacklight pops out of his lair on a beer mission asking “hey, what are YOU doing awake?”. Duh, reading!

And on the way to training this week, listening to the Edward Herrman narrated abridged audiobook of The Alienist, it struck me. Not another car! A thought beyond “do I get Starbucks now or go to Target and get it during lunch?”  and “I wonder just how bad it would be to make a sausage “double down” sandwich?”. Those are valid thoughts (answers: wait until lunch and NO because I want to live to see 40). The Caleb Carr thought was “gee…The Alienist and The Angel of Darkness are pretty much the same. Awesome on their own, but still, I could write a third book in the series myself”

The Caleb Carr Code Breakdown…

****WARNING*** SPOILERS BELOW****READ AT YOUR OWN RISK*****

The team/The X-Men:

  • Dr Kreizler /Professor X: disabled leader who forms a team of experts, has his own institute/school for “troubled” youths
  • Stevie Taggart/Wolverine: small, strong, likes his tobacco, legendary for brawn, one of Kreizler’s most trusted men
  • John Schuyler Moore/Tony Stark: drunken, high society lady killer, uses his money and journalist connections to help the team solve problems but gets in trouble along the way
  • Sara Howard/Pepper Potts: the only woman on the team, driven, handy with a gun that she keeps hidden somewhere on her person, don’t mess with her, does not take ANY of John’s bull for a moment
  • The Detectives Marcus and Lucius Isaacson/The Beast: big, muscle bound, cultured, and brilliant. Always update on the latest, cutting edge forensics

The Crime: always involves a child victim(s). Boy prostitutes in The Alienist and kidnapped children in The Angel of Darkness.

The Villain: Smart, clever, tricksy with a bad childhood involving premature sexuality and being under close watch by parents. The Villain also has real life true crime parallels/inspirations.

  • John Beecham/Japheth Dury (The Alienist): loner male who targets boy prostitutes and leaves very messy/graphic crime scenes. Subjected to intensive mental and verbal abuse by his mother until he was a teenager. Possible real life inspirations: Jeffrey Dahmer, Albert Fish, Jack The Ripper, Jesse Pomeroy, Mary Bell
  • Elspeth Hunter/Libby Fraser/Libby Franklin (The Angel of Darkness) : nurse with tragic past involving murdered children and dead spouse. Possible real life inspirations: Diane Downs, Marybeth Tinning, Waneta Hoyt and Genene Jones

The Hunt: follow leads upstate, find out the villain’s secret and true name.

  • The Alienist:The young Japheth Dury was torturing small animals, raped by an older man who his brother trusted on a camping trip, killed his parents and made it seem like Native Americans from the West killed the elder Durys as a revenge killing.
  • The Angel of Darkness: Libby Franklin gave birth to an illegitimate child, killed said child, assumed the name Libby Fraser, caused the death of an infant and it’s father, married an older man, bore three children, two of which died after being shot by a “stranger” after her husband’s death. Libby isn’t the maternal type but she’ll try and try again even if it means innocent children die.

The The End: final showdown with the villain results in the team almost being killed, the latest victim being rescued, but the villain dying before they can be brought to justice. Dr Kreizler is saddened that he could not study the villain further.

  • The Alienist: John Beecham/Japheth Dury gets shot by Connor and dies. Kreizler does an autopsy but finds nothing unusual about the brain.
  • The Angel of Darkness: Elspeth Hunter/Libby Fraser/Libby Franklin dies from a poison dart (you are GOING TO HAVE TO READ THE BOOK!). Baby Ana is found safe and special guest Teddy Roosevelt rides to the rescue. Go Teddy Go!
  • So if Caleb Carr never wrote another book in the series what would my idea be? How about something with a Black Widow killer like Martha Beck and Raymond Fernandez with a little Belle Gunness  tossed in with Sara Howard as narrator? Get on it Caleb Carr before I do!

The Clan of the Cave Bear

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True story. I’m a brand spanking new freshman. And of course I’m haunting the library every day. I find The Plains of Passage on the New Fiction shelves and almost trip over my damn feet racing to the circulation desk to check it out. That was mumblemumbletwentyyearsagomumblemumble. Now I’m not so sure I’m going to be racing to the circulation desk when the N library gets the final Earth’s Children book. Don’t get me wrong. I know Jean Auel researches her books like a melon farmer (see I don’t curse all the frosted pop tart time!). But if I do linger by the AU fiction shelves at the library, I’m not scooping every Jean Auel book into my bag. First, them books weigh a TON! And second, Ayla, our fair heroine Cro-Mag of all Cro-Mags, makes me stabby. Maybe it’s the constant Ayla is a smoking hot babe, Ayla invents EVERYTHING, Ayla is the AWESOME SAUCE, and the beyond explicit humpa-jumpa that starts mid-way through The Valley of Horses. So no big surprise my favorite Earth’s Children novel is The Clan of the Cave Bear. It’s the first and best of all, I barely want to fling it at the new windows.

