Wordless Wednesday

Chihuly 

at the Arboretum

 (Dallas, TX)

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Happy Thanksgiving!

I awoke

this morning

with devout

thanksgiving for

my friends, the

old and the new.

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

I am so thankful for all of you. Whether you're a longtime visitor (coming up on seven years!) or new to this little blog of mine, I am very grateful for your friendship, love and support. I wish you a lovely day with your family and friends.

Come, ye thankful people, come,

Raise the song of harvest-home;

All is safely gathered in,

Ere the winter storms begin.

Henry Alford

"Come, Ye Thankful People, Come," 1844

The Passage

The Passage by Justin Cronin
Fiction
2010 Random House Audio
Length: 36 hours and 52 minutes
Readers: Scott Brick, Adenrele Ojo, Abby Craden
Finished: 10/14/12
Rating: 4.75/5 (Terrific!)
R.I.P. VII Challenge






"Imagine Michael Crichton crossbreeding Stephen King's The Stand and Salem's Lot in that lab at Jurassic Park, with rich infusions of Robert McCammon's Swan Song, Battlestar Galactica and even Cormac McCarthy's The Road." The Washington Post

Publisher’s Description: 

“It happened fast. Thirty-two minutes for one world to die, another to be born.”

First, the unthinkable: a security breach at a secret U.S. government facility unleashes the monstrous product of a chilling military experiment. Then, the unspeakable: a night of chaos and carnage gives way to sunrise on a nation, and ultimately a world, forever altered. All that remains for the stunned survivors is the long fight ahead and a future ruled by fear — of darkness, of death, of a fate far worse.

As civilization swiftly crumbles into a primal landscape of predators and prey, two people flee in search of sanctuary. FBI agent Brad Wolgast is a good man haunted by what he’s done in the line of duty. Six-year-old orphan Amy Harper Bellafonte is a refugee from the doomed scientific project that has triggered apocalypse. He is determined to protect her from the horror set loose by her captors. But for Amy, escaping the bloody fallout is only the beginning of a much longer odyssey — spanning miles and decades — toward the time and place where she must finish what should never have begun.

With The Passage, award-winning author Justin Cronin has written both a relentlessly suspenseful adventure and an epic chronicle of human endurance in the face of unprecedented catastrophe and unimaginable danger. Its inventive storytelling, masterful prose, and depth of human insight mark it as a crucial and transcendent work of modern fiction.

I’ve had a copy of The Passage ever since it was first released back in 2010, but it wasn’t until I decided to participate in Carl’s R.I.P. VII Challenge that I finally took it down from the shelf. Actually, I downloaded the audio version (all 36 hours and 52 minutes!) from my library, but occasionally flipped through the book for clarification of a specific passage. I was reading another large book (The Thorn Birds) at the time, so the audio turned out to be the perfect way to manage this tome. And, I think The Washington Post nailed it when describing the book as a mash-up of The Stand, Swan Song, Battlestar Galactica and The Road. With the exception of BG, I found myself comparing the story to these outstanding post-apocalyptic tales, all of which I loved, by the way.

In spite of the audio format, I still took over a month to complete this read, partly due to the fact that it’s just so very long, but also because I found myself repeating tracks for clarification or to remind myself of a certain group of characters. As with The Stand, there is a large cast of characters, as well as a shift in locations and plot threads. Scott Brick does an excellent job with the narration, performing each chapter with perfect pacing, and the sense of urgency and raw emotion the book demands. I was quickly drawn into the story and in spite of the length, found myself wishing it were longer. Thankfully, it turns out to be the first in a trilogy, so I can look forward to enjoying more of this saga.

Final Thoughts: What begins as a terrifying story filled with vampire-like creatures (one which might have caused a nightmare or two), turns out to be an exceptionally imaginative (and highly addictive) post-apocalyptic tale of both love and survival. I have the ARC of The Twelve in my stacks, as well as the audio version on my Nano, but it will be a few months before I return to Amy Harper Bellafonte’s story. The holiday season is upon us and my concentration level requires something a bit more uplifting and light-hearted.


