Somebody I Used to Know - Stevie Jay (Gotye - Piano Cover)

Wordless Wednesday

 

Today's Forecast: 

104 degrees

Chance of rain: 0%

Wind: SSW at 22 mph

Humidity: 45%

UV Index: 9 - Very High

Snow: 0 in 

Oh, well. One can dream.

Take Good Care of the Garden and the Dogs

Take Good Care of the Garden and the Dogs: A True Story of Bad Breaks and Small Miracles by Heather Lende

Nonfiction – Memoir

2010 Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill

Finished on 6/9/12

Rating: 4/5 (Very Good)

Publisher’s Blurb:

After a near-fatal bicycle accident in her tiny Alaskan town, bestselling author Heather Lende has an opportunity to contemplate faith and friendship, observe the breathtaking beauty of the northern wilderness anew, and truly come to appreciate the remarkable inhabitants of Haines, Alaska, without whom she could never have recovered. Lende’s idea of spirituality is rooted in community, and her irrepressible spirit and commitment to living life on the edge of the world deeps our understanding of what links us all. Like her own mother’s last instructions, “Take good care of the garden and the dogs,” Lende’s writing, so honest and unadorned, offers profound lessons to live by. Here she reminds us (courtesy of Ralph Waldo Emerson) that “the proper response to the world is applause.”

“Lende has a knack for subtly illuminating the remarkable in the commonplace, the transcendence in tragedy… Her voice, which alternates between folksy and formal, playful and prayerful, entertaining and elegiac, is reminiscent of Garrison Keillor, Krista Tippett, Tom Bodett, Kathleen Norris, and Anne Lamott.” ~ Minneapolis Star Tribune

Heather Lende has contributed to NPR’s Morning Edition, the New York Times, the Christian Science Monitor, and the Washington Post, as well as National Geographic Traveler and Country Living magazines. She is a columnist for Woman’s Day magazine and also writes an online column for the Alaska Dispatch.

I am embarrassed to admit that I’ve had Take Good Care of the Garden and the Dogs for almost exactly one year. That’s not unusual for this bookseller/blogger. (I have hundreds of unread books, many of which I’ve owned for over a decade!) What’s embarrassing is that I accepted Heather Lende’s memoir for review. I received a query email from her publicist on April 29th, 2011. I promptly responded and the book arrived shortly thereafter. On June 20th, 2011, I received a follow-up email, which I planned to answer, but somehow neglected. Looking back at my Google Calendar, I see that we were in Colorado in late May/early June, followed by a trip to California for a 60th birthday celebration and a trip to Oregon shortly thereafter. Of course, that’s no excuse, but it was a busy start to summer. And I did plan to read the book—just not as promptly as I’d hoped. I’m not sure what prompted me to finally pull it from my shelf last month, but it was just the ticket after reading a few intense thrillers. As you can see, I found a lot to note:

On the Arrival of Spring:

The first day of spring was not March 20, and it wasn’t one day but a handful of early April days so bright that the residents of this little seaside Alaskan town crawled blinking out of our snow caves and welcomed it like sleepy bears. Spring fever hit so hard that everyone was smiling and doing their best to push winter out the door. Blankets and pillows were aired, decks were shoveled, and icy walks were chipped off...

As I walked to town, I realized that spring truly was here because no one asked if I wanted a ride. Even casual drivers-by could see it was a fine day for a walk. One pickup truck passed me, slowed down, and then parked at the bottom of Cemetery Hill, where my neighbors hopped out and took a stroll down Mud Bay Road, smiling at the views of the Chilkat Inlet, Pyramid Island, and the snowy mountains that look the way the Alps would, if Switzerland had a beach.

On Writing:

I write a weekly Thursday column for the Anchorage Daily News, in the Family & Life section. I write about anything I want to: Haines, my family, community goings-on. I try to make each piece local, as I figure I’m the only one sharing the news about this town with the world, but also personal and universal—that way you don’t have to live nearby to be interested. I spend more time on them than they are worth, but from the beginning I have felt an obligation to say something valuable. I looked to the Book of Common Prayer for guidance and found the prayer “For those who Influence Public Opinion.” (It’s an Episcopalian thing, these carefully scripted prayers for every possible need.) It says that those of us who write what “many read” (a writer can hope this is true) need to do our part “In making the heart of this people wise, its mind sound, and its will righteous.” It sounds corny, and I know I miss the ball more than I hit it out of the park, but at least I’m swinging for the fences. I still say that prayer before I begin every column. Blessing words, like blessing boats, can’t hurt. It may even help.