For those who’ve managed to never encounter The Clan of the Cave Bear and mind you EVEN BLACKLIGHT HAS READ THE CLAN OF THE CAVE BEAR, it’s the story of an orphaned modern human little girl saved from certain death from infection, hunger and exposure by a group of Neanderthals (The Clan) who find her as they search for a new home.  The majority of The Clan, a hard working, strong, heavily gender split people, come to accept the little girl, renamed Ayla as best as they can. It’s like a pack of wolves adopting a Shitzu puppy. They’re closely enough related but still oceans apart in understanding and culture. Things will muddle along but it will all end in tears. And on the last page it sure does.

The Clan of the Cave Bear is such a sad book. The Clan is marching towards an extinction caused by their particular evolutionary niche. And Ayla, no matter what she does or what happens to her, will never become a true Clan member. That Shitzu isn’t going to be a lean, mean critter no matter how long Fluffy McPrincess Poofy Poo spends with the wolves. Fluffy McPrincess Poofy Poo is a walking dustmop. Only Fluffy McPrincess Poofy Poo will be eagle food before five plus books filled with Fluffy McPrincess Poofy Poo is the awesome can be spawned.

So to wrap it up (and to stop tying Ayla or Fluffy McPrincess Poofy Poo again), The Clan of the Cave Bear, good but sad. Jean did her research and I like that! Go Jean Go! Ayla (okay, one last time!) bye-bye. The rest of the Earth’s Children series, only if am so drunkalunk that American Idol becomes my favorite show.

The Handmaid’s Tale

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Remember how back in the day you came across a book that was just beyond awesome? Something in a world and time not far off from your own, something that might just be around the corner? And then years later, you’re roaming the stacks at the library, pick up the book and flip through it and curse the day that it became a summer reading for the clever high school student and think people who underline/write in pen/highlight a library book should be shot? Oh…just me? Like I’m the only person who wants to lose themselves in book and NOT have “so true” and “LIAR” or “men are bad, women are worse” popping out of the margins.

So what inspired the above rant? Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale. The 1980s cult classic of a future North America under the grip of a totalitarian rule with the female population stripped of basic rights (having money in their own names, jobs outside the home,birth control) and certain women moved from household to household to try and give high ranking childless couples  children. Awesome book back in the day, still gripping twenty five plus years later. However the library copy I checked out was filled with all kinds of little “love notes”. SO ANNOYING. Please do me and libraries a favor. If It Ain’t Your Book DO NOT WRITE IN IT! GO TO A USED BOOK STORE! OR BETTER YET A LIBRARY BOOK SALE! End Rant!

Helene Hanff: Underfoot in Show Business

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For every big star or even middling star there’s hundreds of people clinging to a slight handhold in show business. Underfoot in Show Business is the story of one of the faceless ones, a mousy little playwright from Philadelphia named Helene Hanff. Now if you’re a certain kind of reader (the spouse: “Angophile NERD! Like you!” Me: death stare from Mr Couch), Helene Hanff is the author of the charming 84, Charing Cross Road.

But between letters to Marks & Co., Helene lived in hall bedrooms and tiny studio apartments, writing plays that lurked in the depths of agents Dead Files, working as an outside studio reader and writing television scripts never quite living up to her initial Big Break.

And what was that pre-84, Charing Cross Road Big Break? A very young Helene Hanff entered the Bureau of New Plays contests. The prize? Two $1,500 fellowships and the guiding hand of the Theatre Guild. And at a stroke of fate, Helene went from passionate theater goer to being a member of the theater itself along the way collecting her lifelong friend/actress Maxine and the seeds of 84, Charing Cross Road.

Even though she never becomes a wild success like the previous fellowship winners Tennessee Williams and Arthur Miller, she manages to secure a foothold and never gives up her dreams of becoming a playwright.

This book isn’t targeted to readers like my spouse or brother. Trust me there are plenty of books out there for the pair of them. It’s a book for the theater geeks, the early television geeks and the Helene Hanff fanboys/fangirls. It is a charming look at the last great days of the theater and movies before television took over. If you’re that certain type of reader, then hunt down Underfoot in Show Business. The inter-library loan (my book budget is very modest) is worth it.