Every so often a novel-reader's novel comes along; an enthralling, entertaining story wedded to simple, supple prose, both informed by tremendous imagination. Summer is the perfect time for such books, and this year readers can enjoy the gift of Justin Cronin's The Passage. Read fifteen pages and you'll find yourself captivated; read thirty and you will find yourself taken prisoner and reading late into the night. It has the vividness that only epic works of fantasy and imagination can achieve. What else can I say? This: Read this book and the ordinary world disappears. ~ Stephen King

Wordless Wednesday

Nebraska State Capitol

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Edit: Now why in the world did I think today was Wednesday??

Song du Jour

 
Happy 24th Anniversary to my best friend. Love ya, Rod!

The Devoted

The Devoted by Jonathan Hull
Fiction
2012 Dancing Muse Press
Finished 10/13/12
Rating: 4.5/5 (Terrific!)




" ... a compelling, complicated and true-to-life novel that becomes something of a cross between old world romance and World War II historical.

This book has some rare and beautiful gems ... detailing (sometimes poetically) the nitty-gritty aspects of war along with subtle nuances of love.

This ... grand story is full of tragedy and passion, political upheaval and death, and moral conundrums ... less a true war story and more a unique family drama -- made more charming by the vagaries and power of love and relationships, and bonds that make life worth living." (Bookreporter.com)

Publisher’s Blurb:

From wartime Italy to the American West, Jonathan Hull takes readers on a heartrending passage through the lives of three families torn by history and bound by an unshakeable—and at times forbidden—devotion.

Ryan Brooks never forgot the powerful hands that pulled him from the wreckage of his parents’ station wagon that summer in 1960 when he was ten and his childhood came to a fiery end during a family vacation. Thirty years later, Ryan returns to Wyoming to thank the dying rancher for saving the life he is still trying to be worthy of. The chilling sight of Mike O’Donnell’s deeply scarred hands is just the beginning of Ryan’s journey as he soon finds himself caught between the rancher’s captivating—and married—daughter, Shannon, and his mysterious Italian wife, Alessandra.

When Mike’s deathbed confession sets Ryan on a search for the truth of what really happened the day his parents died, he unearths a long-buried secret that leads to a mountain cave in Northern Italy and Alessandra’s dangerous love affair with a haunted young German soldier. As past and present collide in an intricately woven story of love and redemption across generations and continents, Ryan discovers that the answers he seeks are inscribed deep in the heart of those whose lives—and courage—he must measure against his own.


Reading slumps. We’ve all been there, struggling to find the next great book to pull us out of our misery. We blog about our unfortunate situation, pleading for suggestions to rid us of the mediocrity of our recent choices. We commiserate with those in similar funks, offering suggestions to break free from the endless cycle of dull, boring books. But how often do we blog when we’re on a roll? When we read book after book that exceeds our hopes, satisfies our longings, and hits our Top Ten lists? Not very often, I’d guess.

Well, I’m on a roll and I owe it to Dewey’s Read-a-Thon and Jonathan Hull. I began Mr. Hull’s recent novel, The Devoted, a few days before the Read-a-Thon began and wound up spending the majority of the day of the challenge curled up in my husband’s comfy leather chair, drifting back and forth between a ranch in Wyoming and a mountain community in Northern Italy. I could not stop reading, nor did I want to. I fell under the author’s spell, sharing his characters’ sorrow and heartaches, just as I did many years ago when I first discovered another wonderful book entitled Losing Julia.

Losing Julia is one of my all-time favorite novels and Jonathan Hull’s first novel. I first discovered the book in 2000 and was mesmerized by the beautiful prose, interwoven plotlines and heartbreaking love story. It is one of the loveliest wartime novels I have ever read, right up there with The Book Thief. Yes, I know. "Lovely" and "wartime" hardly belong on the same page, let alone the same sentence, but Hull (and Zusak) has such a way with words. Here are a couple of my favorites from Losing Julia:

Last night I dreamed that I met a young boy who told me with the saddest eyes that he was never born and I asked how could that be and explained very slowly and quietly that his father had died at the front. And then I looked behind the boy and I saw hundreds of thousands of children, just standing there. Infinitely mute.