On Surrendering to the Moment:

The Vietnamese Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh tells a story about a man stranded on a mountain (he can’t go up or down) and of another man at an intersection (he is so confused he doesn’t know which way to turn). Both are equally stuck, and the worst choice either man can make is trying to think and plan his way out of it. The only way out of a bad situation for them—and, by extension, for all of us—advises the good monk, is to “surrender to the moment” and not even pretend to know the way out. As Bob Dylan sings, “Don’t think twice, it’s all right.”

On Cycling:

I might not like planes, but I love my bicycle. It is a Trek road bike made of carbon fiber and light enough to lift with two fingers. It is nicer than my old Subaru. Riding my bicycle fast may be as close as I’ll come to finding that peace they promise in church, the one that passes all understanding. When I’m riding twenty miles an hour, with a tailwind, drafting behind another rider, I think it must be what nirvana feels like. And, it’s good for me.

On Devotion and Home:

It was after midnight when we said goodbye to Linnus, and I kissed everyone goodnight. Chip tucked me in, and my little dog Phoebe jumped up next to me. The two big dogs thumped their tails at a respectful distance. Chip opened the windows to let the beach air in. The kids had put the screens in for me; they knew I liked the sounds and scents of the beach. In the late spring twilight we call night in Alaska, we listened to the sea lions exhaling, the gulls calling, and the waves meeting the shore. Robert Frost was wrong; there is a greater devotion than the shore to the ocean. It is a husband who will help you with a bedpan and the wiping up, and then say you are beautiful when you look as bad as you ever have in your life. The deep line Chip had been holding in his forehead since the accident softened. There was a lot I wanted to say to him, but all I could manage was “goodnight.” He whistled softly as he made up his bed on the window seat at the other end of our living room, where he’d stay until I got better, so I could call him in the night if I needed to go to the bathroom or to take another pain pill.

“It’s really good to be home,” he said to the house we had built together, to the beams in the ceiling, to the old Turkish rug from his grandmother’s house, to the dogs, to the too many books, to the piano my mother gave us, to our children sleeping upstairs, and beyond the green metal roof and graying shingles to the garden, to the cherry trees and beach roses, to the inlet and Pyramid Island, and to the mountains rising across the way. The grouse in the brush and the bears in the forest and the salmon in the sea, to all of it, he said, “It really is good to be home.”

Lende packs so much local and spiritual information into this gem of a book (including Ten Things to Think about if You Are Hit by a Truck). I could share more about her accident and recovery, or about the traditions and culture of the Tlingit people, the raising of a totem pole, the Blessing of the Fleet, and the beauty of a sung and chanted version of Compline, but then, why spoil your enjoyment, should you choose to read this memoir? And I urge you to do so. It’s quite lovely and one I know I’ll read again.

Final Thoughts: I was raised in the Episcopal church and while it’s been many years since I attended a service, Lende’s spirituality felt familiar and full of nostalgic comfort. And, of course, her bicycle accident has made me even more thankful for all the wonderful bike trails in my community. Not only is Take Good Care of the Garden and the Dogs a keeper, but it’s a book I plan on sharing with several friends and relatives. Now to make time to read If You Lived Here, I’d Know Your Name. And Lende's blog!

“This book is a wonder. It opens a door to Alaskan living, a world that, for most, will be both surprising and beautiful. As a person of Alaska and a person of faith, it is one of the best books of theology and spirituality that I have read in a long time. But the non-religious or the non-Alaskan shouldn’t be hesitant. They will also be glad to walk through this door to a world that is certainly and recognizably theirs, but will seem to hold much more—maybe things new or maybe things forgotten.” ~ The Rt. Rev. Mark MacDonald, formerly the Bishop of Alaska, now the National Indigenous Anglican Bishop of Canada

Wordless Wednesday

Life is Good - May

It's important to recognize and remember the good things in life, so I've decided to make a point of jotting down my monthly blessings.

So what made me smile (or laugh) last month?

• Strawberry ice cream before dinner.
• A hummingbird feeding at one of my potted plants on my deck!
• Buying my husband a new bike for his birthday.
• A 60th birthday celebration with friends from California.
• A 50-mile ride in the countryside (spotted 2 deer, a wild turkey, orioles, cardinals, red-winged blackbirds, goldfinches and a heron).
• A new bike jersey.
• A delicious (and simple) new recipe for bolognese.
• Two excellent nonfiction reads (Little Princes and Take Good Care of the Garden and the Dogs). Reviews forthcoming.
• Godiva Chocolate.
• Movie night with a good friend (The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel).
• A monthly total of 154 miles ridden on my bike.

Father's Day

Any man can be a father.

 It takes someone special to be a dad.

~ Unknown

Happy Father's Day to the three most important men in my life.