The Ladies of Missalonghi

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It’s guess Gwen’s favorite Colleen McCullough book time! The Thorns Birds? Nope, but it was the first McCullough I ever read and ugh that horrid Meggie creature, but that’s another post entirely! Masters of Rome series? Pretty awesome but Robert Graves (I, Claudius and Claudius the God) is my fictional Ancient Rome crack.

Maybe you should, oh, read the title of the blog post? Ladies of Miss Bong Gee? Seriously that’s what Blacklight thought the book was called. Sorry, Blacklight, but it’s The Ladies of Missalonghi.

Issued as part of the Harper Short Novel series, The Ladies of Missalonghi is what TVTropes.org calls “What It Says On The Tin”. Three ladies, sisters Octavia and Drusilla and Drusilla’s plain spinster daughter Missy spend their days eking out a bare existence on five acres of poor land with almost no money and doing busywork.

Now mind you, the ladies of Missalonghi (the name of their house)  are directly related to the big wigs of Byron, Australia but since they’re single/widowed women with no great fortunes of their own, they’re on the outskirts of everything. They’re patronized by their rich married sisters/aunts and out right cheated and swindled by their male relatives. Trust me, the Hurlingford males are total assholes.

Read The Ladies of Missalonghi and try to think of one Hurlingford male you don’t want to punch right in the face or lower horn (thanks Futurama!) Fine, there is Uncle Pervical who lets his Missalonghi relations have use of his bull for stud service at no charge, has a kind wife and gives the young Missy a kitten but that kind man doesn’t realize how narrow life is at Missalonghi and the kitten’s fate. All the other Hurlingford males…frosted pop tart them!

Even with their restrained lives, each of the Missalonghi ladies has something to comfort her and for Missy, it’s books from the private lending library. Hmmm, throwing yourself into books as a comfort, that doesn’t sound familiar at all (zip it Blacklight, I mean it).

Missy’s books are truly a lifeline. Thanks to those books, Missy gets to meet the dazzling Una, a black sheep family member from the big city. Una, a total siren blonde babe stuck in the backwaters of Byron, turns Missy’s life upside down. Our little brown wren stands up for herself, delivers verbal bitch slaps to her detested cousin Alicia, upsets the economical and social order of Byron and snags herself a man.

Yes, it’s a Cinderella story but dang it, Missy and her change in fortunes isn’t cloying or twee or Mary Sue Bella (thanks TVTropes.org!) vomity. Missy reaches into herself and says “frosted pop tart it”. She’s willing to throw aside everything pounded into her by her mother, her aunt and Byron society. And I say, go girl go, git yours, git it girl. Wear that scarlet lace dress! Read them scandal trash books! Eat that chicken you bitch (Thanks RuPaul’s Drag Race!)And at the end, the twist re Missy’s change of fortune is pretty obvious by the second read, isn’t a total downer. Because you know that Missy is clever enough to deal with the outcome whatever happens. Missalonghi Wright Smith has got brains and balls.

The Duchess of Bloomsbury Street

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Major surgery be damned. Nothing and I mean NOTHING (okay maybe an attack of nerves) is keeping Helene Hanff from her longed for trip to England. Sure little things like extensive dental work, a spanking new apartment of her own and lack of money might have kept her dreams from coming true over twenty years but this time it was Thundercats are go. Bolstered by her slight but cult classic book 84, Charing Cross Road, Helene Hanff was going to England. The England of her dreams. And for that brief trip she was the Duchess of Bloomsbury Street, fans and unseen friends smoothing her way and showing her every courtsey and nook and cranny of London. Our Helene, accustomed to writing in her alcove and visiting Central Park with her doggie friends is wined and dined and has her portrait painted. She’s the sensation when stopping at a tiny village for some milk. Everyone loves Helene.

And the reader can’t help but get swept up in the madness. You’re right there with Helene walking through the parks and as she adjusts to life in London. London has the history but there’s a sense of fear from the Londoners that Helene doesn’t have in New York. And when she gets to see her shop (the old Marks & Co shop at 84, Charing Cross Road) in person, you can’t help but feel sad, empty and thrilled at all once.