And

It is said that life is too short and that’s quite true, unless you are lonely. Loneliness can bring time to its knees; an absolute and utter standstill.

I’ve always judged places and times by how lonely they felt. The entire Midwest, for example, strikes me as horrifically lonely, Indiana more so than Wisconsin and Wisconsin more so than Ohio or Illinois. Coasts are dependably less lonely than inland areas while the warmer latitudes are noticeably less lonely than the colder ones. Hardware stores feel lonely while bookstores do not. Mornings are lonelier than afternoons, while the hours before dawn can be devastating. Vienna is lonelier than Paris or London, while Los Angeles is lonelier than San Francisco or Boston. The Atlantic Ocean is lonelier than the Pacific while the Caribbean is not lonely at all.

And then there are nursing homes.

I was thrilled to receive a copy of The Devoted from the author and am happy to report that it is just as wonderful as Losing Julia. I marked a few passages, but even taken out of context they reveal too much, so I’ll let you discover them on your own.

Final Thoughts: I reread Losing Julia with my book club back in 2001 and it was just as wonderful as the first time around. The Devoted does not disappoint and I look forward to revisiting this new story in the coming years. The Devoted (and Losing Julia) will appeal to fans of Markus Zusak, Kent Haruf, Leif Enger and Mark Spragg.

About the Author:

A graduate of the University of California at Berkeley, Hull spent ten years as a correspondent at TIME, including three as the Jerusalem Bureau Chief. His reporting has ranged from the Gulf War and the Palestinian uprising to presidential politics and the troubled underside of American society. A cover story he wrote on youth violence won the Society of Professional Journalists’ prestigious Sigma Delta Chi award for magazine. The best-selling author of Losing Julia and The Distance from Normandy, lives in Sausalito, California.

Cookbook Addiction

Seriously. Do I really need another cookbook? I may not have nearly as many as some of you, but I'm sure my husband would say that I have plenty. In fact, I have several that I just had to buy last year, but from which I have yet to sample a single recipe. One of the hazards of working in a bookstore is handling all the beautiful new cookbooks that arrive every holiday season. There are so many that I'd love to own; here's just a small sample!

How about you? Are there any cookbooks on your wishlist this Christmas? Or, better yet, any that you'd suggest I add to my list? ;)

And if you're as curious as I am, I just counted my cookbooks. I own 53, which I'm sure pales in comparison to some of your collections. Guess I'd better add a few more to mine, don't you think?

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.

Khaled Hosseini's Upcoming Release

I just read the following on Bookreporter.com! I'm very excited, as I loved Hosseini's previous novels.

...it was reported that Khaled Hosseini’s new novel, And the Mountains Echoed, will release on May 21st from Riverhead Books. According to Hosseini, "My earlier novels [The Kite Runner and A Thousand Splendid Suns] were at heart tales of fatherhood and motherhood. My new novel is a multi-generational family story as well, this time revolving around brothers and sisters, and the ways in which they love, wound, betray, honor, and sacrifice for each other. I am thrilled at the chance to share this book with my readers."

 Yay!!

Wordless Wednesday

Happy Halloween!

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Teaser Tuesday

Googling a butterfly. It sounded comical, like tickling a catfish, but she knew it wouldn't sound that way to Preston. He would clamber up to the computer at Bear and Hester's and punch the keys, finding what he needed in there. Having children was not like people said. Forget training them in your footsteps; the minute they put down the teething ring and found the Internet, you were useless as a source of anything but shoes and a winter coat. But Preston still asked her questions. That touched her, that they were a team. Here in the looming forest he gripped her hand tightly, as if crossing a street, as they approached the trees where the butterflies hung in their droves. Wings littered the ground. "Look up," she said, pointing at the brown clusters drooping from the branches. These trees were completely filled now. Even the tree trunks wore butterfly pelts, all the way up, like the bristling hairy legs of giants. It was a whole butterfly forest, magically draped with dark, pendulous clusters masquerading as witchy tresses or dead foliage. She only knew what they really were because her eyes had learned the secret. Preston's had not. It all waited for him, perfectly still and alive. She watched his dark pupils dart up and around, puzzling this out, looking without yet seeing. Mine, ours, her heartbeat thumped, making promises from the inside. This was better than Christmas. She couldn't wait to give him his present: sight.