Wordless Wednesday

Hydrangea

Chuckles Rose

Beebalm

Coreopsis

Oakleaf Hydrangea

The Art of Fielding

The Art of Fielding by Chad Harbach

Fiction

2011 Hachette Audio

Reader: Holter Graham

Finished 5/27/12

Rating: 3.5/5 (Good)

Publisher’s Blurb:

At Westish College, a small school on the shore of Lake Michigan, baseball star Henry Skrimshander seems destined for big league stardom. But when a routine throw goes disastrously off course, the fates of five people are upended.

Henry's fight against self-doubt threatens to ruin his future. College president Guert Affenlight, a longtime bachelor, has fallen unexpectedly and helplessly in love. Owen Dunne, Henry's gay roommate and teammate, becomes caught up in a dangerous affair. Mike Schwartz, the Harpooners' team captain and Henry's best friend, realizes he has guided Henry's career at the expense of his own. And Pella Affenlight, Guert's daughter, returns to Westish after escaping an ill-fated marriage, determined to start a new life.

As the season counts down to its climactic final game, these five are forced to confront their deepest hopes, anxieties, and secrets. In the process they forge new bonds, and help one another find their true paths. Written with boundless intelligence and filled with the tenderness of youth, The Art of Fielding is an expansive, warmhearted novel about ambition and its limits, about family and friendship and love, and about commitment--to oneself and to others.

I love baseball. I grew up on the L.A. Dodgers (Dusty Baker, Ron Cey, Steve Garvey, Davey Lopes, Don Sutton, Steve Yeager, and Reggie Smith) and the San Diego Padres (Steve Garvey, Garry Templeton, Goose Gossage, Tim Flannery, Kurt Bevacqua, Carmelo Martinez, and Tony Gwynn). When we moved from Lincoln, Nebraska to Fort Worth, Texas, we were thrilled to be near a major league park. It was the summer of '98 and when we weren't watching our beloved Rangers at The Ballpark (in Arlington) or on TV, we were watching the the battle between Mark McGuire & Sammy Sosa. It was a thrilling season and we couldn't get enough.

When we moved back to Lincoln, I had to accept that fact that baseball wasn't going to be as prevalent in my life as it once had been. Sure there's the College World Series (in Omaha) and the Saltdogs (in Lincoln), and K.C. isn't all that far to go to take in a Royal's game, but it just wasn't the same. So the baseball books piled up. I loved Doris Kearns Goodwin's memoir, Wait Till Next Year and added Mike Lupica's Summer of '98 to my stack, along with David Halberstam's October 1964 and Roger Kahn's Memories of Summer. After reading a glowing review for Harbach’s debut novel, I couldn’t wait to get my hands on a copy. I wound up listening to the audio and while I enjoyed the book, I can’t say that I loved it. A few of the situations (a sophomore in complete charge of recruiting a shortstop?!) were implausible and the ridiculous finale caused me to shake my head in disbelief. Several characters disappeared without a trace and some that that didn’t were nothing but cardboard cutouts. The first half of the book held my interest and enthusiasm, but the remainder of the novel was disappointing and I only finished out of curiosity.

Everyone deserves a second chance and Harbach’s prose, which at times was quite lyrical, has convinced me to refrain from complete dismissal of this author’s future works.

Final Thoughts: Fans of John Irving and Jeffrey Eugenides (The Marriage Plot) won’t be disappointed.

Wordless Wednesday

A Natural Woman

A Natural Woman by Carole King

Memoir – Music

2012 Sound Library Audio

14 hours, 13 minutes

Reader: Carole King

Finished 5/8/12

Rating: 3/5 (So-so)

Publisher’s Blurb:

Carole King takes us from her early beginnings in Brooklyn, to her remarkable success as one of the world's most acclaimed songwriting and performing talents of all time. A Natural Woman chronicles King's extraordinary life, drawing readers into her musical world, including her phenomenally successful #1 album Tapestry, and into her journey as a performer, mother, wife and present-day activist. Deeply personal, King's long-awaited memoir offers readers a front-row seat to the woman behind the legend.

The book will include dozens of photos from King's childhood, her own family, and behind-the-scenes images from her performances.

I was 10 years old when I first heard Carole King’s album Tapestry. It was 1972 and my parents were rather cool, filling our house with the music of Bob Dylan, Jim Croce, Cat Stevens, Carly Simon, and Simon & Garfunkel. I immediately fell in love with King’s album, lyrics memorized, singing along whenever my mom played her album. When I was in my late twenties, I bought Rhymes & Reasons (recorded in 1972) on cassette (long gone now) and loved it almost as much as Tapestry. Love Makes the World (2001) is currently the only album of hers that I own on cd.