If you’ve ever been charmed by 84, Charing Cross Road and want to know what happened next, hunt down The Duchess of Bloomsbury Street. Like 84, Charing Cross Road, it’s a slight thing, easy to devour yet will stick with you. Of course if you’re Blacklight…well, I think there’s the new issue of Computer Music at Barnes & Noble…

Lovers And Gamblers

~ Wendy-Marie ~ 2 Comments

It’s Jackie Collins book time! And today’s offering is a thick 1970s tome filled with more sex, drugs, rock and roll and SCANDAL SCANDAL SCANDAL than you can shake a (heeheehee guess what I ALMOST TYPED) stick at. Now in my epic review of The World is Full of Divorced Women, I might have mentioned Tom Jones Al King, English singer stud extraordinaire. Fling those panties at the stage because Lovers and Gamblers is SUPERSIZE AL KING. AL IS KING! LONG LIVE AL!

Okay, so there might be a few other characters than Al King. There’s his hottie younger brother/manager Paul, the brothers Kings wives Edna (dumpy) and Melanie (brittle bitch), Paul’s piece on the side Linda, Al’s dopey, pimply, horny (aren’t those some of the seven dwarves?)  teenage son Evan, lots of groupies, up and coming agent Cody and yeah this chick called Dallas because it ain’t a Jackie Collins novel without a sleek feline beauty with wild hair and cat eyes and a body that makes empires crumble and bikinis say ‘Thank God!”.  Since her name isn’t Lucky Santangelo, Dallas has blonde hair and green eyes but to be honest, nobody is looking at her eyes.

Here’s the basic plot: Al, sales beginning to slip, is gearing up to tour for his AL IS KING album. Al is a giant walking hardon. He sees Dallas in a tv beauty contest and BOING! Dallas got issues. Dallas and Al meet and don’t do it do it for various plot reasons. Then they do hook up, the stars are right, they are IN WUB and then EVERYTHING GOES TITS UP!

True confession. Even with all the sex (remember rock star=groupies), Dallas’ past (runaway turned ho turned lesbian ho turned blackmailing beauty queen), the return of Karmen (Queen of the Freaks) Rush and the utter hotness of brother Paul, my favorite part of Lovers and Gamblers  is EVERYTHING GOES TITS UP!

****SPOILERS AHEAD***** SERIOUSLY****SPOILERS AHEAD***If you read on, it’s on you**********

It’s a Jackie Collins novel and you’re thinking okay where are the gangsters? But then Al’s plane is hijacked by a sexy rebel who wants to ransom the capitalist pig Al to help the shirtless ones and then the plane goes off course and CRASHES IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FREAKING AMAZON! And one person gets eaten by alligators. Another character gets eaten by a jaguar. And another character’s fate makes me not want to go outside without being covered head to toe because EMOTIONAL SCAR is still stuck in my head over 20 years after I read Lovers and Gamblers  the first time.

And the final pages. Oh, those final pages. Those slightly chilling last words that make you want Jackie to sit down at her leopard skin covered laptop and type the sequel until her crimson talons are little stubs. Okay I’m pretty sure that’s not how Jackie really writes her books but a person can dream (the leopard skin covered laptop with bright red keys). Because seriously, I don’t really care any more about the current adventures of Clan Santangelo. But I still want to know what ended up happening with Al and Dallas 30 years down the road. Was AL IS KING Al’s last stand? Did Dallas become a total monster of fame? And most of all! Is Paul still the mega hotttie mchottie King brother? If only, if only…

Helene Hanff: 84, Charing Cross Road

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Looking at the hardcover of Helene Hanff’s 84, Charing Cross Road, it’s hard to believe such a slight book spawned a cult, film adaptations and a stage production in both London and New York. It’s just under 100 pages long and nothing but LETTERS, some no more than a few scrawled lines.

But it’s what’s in the letters that’s made of invisible steel. From New York, there’s the brash, bossy Helene Hanff desperate to read/own great works. From London there’s the secondhand bookshop on Charing Cross Road filled with inexpensive treasures. And more than books cross the Atlantic. Helene gets a glimpse into the narrowness of everyday life in post war Britain and decides to do something even if it’s as small and simple as order a package of tinned foods and real eggs to be shared amongst the bookshop staff. The bookstaff gets a glimpse into the exotic sounding life of a writer living in far off New York City even if the writer’s days and nights are filled with cigarettes, gin and babysitting verus nightclubs and champagne. A true friendship develops that not even financial misfortune and death can break.

There are writers who can spend their lives trying to craft something glorious and meaningful. In a few handfuls of letters dashed off at moment’s notice during her everyday life, letters that anyone else might have thrown in the trash Helene Hanff had her masterpiece. Now try and read 84, Charing Cross Road and NOT become part of the cult.