I started this book last week and haven't been able to put it down. It's wonderful! I'm trying not to read too quickly, though, as I want it to last. Such a dilemma!

Teaser Tuesdays is a weekly bookish meme, hosted by MizB of Should Be Reading. Anyone can play along! Just do the following:

• Grab your current read
• Open to a random page
• Share two (2) “teaser” sentences from somewhere on that page
• BE CAREFUL NOT TO INCLUDE SPOILERS! (make sure that what you share doesn’t give too much away! You don’t want to ruin the book for others!)
• Share the title & author, too, so that other TT participants can add the book to their TBR Lists if they like your teasers!

Saturday Snapshot

The cold weather has arrived! Our overnight temps dipped down to the mid-twenties and there was frost on the rooftops and cars. However, my geraniums are still holding on!

This is my first Saturday Snapshot post. For more information, visit Alyce of At Home With Books.

Looking Back - Anna Karenina

Anna Karenin by Leo Tolstoy, translated by Rosemary Edmonds
Fiction
1954 Penguin Classics
Finished 12/29/95





All happy families are alike but an unhappy family is unhappy after its own fashion.

Synopsis:

With Anna Karenin, Tolstoy's most perfect work, the psychological novel of the nineteenth century reached its peak.

Acclaimed by many as the world's greatest novel, Anna Karenin provides a vast panorama of contemporary life in Russia and of humanity in general. In it Tolstoy uses his intense imaginative insight to create some of the most memorable characters in literature. Anna is a sophisticated woman who abandons her empty existence as the wife of Karenin and turns to Count Vronsky to fulfil her passionate nature--with tragic consequences. Levin is a reflection of Tolstoy himself, often expressing the author's own views and convictions.

Throughout, Tolstoy points no moral, merely inviting us not to judge but to watch. As Rosemary Edmonds comments: 'He leaves the shifting patterns of the kaleidoscope to bring home the meaning of the brooding words following the title "Vengeance is mine, and I will repay.'"

My Original Notes:

I enjoyed the book, although it tends to drag in spots. Very long! I read a few other books while giving AK a rest. The ending just seemed to fizzle out. Not as good as Dr. Zhivago. My first Tolstoy. 

Current Thoughts:

Bellezza and Arti are reading this classic during October, so I pulled my copy off the shelf and read a few pages here and there. If I ever decide to read it again, I'll give the audio a listen, as I'm not sure I'm interested enough to read all 853 pages a second time! It's been quite a few years since I watched the 1948 film, staring Vivien Leigh, and I'm looking forward to seeing the updated version, starring Keira Knightley, Aaron Taylor-Johnson and Jude Law.

 
In an effort to transfer my book journal entries over to this blog, I'm going to begin posting (in chronological order) one or two entries every week. I may or may not add extra commentary to what I jotted down in these journals.

Wordless Wednesday

 

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The Blue Bistro

The Blue Bistro by Elin Hilderbrand
Fiction
2005 St. Martin’s Press
Finished: 8/24/12
Rating: 4/5 (Very Good)



Publisher’s Blurb:

Adrienne Dealey has spent the past six years working for hotels in exotic resort towns. This summer she has decided to make Nantucket home. Left flat broke by her ex-boyfriend, she is desperate to earn some fast money. When the desirable Thatcher Smith, owner of Nantucket’s hottest restaurant, is the only one to offer her a job, she wonders if she can get by with no restaurant experience. Thatcher gives Adrienne a crash course in the business… and they share an instant attraction.