I’m a big fan of memoirs, but very rarely (if ever) read any autobiographies written by musicians or actors. However, when A Natural Woman was released, I was curious and decided to give it a try. I found the audio version online at my library and spent a couple of weeks listening to Carole’s personal story, which includes quite a bit of the cultural history.

I wish I could say that I loved this book as much as I love Carole King’s music. Unfortunately, the audio version was a bit tiresome. Carole may have a lovely voice for singing, but I grew weary listening to her not only speak, but sing portions of some of her songs a cappella. There were several occasions in which her voice sounded raspy and hoarse. However, I don’t know if I would have stuck with the written version of this memoir. I didn’t recognize a lot of the people she referred to in the first half of the book and I longed for more depth about her song-writing and her children. She seems to hold her readers at arm’s length, glossing over a lot of the more personal aspects of her life.

But wait! My wonderful (and much, much older) husband read the book as well, and agreed to write a guest post for my blog. So, without any further ado, here are Rod’s thoughts on A Natural Woman:

Every life has a soundtrack, and for many of us ‘boomers, that track included bands such as The Beatles, The Beach Boys, The Rolling Stones, The Byrds, The Kinks, The Who, The Doors, and others. It also included singer-songwriters such as James Taylor, Janis Ian, Joni Mitchell, and Kris Kristofferson. And while the turbulent 60s and 70s swirled furiously around us, we listened—first on LPs, then on 8-track and cassette tapes—to the music that helped define us even as we helped define it. It was an ugly time, and a beautiful one—filled with contradictions, filled with anger, filled with hope.

But above all, it was filled with music, and Carole King, even before most of us knew her name, helped create that music. King’s string of hits started with 1961’s “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow,” and continued with pop-rock ditties and ballads that many don’t even realize she wrote: “The Loco-Motion” (featuring the lead vocals of “Little Eva” Boyd, King’s babysitter), “Up on the Roof,” “Take Good Care of My Baby,” “Natural Woman” (written specifically for Aretha Franklin), “Pleasant Valley Sunday” (yes, King wrote songs for The Monkees), and dozens—perhaps hundreds—more.

Beginning as a teenager in New York’s famed Brill Building (home of Don Kirschner’s Aldon Publishing), Carole King is a linear descendent of and a direct link to those writers and demo singers who populated Tin Pan Alley in the 1920s, 30s, and beyond—and she brought to her craft the same devotion, talent, and drive that made Tin Pan Alley famous.

King’s book, A Natural Woman, chronicles her life and, almost unavoidably, the lives and times of other musicians and artists of the era: David Crosby, James Taylor, Neil Sedaka (whose first #1 hit, “Oh Carol!” was written for and about King), Brian Wilson, Bob Dylan, Don Henley, J.D. Souther, and many others. For someone brought up on the music of the late 50s, early 60s, and beyond, the book is a warm, loving, and sometimes illuminating paean to an era.

A Natural Woman is flawed in the way of most autobiographies: In trying to paint a candid portrait, King sometimes goes out of her way to accept blame and to admit her failings. In other instances, though, she’s simply too sensitive—and too close to the subject—to be brutally honest. For instance, King’s relationships with her children are complicated and sometimes contentious, and yet she chooses to gloss over much of that. Certainly she was a loving and kind mother, but one gets the impression that for many years she was simply too busy and too self-absorbed to be a very good parent. Late in life, she has seemingly made peace with that—and with them—and tried mightily to make up for any earlier emotional distance that might have existed amongst all of them.

In King’s life, relationships (many of them with much younger men) come and go with astonishing rapidity. When they fail—as all of them eventually do—it’s never King’s fault. In fact, it’s no one’s fault; it’s as if they existed on some plane beyond her ken, to come and go at the whims of distant gods over whom she has no control. Marriages and relationships simply happen. And then they simply cease. No one is to blame. They just, seemingly inevitably, fade away. (Occasionally they become song fodder, providing material for her writing, so at least there’s that.)

But these are, in the larger and longer view, minor criticisms that could be said of many (or even most) of us. The fact remains that King is a supremely talented songwriter and performer who has contributed much to the musical tapestry (did you see what I did there?) of our lives, and who has also put her talents and her celebrity to good use promoting worthwhile causes and political efforts.

And she is in addition a good writer. King may have had help (certainly her editors provided guidance), but there is no co-writer listed for A Natural Woman. That’s not surprising: The book is well-written, an easy read, and solidly structured. As Carole King has been showing us for 50 years, she knows how to structure a tale, provide a hook, and tell a great story. This time she’s done it using not the piano, guitar, or voice—her usual instruments—but with a word processor.

