Little Heathens

Little Heathens: Hard Times and High Spirits on an Iowa Farm During the Great Depression by Mildred Armstrong Kalish
Nonfiction - Memoir
2007 Bantam Books
Finished on 2/8/10
Rating: 2/5 (Fair)




Publisher's Blurb:

"I tell of a time, a place, and a way of life long gone but still indelible in my memory. For many years I have had the urge to describe that treasure trove, lest it vanish forever. So, partly in response to the basic human instinct to share feelings and experiences, and partly for the sheer joy and excitement of it all, I report on my early life. It was quite a romp..."

So begins Mildred Kalish's story of growing up on her grandparents' Iowa farm during the depths of the Great Depression. This, however, is not a tale of suffering but the story of a childhood that "built character, fed the intellect, and stirred the imagination."

Filled with stories of a family that gave its members a remarkable legacy of kinship, kindness, and remembered pleasures, and brimming with recipes and how-tos for everything from catching and skinning a rabbit to preparing homemade skin and hair beautifiers, apple cream pie, and the world's best head cheese, Little Heathens portrays a world of hard work tempered by simple rewards--and shows how the right stuff can make even the bleakest of times seem like "quite a romp."

In the above quote, Kalish notes that she will "report on" her early life and that's exactly how this book read: like a report. Or a laundry list. It began with a humorous anecdote or two, but quickly dissolved into a straightforward and dull recounting of an unremarkable childhood, simply (or perhaps simplistically) written and not very enticing.

A much-admired accomplishment in those days was the ability to make smooth starch. Here is how you made and used it. First of all, you prepared a paste...

Family members are mentioned, yet remain flat. Memories are recalled, yet the stories lack emotion and drama. Or introspection. I was disappointed in this memoir and will be curious to see what the members of my book club members have to say about it. I know several tried to get interested in the book, but gave up early on, so it may not be the best of discussions. The New York Times Book Review claims this was one of the 10 best books of the year. Hmmm... I thought it was rather dull and pedestrian. Based on the reviews on Amazon, reactions to this book are mixed. I wonder if those who lived through the Depression or grew up in Iowa had a more positive reading experience with Little Heathens. If it hadn't been a book club selection, I would've quit after the first 50 pages.

This book is for my three families—

To my birth family, who share the everlasting bonds of kinship.

To my husband's warm and loving family, who welcomed me to their bosom in total acceptance from the day I walked into their lives over sixty-two years ago.

And finally, to my immediate family, who give my life meaning.

Perhaps the above dedication says it all. This is really a story that will be appreciated and cherished by Kalish's family members. It needed more polish and editing to create an interesting read for the general public. My mom has written her memoirs and while I loved reading every single page, I wonder how many strangers would have enjoyed her stories. They mean something to me simply because I know the people of whom she speaks and have heard some of the stories during my own childhood. I found Mom's memoirs compelling and thought them well-written. But would a stranger take the same pleasure in her reminiscings?

Maybe I'm being too critical, but the tone of the memoir was also annoying. There's a bit of haughtiness, or a holier-than-thou attitude, throughout Kalish's stories.

Susannah and Jacob helped establish two churches; broke sod three times in their lives, plowing virgin soil to prepare it for raising crops; and were almost totally self-sufficient. Like other pioneers, they did their own doctoring from home remedies. They raised, butchered, canned, and cured their own cows, hogs, and chickens. They hunted squirrels, rabbits, pheasants, and quail right there in Yankee Grove. They tanned their own leather in a hollowed-out hickory log. For the most part, they mended their harnesses for their horses and repaired their own shoes.

They made their own bread and sometimes ground their own flour of oats and wheat; they ground the corn to feed to their chickens and to make cornmeal mush for themselves. They made their own shirts, knitted their own sweaters, scarves, and socks, and sewed their own wool quilts. Their industry and independence were nothing short of astonishing. Ralph Waldo Emerson could have learned a thing or two about self-reliance from my great-great-grandparents.

and

These days, growing up in households where both parents work, children have a limited chance to learn how to prepare simple foods. Let's remedy that. Fresh fried potatoes are delicious; here's how to make them:...

and

Is there any sense in trying to make the modern-day reader understand the immense satisfaction we experienced in viewing our bright, clean wash arranged in such a meticulous fashion on the clothesline? Heaven knows we had more than enough to do without this added display of superhousewifery. But the whole ritual was a matter of pride.

And yet, I did enjoy the chapter about farm food and plan to try Mildred's recipe for apple cream pie. And her grandmother's shortcake recipe. I can guarantee, however, that I will never ever consider making headcheese. Ugh!!!

As far as I can tell, only one of my blogging friends has read and reviewed Little Heathens. Leave me a comment if I missed yours. I'd love to read your thoughts on the book!

Go here to read what Maudeen has to say about Little Heathens.

Water for Elephants

Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen
Fiction
2006 Harper Perennial
Finished on 1/5/10
Rating: 4.5/5 (Terrific!)