But there is a mystery about their situation: What is it about Fiona, the Blue Bistro’s chef, that captures Thatcher’s attention again and again? And why does such a successful restaurant seem to be in its final season before closing its doors for good? Despite her uncertainty, Adrienne must decide whether to move on, as she always does—or finally open her heart…


It’s been over five years since I first discovered Elin Hilderbrand and I’m not sure why it’s taken me so long to pick up another one of her books. I enjoyed The Love Season (another “foodie” read set in Nantucket) and had planned to read The Blue Bistro, but of course, other books vied for my attention. Looking for a light summer read (read: brain candy), I started the novel in June, but set it aside for the Paris in July Challenge. And then Love Anthony (Lisa Genova) arrived and I couldn’t not read it. And then our granddaughter arrived and there wasn’t much time for reading. But I had no trouble picking up where I’d left off and wound up really enjoying this novel. Enough so that I want to read more by Hilderbrand. And I’m in luck, as she’s been very busy these past few years. There are nine more titles on her backlist—ten if you count her upcoming release in 2013.

The only restaurant experience I have is that of the fast-food sort (which I wrote about here). While I enjoyed the glimpse into the behind-the-scenes nature of a full-service restaurant in The Blue Bistro, I have no desire to open my own, nor work in one, even as a sous-chef. Too much stress and pressure! But I’d love to dine in a restaurant such as The Blue Bistro. Hilderbrand’s novel includes dinner menus, which had me drooling and longing for recipes.

Pretzel Bread? Yes, please.

Bruno reappeared with two baskets swathed in white linen napkins and a ramekin of something bright yellow.

Thatcher unveiled one basket. “Pretzel bread,” he said. He held up a thick braid of what looked to be soft pretzel, nicely tanned, sprinkled with coarse salt. “This is served with Fee’s homemade mustard. So right away the guest knows this isn’t a run-of-the-mill restaurant. They’re not getting half a cold baguette, here, folks, with butter in the gold foil wrapper. This is warm pretzel bread made on the premises, and the mustard ditto. Nine out of ten tables are licking the ramekin clean.”

Doughnuts as an appetizer? OK!

“The other basket contains our world-famous savory doughnuts,” Thatcher said. He whipped the cloth off like a magician, revealing six golden-brown doughnuts. Doughnuts? Adrienne had been too nervous to think about eating all day, but now her appetite was roused. After the menu meeting, they were going to have a family meal.

The doughnuts were deep-fried rings of a light, yeasty, herb-flecked dough. Chive, basil, rosemary. Crisp on the outside, soft on the inside. Savory doughnuts. Who wouldn’t stand in line for these? Who wouldn’t beg or steal to access the private phone line so they could make a date with these doughnuts?

and

The corn chowder and the shrimp bisque are cream soups, but neither of these soups is heavy. The Caesar is served with pumpernickel croutons and white anchovies. The chevre salad is your basic mixed greens with a round of breaded goat cheese, and the candy-striped beets are grown locally at Bartlett’s Farm. Ditto the rest of the vegetables, except for the Portobello mushrooms that go into the ravioli—those are flown in from Kennett Square, Pennsylvania. So when you’re talking about vegetables, you’re talking about produce that’s grown in Nantucket soil, okay? It’s not sitting for thirty-six hours on the back of a truck. Fee selects them herself before any of you people are even awake in the morning. It’s all very Alice Waters, what we do here with our vegetables.”

“The most popular item on the menu is the steak frites. It is twelve ounces of aged New York strip grilled to order—and please note you need a temperature on that—served with a mound of garlic fries. The duck, the sword, the lamb lollipops—see, we’re having fun here—are all served at the chef’s temperature. If you have a guest who wants the lamb killed—by which I mean well done—you’re going to have to take it up with Fiona. The sushi plate is all spelled out for you—it’s bluefin tuna caught forty miles off the shore, and the sword is harpooned in case you get a guest who has just seen a Nova special about how the Canadian coast is being overfished.”