So, there you have it. If you’ve read the book, I’d love to hear your thoughts. I’d also be interested to know if you have a favorite Carole King song. I’m not sure if I could choose just one, but I do love So Far Away. And Been to Canaan. And You’ve Got a Friend. See? I can't do it!

About the Author

Carole King had her first No. 1 hit in 1961, at age 18, with "Will You Love Me Tomorrow". Collaborating with former husband Gerry Goffin, the team went on to write more than two dozen chart-toppers, including "One Fine Day", "The Loco-Motion", "Will You Love Me Tomorrow", and "(You Me Me Feel Like A) Natural Woman." Her 1971 solo-album, Tapesty, won 4 Grammys, and earned her the record for longest time an album by a female artist has remained on the Billboard Charts (6 years), as well as the longest time holding the #1 position (15 consecutive weeks).

King, in addition to writing more than 100 top-selling songs has recorded 25 solo albums. In 2007 she and longtime collaborator James Taylor reunited and recorded Live at the Troubadour. Released in 2010 the album debuted at number 4 on the Billboard Hot 100 and The Troubadour Reunion Tour became the second highest grossing Tour of that year. She has won numerous lifetime achievement honors and has been inducted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame, "Hit Parade" Hall of Fame, and Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

Carole King continues to entertain audiences the world over. She released her most recent album in December, 2011, Carole King: A Holiday Carole, to rave reviews.

Wordless Wednesday

Hanalei, Kauai

This beachfront house is just down the road from the lot that I featured last Wednesday. It's all about location!

Weeknight Bolognese

Please visit Beth Fish Reads for Weekend Cooking.

Weekend Cooking is open to anyone who has any kind of food-related post to share: Book (novel, nonfiction) reviews, cookbook reviews, movie reviews, recipes, random thoughts, gadgets, fabulous quotations, photographs. If your post is even vaguely foodie, feel free to grab the button and link up anytime over the weekend.

I love pasta and was looking for something quick and easy to throw together after a long day at work. Tyler Florence has a delicious recipe for bolognese, but it's fairly involved and one that I'd rather make on a cold, rainy weekend. However, Ina Garten's recipe from Barefoot Contessa How Easy Is That? was just what I had in mind.

She writes:

Everyone needs a quick dinner they can throw together during the week. Bolognese is a thick meat sauce that is a staple of northern Italy. It's always made with beef, tomatoes, and cream and I've added oregano, red pepper flakes, and basil to give it lots of flavor. It's the perfect stick-to-your-ribs dinner on a cold night.

I say it's perfect for any night. Even a hot summer night!

Weeknight Bolognese 

2 Tbsp. good olive oil, plus extra to cook the pasta

1 lb. lean ground sirloin

4 tsp. minced garlic (4 cloves)

1 Tbsp. dried oregano

1/4 tsp. crushed red pepper flakes

1 1/4 cups dry red wine, divided

1-28 oz.  can crushed tomatoes, preferably San Marzano

2 Tbsp. tomato paste

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

3/4 lb. dried pasta, such as orecchiette or small shells

1/4 tsp. ground nutmeg

1/4 cup chopped fresh basil leaves, lightly packed

1/4 cup heavy cream

1/4 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese, plus extra for serving

Heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil in a large (12-inch) skillet over medium-high heat. Add the ground sirloin and cook, crumbling the meat with a wooden spoon, for 5 to 7 minutes, until the meat has lost its pink color and has started to brown. Stir in the garlic, oregano, and red pepper flakes and cook for 1 more minute. Pour 1 cup of the wine into the skillet and stir to scrape up any browned bits. Add the tomatoes, tomato paste, 1 tablespoon salt, and 1 1/2 teaspoons pepper, stirring until combined. Bring to a boil, lower the heat, and simmer for 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, bring a large pot of water to a boil, add a tablespoon of salt, a splash of oil, and the pasta, and cook according to the directions on the box. 

While the pasta cooks, finish the sauce. Add the nutmeg, basil, cream, and the remaining 1/4 cup wine to the sauce and simmer for 8 to 10 minutes, stirring occasionally until thickened. When the pasta is cooked, drain and pour into a large serving bowl. Add the sauce and 1/2 cup Parmesan and toss well. Serve hot with Parmesan on the side.

Serves 4 to 5

My Notes:

Since I used ground chuck instead of lean sirloin, it wasn't necessary to use the olive oil to brown the meat. After it finished cooking, I drained the fat before adding the spices.

I used a medium-sized stockpot rather than a skillet.

Rather than open a can of tomato paste for just a couple of tablespoons, I use this:

Even though it's double concentrated, I still use the specified amount.

I reduced the amount of salt and pepper by half and red pepper flakes.