Publisher's Description

Orphaned and penniless at the height of the Depression, Jacob Jankowski escapes everything he knows by jumping on a passing train—and inadvertently runs away with the circus. Thrown into the chaos of a second-rate traveling show, Jacob is adrift in a world of freaks, swindlers, and misfits.

Jacob uses his veterinary skills in the circus menagerie and becomes a savior for the animals he so loves, including a baffling elephant named Rosie. He also comes to know Marlena, the enchanting star of the equestrian act—and wife of August, a charismatic but cruel animal trainer. Caught between his love for Marlena and his need for belonging, Jacob is freed only by a murderous secret that will bring the big top down.

Water for Elephants is a dark and beautiful portrait of a crumbling circus. With warmth and whimsy, Gruen depicts an unforgettable world where love is a luxury few can afford.

I bought Water for Elephants at Tanner's Books in Sidney, British Columbia while vacationing in the San Juan Islands in 2007. I had heard great things about the book and, seeing how the author is a fellow Canadian, I was excited to get one from a Canadian bookstore.

I returned from our trip, added the book to a pile on my nightstand and, as usual, it wound up getting shuffled from stack to stack, book shelf to book shelf. This went on for well over two years. The reason was not a lack of interest, but rather a little niggling worry that perhaps the book had been over-hyped. In spite of all the enthusiastic comments from bloggers and co-workers, I still found myself gravitating toward other books. Finally, I decided to give it a chance, hoping to end 2009 with a bang. Being the slow reader that I am, I was a bit too optimistic and didn't finish until the first week in January. But, I wasn't disappointed and my first book of 2010 is most definitely a winner!

Told in flashbacks, we are drawn into Jacob Jankowski's story, both as a young orphan and that of an aging man living out the remaining days of his life in a nursing home. I fell in love with the older Jacob. He reminded me so much of Patrick Delaney, Jonathan Hull's central character in Losing Julia. Like Patrick, Jacob is much more likely to remember the days of his youth rather than his current age or, for that matter, simple words.

I am ninety. Or ninety-three. One or the other.

When you're five, you know your age down to the month. Even in your twenties you know how old you are. I'm twenty-three, you say, or maybe twenty-seven. But then in your thirties something strange starts to happen. It's a mere hiccup at first, an instant of hesitation. How old are you? Oh, I'm—you start confidently, but then you stop. You were going to say thirty-three, but you're not. You're thirty-five. And then you're bothered, because you wonder if this is the beginning of the end. It is, of course, but it's decades before you admit it.

You start to forget words: they're on the tip of your tongue, but instead of eventually, dislodging, they stay there. You go upstairs to fetch something, and by the time you get there you can't remember what it was you were after. You call your child by the names of all your other children and finally the dog before you get to his. Sometimes you forget what day it is. And finally you forget the year.

Actually, it's not so much that I've forgotten. It's more like I've stopped keeping track. We're past the millennium, that much I know—such a fuss and bother over nothing, all those young folks clucking with worry and buying canned food because somebody was too lazy to leave space for four digits instead of two—but that could have been last month or three years ago. And besides, what does it really matter? What's the difference between three weeks or three years or even three decades of mushy peas, tapioca, and Depends undergarments?

I am ninety. Or ninety-three. One or the other.

I love narratives told in alternating time frames and I especially love reading the wise and honest insights of the elderly. Jacob is a tender soul whose only desire is to be treated like a human being and not like a horse (or elephant!) put out to pasture.

Age is a terrible thief. Just when you're getting the hang of life, it knocks your legs out from under you and stoops your back. It makes you ache and muddies your head and silently spreads cancer throughout your spouse.

Metastatic, the doctor said. A matter of weeks or months. But my darling was as frail as a bird. She died nine days later. After sixty-one years together, she simply clutched my hand and exhaled.

Although there are times I'd give anything to have her back, I'm glad she went first. Losing her was like being cleft down the middle. It was the moment it all ended for me, and I wouldn't have wanted her to go through that. Being the survivor stinks.

I used to think I preferred getting old to the alternative, but now I'm not sure. Sometimes the monotony of bingo and sing-alongs and ancient dusty people parked in the hallway in wheelchairs makes me long for death. Particularly when I remember I'm one of the ancient dusty people, filed away like some worthless tchotchke.

I have never been to a circus, but thanks to the HBO series, Carnivale, I had no trouble envisioning Jacob's experience with the Benzini Brothers Most Spectacular Show on Earth. If anything, I pictured most of the book's characters as those in the HBO show. Gruen's meticulous research and attention to detail resulted in an outstanding tale of the hardship endured by not only the animals, but by their caretakers and by Depression-era circus performers. Personally, I can't imagine ever dreaming of running away with the circus. And, after reading this book, I can say with absolute certainty that I have no desire to even see a circus. Not on my bucket list!

I haven't heard much about the author's other novels (Riding Lessons and Flying Changes), but I'm willing to take a chance and at least give the first a try. I'm also curious about her upcoming release of Ape House (September 2010). For those of you who haven't read Water for Elephants, wait no longer! I can assure you that the hype is well-deserved. This one's a winner!