And then there’s the busy season: 

Adrienne had been hearing about August since her first day of work. When the bar was busy, Caren might say, It’s busy, but not as busy as August.” When the dining room was slow back in mid-June, Thatcher had said, “You’ll be longing for this once it’s August.” What was it about August? Everyone was on Nantucket in August—the celebrities, the big money, the old families. It was America’s summer vacation. Thirty-one days of sun, beach, boating, outdoor showers, fireflies, garden parties, linen sheets, coffee on the deck in the morning, a gin and tonic on the patio in the evening.

and 

In the restaurant kitchen, August meant lobsters, blackberries, silver queen corn, and tomatoes, tomatoes, tomatoes. In honor of the last year of the restaurant, Fiona was creating a different tomato special for each day of the month. The first of August (two hundred and fifty covers on the book, eleven reservation wait list) was a roasted yellow tomato soup. The second of August (two hundred and fifty covers, seven reservation wait list) was tomato pie with a Gruyere crust. On the third of August, Ernie Otemeyer came in with his wife to celebrate his birthday and since Ernie liked food that went with his Bud Light, Fiona made a Sicilian pizza—a thick, doughy crust, a layer of fresh buffalo mozzarella, topped with a voluptuous tomato-basil sauce. One morning when she was working the phone, Adrienne stepped into the kitchen hoping to get a few minutes with Mario, and she found Fiona taking a bite out of a red ripe tomato like it was an apple. Fiona held the tomato out.

“I’d put this on the menu,” she said. “But few would understand.”

Oh, I would!

Final Thoughts: The Blue Bistro is most definitely a light and fluffy beach read, but at the same time, it’s absorbing and well-written. I look forward to reading more from Hilderbrand’s backlist, but I may need to space them out. I can see how they might begin to blur together and I know I’m already forgetting some of the details from this one. 

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.

The Thorn Birds

The Thorn Birds by Colleen McCullough
Fiction
1977 Harper Collins
Finished: 10/6/12
Rating: 3.5/5 (Good)



There is a legend about a bird which sings just once in its life, more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth. From the moment it leaves the nest it searches for a thorn tree, and does not rest until it has found one. Then, singing among the savage branches, it impales itself upon the longest, sharpest spine. And, dying, it rises above its own agony to outcarol the lark and the nightingale. One superlative song, existence the price. But the whole world stills to listen, and God in his heaven smiles. For the best is only bought at the cost of great pain… Or so says the legend.

Publisher's Blurb:

The magnificent epic, one of the most beloved novels of all time.

Colleen McCullough's sweeping saga of dreams, struggles, dark passions, and forbidden love in the Australian Outback has enthralled readers the world over. This is the chronicle of three generations of Clearys, ranchers carving lives from a beautiful, hard land while contending with the bitterness, frailty, and secrets that penetrate their family. Most of all, it is the story of only daughter Meggie and her lifelong relationship with the haunted priest Father Ralph de Bricassart—and intense joining of two hearts and souls that dangerously oversteps sacred boundaries of ethics and dogma.

A poignant love story, a powerful epic of struggle and sacrifice, a celebration of individuality and spirit, Colleen McCullough's acclaimed masterwork remains a monumental literary achievement—a landmark novel to be cherished and read again and again.


The Thorn Birds was published 35 years ago. If my memory is correct, I read it sometime around 1981, when I was 20 years old. I’ve always considered the novel one of my all-time favorites from my life as a young wife and mother, much like The Shell Seekers by Rosamunde Pilcher, which I read in the late 1980s. So when Bellezza and I agreed on a buddy-read, I was very happy to finally have a reason to give this chunkster a second reading. We decided to read it in September, so I began on August 31st, which was a big mistake. I should’ve started on July 31st, as it took me almost 6 weeks to finish! It’s probably the longest book I’ve read (excluding audio books) this year, coming in at 673 pages in the trade paperback edition.

So, did it stand the test of time? Well, you’d think with all those Post-it flags, I’d say it was fantastic, but unfortunately, this was not the case. I certainly liked it well enough to read the entire book, never once feeling like I wanted to quit, but it didn’t wow me the way it did when I was a young woman. Was it the illicit love affair that intrigued that young wife back in the 80s, much as Fifty Shades of Grey is doing for young women in 2012? Was I simply young and naïve, never having read anything as scandalous as this? I’m not sure, but it certainly didn’t bowl me over this second time around. If anything, I couldn’t really see what all the fuss was about.