I forgot to toss the sauce with the Parmesan and pasta before serving, but it didn't matter. My husband and I both loved the flavor of this bolognese, so I'm sure I'll have plenty of opportunities to try it Ina's way.

Wordless Wednesday

Gone Girl

Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn

Fiction/Thriller

2012 Crown Publishers

Finished 5/6/2012

Rating: 4.75/5 (Terrific!)
ARC - Due for release on June 5, 2012

I waited for the police first in the kitchen, but the acrid smell of the burnt teakettle was curling up in the back of my throat, underscoring my need to retch, so I drifted out on the front porch, sat on the top stair, and willed myself to be calm. I kept trying Amy’s cell, and it kept going to voice mail, that quick-clip cadence swearing she’d phone right back. Amy always phoned right back. It had been three hours, and I’d left five messages, and Amy had not phoned back.

I didn’t expect her to. I’d tell the police: Amy would never have left the house with the teakettle on. Or the door open. Or anything waiting to be ironed. The woman got shit done, and she was not one to abandon a project (say, her fixer-upper husband, for instance), even if she decided she didn’t like it. She’d made a grim figure on the Fiji beach during our two-week honeymoon, battling her way through a million mystical pages of The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, casting pissy glances at me as I devoured thriller after thriller. Since our move back to Missouri, the loss of her job, her life had revolved (devolved?) around the completion of endless tiny, inconsequential projects. The dress would have been ironed.

Publisher’s Blurb:

New York Times bestselling author Gillian Flynn’s terrifying masterpiece of a marriage gone wrong will leave you breathless. On the morning of their fifth wedding anniversary, Nick Dunne’s clever and beautiful wife, Amy, disappears from their rented McMansion on the Mississippi. Under pressure from the police and the media—as well as Amy’s fiercely doting parents—the town golden boy serves up an endless series of lies, deceits, and inappropriate behavior. But even though Nick might be weak and he might be bitter—is he really a killer?

With her razor-sharp writing and trademark psychological insight, Gillian Flynn delivers a fast-paced, devilishly dark, and ingeniously plotted thriller that proves she is not only at the peak of her powers but also one of the hottest writers around.

“The real deal; a sharp, acerbic, and compelling storyteller with a knack for the macabre.” ~ Stephen King

Wow!! I could not put this book down! 415 pages (uncorrected ARC) of riveting dialogue and masterful plotting and it simply wasn’t long enough. I had just finished Mo Hayder’s amazing thriller, Gone, and decided to keep the momentum going and dove straight back into another gripping mystery. As I read, I kept telling my husband, “You have to read this as soon as I finish! It’s so good!”

I’ve been aware of Gillian Flynn’s novels, but until the ARC landed in my lap (and given Joy’s high praise to nudge me to read it sooner than later), I’d never felt compelled to give her books a try. Apparently, I’ve been missing out on an amazing writer. Stephen King wrote the following praise for Flynn’s earlier thriller, Sharp Objects:

To say this is a terrific debut novel is really too mild. I haven’t read such a relentlessly creepy family saga since John Farris’s All Heads Turn When the Hunt Goes By, and that was thirty years ago, give or take. Sharp Objects isn’t one of those scare-and-retreat books; its effect is cumulative. I found myself dreading the last thirty pages or so but was helpless to stop turning them. Then, after the lights were out, the story just stayed there in my head, coiled and hissing, like a snake in a cave. An admirably nasty piece of work, elevated by sharp writing and sharper insights.

This is one of those books that is almost impossible to discuss without giving away any spoilers. Remember when you watched The Sixth Sense, but couldn’t discuss it with anyone who hadn’t seen the film? Or when you’d read Dennis Lehane’s Shutter Island and wanted to find someone, anyone, to talk to, comparing notes about its amazing dénouement? Well, this is another story with which I’ll struggle when I attempt to hand-sell copies when it hits the shelves on June 5th. (And, no, I do not believe I’ve given anything away by citing those two examples.)

Since I can’t really discuss the plot in depth, how about I share a few passages?

Do not blame me for this particular grievance, Amy. The Missouri Grievance. Blame the economy, blame bad luck, blame my parents, blame your parents, blame the Internet, blame people who use the Internet. I used to be a writer. I was a writer who wrote about TV and movies and books. Back when people read things on paper, back when anyone cared about what I thought. I’d arrived in New York in the late ‘90s, the last gasp of the glory days, although no one knew it then. New York was packed with writers, real writers, because there were magazines, real magazines, loads of them. This was back when the Internet was still some exotic pet kept in the corner of the publishing world—throw some kibble at it, watch it dance on its little leash, oh quite cute, it definitely won’t kill us in the night. Think about it: a time when newly graduated college kids could come to New York and get paid to write. We had no clue that we were embarking on careers that would vanish within a decade.