There was so much about this novel that I’d forgotten. It isn’t simply a story about Meggie and Ralph’s love for one another, but about the country and about Meggie’s family and her upbringing. Oh, I shudder to think of attending a Catholic school -- or at least, a Catholic school such as the one described in this book! Thankfully, I was raised Episcopalian!

As they followed the upward rise of the cane above her own hands Meggie’s eyes closed involuntarily, so she did not see the descent. But the pain was like a vast explosion, a scorching, searing invasion of her flesh right down to the bone; even as the ache spread tingling up her forearm the next cut came, and by the time it had reached her shoulder the final cut across her fingertips was screaming along the same path, all the way through to her heart. She fastened her teeth in her lower lip and bit down on it, too ashamed and too proud to cry, too angry and indignant at the injustice of it to dare open her eyes and look at Sister Agatha; the lesson was sinking in, even if the crux of it was not what Sister Agatha intended to reach. [Meggie’s punishment for arriving late on her first day of school.]

Life with a stoic mother wasn’t as terrible as the discipline she suffered at school, but I still felt sorry for Meggie:

As for Meggie, she was incapable of equating Teresa’s beaming, portly little mother with her own slender unsmiling mother, so she never thought: I wish Mum hugged and kissed me. What she did think was: I wish Teresa’s mum hugged and kissed me. Though images of hugs and kisses were far less in her mind than images of the willow pattern tea set. So delicate, so thin and wafery, so beautiful! Oh, if only she had a willow pattern tea set, and could give Agnes afternoon tea out of a deep blue-and-white cup in a deep blue-and-white saucer!

And then she and her family had to move to Gillanbone:

In the morning they stared, awed and dismayed, at a landscape so alien they had not dreamed anything like it existed on the same planet as New Zealand. The rolling hills were there certainly, but absolutely nothing else reminiscent of home. It was all brown and grey, even the trees! The winter wheat was already turned a fawnish silver by the glaring sun, miles upon miles of it rippling and bending in the wind, broken only by stands of thin, spindling, blue-leafed trees and dusty clumps of tired grey bushes. Fee’s stoical eyes surveyed the scene without changing expression, but poor Meggie’s were full of tears. It was horrible, fenceless and vast, without a trace of green.

I didn’t recall Mrs. Carson’s (Meggie’s grandmother) attraction to Father de Bricassart, but it was quite apparent upon this second reading:

She accepted the deliberately blatant flattery in the spirit in which it was intended, enjoying his beauty, his attentiveness, his barbed and subtle mind; truly he would make a magnificent cardinal. In all her life she could not remember seeing a better-looking man, nor one who used his beauty in quite the same way. He had to be aware of how he looked: the height and the perfect proportions of his body, the fine aristocratic features, the way every physical element had been put together with a degree of care about the appearance of the finished product God lavished on few of His creations. From the loose black curls of his head and the startling blue of his eyes to the small, slender hands and feet, he was perfect. Yes, he had to be conscious of what he was. And yet there was an aloofness about him, a way he had of making her feel he had never been enslaved by his beauty, nor ever would be. He would use it to get what he wanted without compunction if it would help, but not as though he was enamored of it; rather as if he deemed people beneath contempt for being influenced by it. And she would have given much to know what his past life had made him so.

Curious, how many priests were handsome as Adonis, had the sexual magnetism of Don Juan. Did they espouse celibacy as a refuge from the consequences?

But I do remember Father Ralph’s initial fondness for Meggie:

Just why he was so fond of Meggie Father Ralph didn’t know, nor for that matter did he spend much time wondering about it. It had begun with pity that day in the dusty station yard when he had noticed her lagging behind; set apart from the rest of her family by virtue of her sex, he had shrewdly guessed. As to why Frank [Meggie’s older brother] also moved on an outer perimeter, this did not intrigue him at all, nor did he feel moved to pity Frank. There was something in Frank which killed tender emotions: a dark heart, a spirit lacking inner light. But Meggie? She had moved him unbearably, and he didn’t really know why. There was the color of her hair, which pleased him; the color and form of her eyes, like her mother’s and therefore beautiful, but so much sweeter, more expressive; and her character, which he saw as the perfect female character, passive yet enormously strong. No rebel, Meggie; on the contrary. All her life she would obey, move within the boundaries of her female fate.

Yet none of it added up to the full total. Perhaps, had he looked more deeply into himself, he might have seen that what he felt for her was the curious result of time, and place, and person. No one thought of her as important, which meant there was a space in her life into which he could fit himself and be sure of her love; she was a child, and therefore no danger to his way of life or his priestly reputation; she was beautiful, and he enjoyed beauty; and, least acknowledged of all, she filled an empty space in his life which his God could not, for she had warmth and a human solidity. Because he could not embarrass her family by giving her gifts, he gave her as much of his company as he could, and spent time and thought on redecorating her room at the presbytery; not so much to see her pleasure as to creature a fitting setting for his jewel. No pinchbeck for Meggie.

A few final thoughts for Bellezza…

Wasn’t Luke awful? I hated his selfish, self-centered attitude about life and marriage. I don’t think I would have been as proud as Meggie and would’ve caught the first train back to Drogheda… at least I say that now, as a 50-year-old. I wonder what I would’ve done as a young bride…

And, oh my. I’d completely forgotten about Justine and Dane… and the Second World War. This was quite the saga!

I honestly can’t recall if I ever saw the mini-series, starring Richard Chamberlain, Rachel Ward and Barbara Stanwyck. I’ll add it to my Netflix queue and give it a go. 

Of Monsters and Men - Mountain Sound

Dewey's Read-a-Thon 2012 Wrap-Up

I thoroughly enjoyed this year's Read-a-Thon! Unlike previous years, I decided to take a break every hour and catch up on emails and blog-hopping, in addition to hanging out with my husband and working on some weekend chores. It was a nice balance and my eyes didn't get too tired.

Here are my final stats:

Start Time: 7:55 a.m.

End Time: 11:25 p.m.

Total Reading Time: 7 hours

Total Time in Breaks: 8 1/2 hours

Total Pages Read: 545*

Total Number of Books Finished: 1

Books Read:

The Devoted by Jonathan Hull (Fiction)

A Thousand Mornings by Mary Oliver (Poetry)

The Hunchback of Neiman Marcus by Sonya Sones (Fiction)

*253 of the 545 were from Sones' book, which is told in verse. It's a very quick read.

This was a great challenge and I'm looking forward to the next one in the spring. Until then, I'm going to aim for at least 2-3 hours of reading every weekend. 15-20 minutes before bed just isn't enough!

Dewey's Read-a-Thon 2012 Update

Mid-Event Survey

1. How are you doing? Sleepy? Are your eyes tired?

Yes, I'm tired. During the week I get up at 5, so I'm usually in bed by 9 and asleep by 10. I wasn't planning to read for a full 24 hours and I suspect I'll be asleep by 10. But I'm quite happy with the amount of time I spent reading today, in spite of the long breaks. I can't remember the last time I spent an afternoon on the couch reading, let alone an entire day!

2. What have you finished reading?

I finished The Devoted by Jonathan Hull. I have a few reviews to post first, but I'll just say that I really enjoyed this novel! 
 
3. What is your favorite read so far?

Well, since I've only read The Devoted and half of a collection of poems by Mary Oliver (A Thousand Mornings), I'd have to say The Devoted. ;)

4. What about your favorite snacks?

Blue Bunny Strawberry Ice Cream... almonds and dried apricots... grilled cheese sandwich... Stonehedge Old Vine Zin. I kind of wish I had bought some Peanut M&Ms and a Hershey Bar with Almonds. Or a Godiva Milk Chocolate with Salted Caramel bar. Mmmmm.

5. Have you found any new blogs through the read-a-thon? If so, give them some love!

The reason I was able to read all day was because I stayed away from my computer. I only just recently visited some of my dear old pals' blogs. I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to visit any new blogs, but I had to spend my time wisely.

I'll post my final stats tomorrow morning, but for now I need to choose a new book. I love this part about reading where I get to shop from my own shelves. Who knows what gem I might discover. :)