I had a job for eleven years and then I didn’t, it was that fast. All around the country, magazines began shuttering, succumbing to a sudden infection brought on by the busted economy. Writers (my kind of writers: aspiring novelists, ruminative thinkers, people whose brains didn’t work quick enough to blog or link or tweet, basically old, stubborn blowhards) were through. We were like women’s hat makers or buggy-whip manufacturers: Our time was done.

and

And then suddenly there was a date [for a housewarming], and the date was yesterday, and Dunne family and friends were shaking off the October drizzle from umbrellas and carefully, conscientiously wiping their feet on the floor mat Maureen had brought for us that morning. The rug says: All Are Friends Who Enter Here. It is from Costco. I have learned about bulk shopping in my four weeks as a Mississippi River resident. Republicans go to Sam’s Club, Democrats go to Costco. But everyone buys bulk because—unlike Manhattanites—they all have space to store twenty-four jars of sweet pickles. And—unlike Manhattanites—they all have uses for twenty-four jars of sweet pickles. (No gathering is complete without a lazy Susan full of pickles and Spanish olives right from the jar. And a salt lick.)

I set the scene: It is one of those big-smelling days, when people bring the outdoors in with them, the scent of rain on their sleeves, in their hair. The older women—Maureen’s friends—present tinfoiled food items in plastic, dishwasher-safe containers they will ask to be returned. And ask and ask. I know, now that I am supposed to wash out the containers and drop each of them back by their proper homes—a Ziploc carpool—but when I first came here, I was unaware of the protocol. I dutifully recycled all the plastic containers, and so I had to go buy all new ones. Maureen’s best friend, Vicky, immediately noticed her container was brand-new, store-bought, an imposter, and when I explained my confusion, she widened her eyes in amazement: So that’s how they do it in New York.

Joy (of Thoughts of Joy) wrote:

WOO HOO! This is my first "best read" of the year!...

Starting from the beginning, I was very intrigued. I wanted to know more and more and more. Once I reached close to the middle of the book, I couldn't put it down. Oh that was absolute heaven for me, as I don't get that feeling as often as I would like. The suspense and twists that were shared through the entries of Nick and Amy were so captivating that I had to keep reading. I loved discovering more about their warped, abnormal thoughts. That sounds a bit odd on my part, but their distorted views really kept me glued to their story.

You can be sure that Sharp Objects and Dark Places have been added to my summer reading list. As a matter of fact, I have a trip coming up in a couple of weeks and need something that will hold my attention on a few flights. Any recommendations as to which of these two to read first?

Final Thoughts: This was so entertaining that I’m actually considering the audio version sometime in the not so distant future. I’m adding Gillian Flynn to my list of favorite authors. Thank goodness she has a backlist!

The following interview was posted on Shelf Awareness, May 2012:

 Photo Credit

Gillian Flynn: Disturbing in a Most Unladylike Way

Gillian Flynn is the author of the bestselling Dark Places, which was a New Yorker Reviewers' Favorite, a Weekend Today Top Summer Read, a Publishers Weekly Best Book of 2009 and a Chicago Tribune Favorite Fiction choice; and the Dagger Award-winning Sharp Objects, which was an Edgar nominee for Best First novel, a BookSense pick and a Barnes & Noble Discover selection. Her work has been published in 28 countries. She lives in Chicago with her husband and son.

Gone Girl has at its heart a very dark portrait of a marriage. Where did you get the inspiration for this novel?

Hmm... Is it strange to say my husband? Probably, but I will anyway. My lovely, charming, sweet husband and I have been married for almost five years, and I was interested in delving into what an insane enterprise the whole thing can be. How potentially fraught. Because in some ways, marriage is a bit of a con. You present your best self, or even your third or fifth best self, to this person you love during those early years of courtship, but that's not actually the genuine you. It's the you that you'd really, really like to be but aren't. So you basically trick the person you love into marrying you, and then, after a while, the real you--the flawed, strange person you had hoped was perhaps "fixed" by this love--begins to surface. The potential for disaster is great. In the best case, you two are both revealed to be frauds at about the same level, and you love each other even more because of your "idiosyncrasies." (Isn't that the marital euphemism for "Holy smokes, my spouse is crazy"?) But the best-case scenario doesn't hold for every couple. What happens if the real people underneath the golden facades are really, really not meant to be together? What happens if they complete each other in the nastiest possible way?

What were the particular challenges you faced writing such a psychologically twisty story with so many curves and switchbacks? Did you ever find yourself caught up in the deceits of your characters?

Who was telling what lie when, and to whom, and why? I'm a big fan of unreliable narrators, because we are all unreliable narrators of our own self-mythologies. I liked playing with that idea here, and then adding intentional deceits and twists and turns. So it got complicated. I'm an obsessive maker of lists, notes, queries, timelines, all of which I write out longhand in a rather spidery, cramped style of handwriting. Then, because I am a slob and have no filing system, I tape all those random note cards and scraps of legal paper willy-nilly to the wall of my office: reminders of where I am in the story, or scenes I want to revisit, or facts I need to check, or inconsistencies I need to correct. By the end of writing Gone Girl, I had dozens of scraps of paper fluttering from my walls with scrawled notes that said things like: "But what about the Festival?! Boney MORONIE??? Where was Nick at 9 AM then? Mom dead? Crepes!" My office looked like the lair of a serial killer. A really weird serial killer.

Your characters, especially your female characters, are interesting, complicated, and richly three-dimensional, but they aren't always likeable. Do you consider it risky in some sense to present these characters to your readers?

I think likeability is overrated. You want your roommate to be likeable, you want your coworker to be likeable, you want your dog to be likeable. I don't necessarily want characters to be likeable. Likeable doesn't necessarily mean interesting. In fact, I'd argue that we spend more time obsessing over people we don't like (Why did she say that? Why would he act that way? What is wrong with her?) than people we do like, and for me that's what makes a novel work: you want to figure out the characters. A character who acts appropriately, fairly and kindly? I'm probably not going to spend that much time trying to figure that person out: he or she is good. Done. A character that is conniving, vindictive, cowardly, argumentative, selfish? I want to figure out what happened to that person, and what will happen. I suppose it goes back to one's basic motive for reading. I don't read in order to root for a character--personally, I'm not big on the hero narrative. I read because I like to poke around in human psyches. So that's what drives my writing. I should also add that I have a serious soft spot for underdogs, malcontents, freaks, jackasses and psychos, so I find all my unlikeable characters perversely likeable.

Do you feel your work fits into a genre or subgenre? If so, which one?

I'm sure it must fit somewhere but I always struggle with an actual label. Midwest gothic noir? Midwest because I'm obsessed with the midsection of the country. I grew up in Missouri, within walking distance of Kansas, and I truly think they are two of the most interesting places around, historically. Gothic, because my novels have that sense of slightly skewed reality, and are littered with desolate set pieces (Sharp Objects' deadly fairytale of a forest; Dark Places' ruined bank, underground home to the Kill Club; Gone Girl's abandoned mega-mall, overtaken by tribes of squatters). Noir because my books are always peopled with troubled, dangerously striving souls.

On a related note, do you find there are different expectations of and responses to women writing dark, edgy fiction than there are for men?

I like to think that's becoming less and less of an issue, now that so many authors of great, dark stories happen to be women. I can't change my gender--female-- and I can't change the way I look, which is decidedly unthreatening (Comment I most often hear at any book event: "But you look so sweeeet!"). However, I can promise you, if you pick up one of my books, I will disturb you in a most unladylike way. --Debra Ginsberg

Go here to read Debra Ginsberg’s excellent review of Gone Girl. 

Wordless Wednesday

Never Knowing

Never Knowing by Chevy Stevens

Fiction/Thriller

2011 Brilliance Audio

Reader: Carrington MacDuffie

Finished 4/27/12

Rating: 1/5 (Poor)

From the author’s website:

All her life, Sara Gallagher has wondered about her birth parents. As an adopted child with two sisters who were born naturally to her parents, Sara’s home life was not ideal. The question of why she was given up for adoption has always haunted her. Finally, she is ready to take steps and find closure.

But some questions are better left unanswered.

After months of research, Sara locates her birth mother—only to be met with horror and rejection. Then she discovers the devastating truth: her mother was the only victim ever to escape a killer who has been hunting women every summer for decades. But Sara soon realizes the only thing worse than finding out about her father is him finding out about her.

What if murder is in your blood?

Never Knowing is a complex and compelling portrayal of one woman’s quest to understand herself, her origins, and her family. That is, if she can survive…

I read Stevens’ debut thriller Still Missing in December 2010. I thought it was quite compelling, so I was pretty excited when I got the ARC of Never Knowing. As usual, it languished on my TBR stack for quite some time, but when the audio version became available through my local library, I decided it was time to give the book a try. Honestly, I wish I hadn’t. It was awful. Flat characters, ridiculous dialogue, a predictable plot and a dreadful reader had me shaking my head with annoyance. Why in the world I stuck with this audio presentation for 12 hours (!!) is beyond me.

Final Thoughts: Don’t waste your money or time.