Looking Back... In an effort to transfer my book journal entries over to this blog, I'm going to attempt to post (in chronological order) an entry every Friday. I may or may not add extra commentary to what I jotted down in these journals.
The Color of Water by James McBride
Memoir
1997 Riverhead Trade (first published 1996)
Finished in January 1998
Rating: 4/5 (Very Good)
Publisher's Blurb:
Touches readers of all colors as a vivid portrait of growing up, a haunting meditation on race and identity, and a lyrical valentine to a mother from her son.
Who is Ruth McBride Jordan? A self-declared "light-skinned" woman evasive about her ethnicity, yet steadfast in her love for her twelve black children. James McBride, journalist, musician and son, explores his mother's past, as well as his own upbringing and heritage, in a poignant and powerful debut, The Color Of Water: A Black Man's Tribute to His White Mother.
The son of a black minister and a woman who would not admit she was white, James McBride grew up in "orchestrated chaos" with his eleven siblings in the poor, all-black projects of Red Hook, Brooklyn. "Mommy," a fiercely protective woman with "dark eyes full of pep and fire," herded her brood to Manhattan's free cultural events, sent them off on buses to the best (and mainly Jewish) schools, demanded good grades and commanded respect. As a young man, McBride saw his mother as a source of embarrassment, worry, and confusion--and reached thirty before he began to discover the truth about her early life and long-buried pain.
In The Color of Water, McBride retraces his mother's footsteps and, through her searing and spirited voice, recreates her remarkable story. The daughter of a failed itinerant Orthodox rabbi, she was born Rachel Deborah Shilsky (actually Ruchel Dwara Zylska) in Poland on April 1, 1921. Fleeing pogroms, her family emigrated to America and ultimately settled in Suffolk, Virginia, a small town where anti-Semitism and racial tensions ran high. With candor and immediacy, Ruth describes her parents' loveless marriage; her fragile, handicapped mother; her cruel, sexually-abusive father; and the rest of the family and life she abandoned.
At seventeen, after fleeing Virginia and settling in New York City, Ruth married a black minister and founded the all-black New Brown Memorial Baptist Church in her Red Hook living room. "God is the color of water," Ruth McBride taught her children, firmly convinced that life's blessings and life's values transcend race. Twice widowed, and continually confronting overwhelming adversity and racism, Ruth's determination, drive and discipline saw her dozen children through college--and most through graduate school. At age 65, she herself received a degree in social work from Temple University.
Interspersed throughout his mother's compelling narrative, McBride shares candid recollections of his own experiences as a mixed-race child of poverty, his flirtations with drugs and violence, and his eventual self-realization and professional success. The Color of Water touches readers of all colors as a vivid portrait of growing up, a haunting meditation on race and identity, and a lyrical valentine to a mother from her son.
My Original Notes (1998):
Another wonderful memoir! Very inspirational. A look at racial identity through the eyes of a black man, born to a white, Jewish mother. McBride is one of twelve children! I enjoyed the alternating voices (his and his mother's), switching in each new chapter. McBride's mother had a very difficult life, but still managed to raise responsible children. They all went to college and many attended graduate school.
My Current Thoughts:
I remember that this was a very powerful memoir, but other than that, the details are sketchy. After reading the publisher's blurb, I feel that the book would make for a good discussion in my book club, perhaps combined with Rick Bragg's All Over But the Shoutin'. I'll have to recommend both of them at our annual planning meeting. They might work well in May for a Mother's Day theme.
Nature & Books belong to the eyes that see them.
- Emerson
August 10, 2018
August 8, 2018
August 7, 2018
A Month in Summary - July 2018
Sequim, Washington
July 2018
July was another fun-filled month in the Pacific Northwest. We celebrated the 4th a few days early at our annual neighborhood picnic, which was a lot of fun. Later in the week, I got to spend time with two blogging friends, Kay (of Kay's Reading Life) and Robin (of A Fondness For Reading). Another friend and her husband came to visit from Wyoming while Kay and her husband were in town and I had a great time catching up with them, as well as showing them around our neighborhood. It wasn't long before Rod and I were back on the road for a 11-day road trip to Washington. We returned to some of our favorite places to camp, in addition to discovering a few new spots. I'm still not reading nearly as much as I used to, but I'm very happy that I managed to finish three books!
Books Read in July:
Rules of Civility by Amor Towles
My Life in France by Julia Child
Travels With Charley in Search of America by John Steinbeck
First Lines:
On the night of October 4th, 1966, Val and I, both in late middle age, attended the opening of Many Are Called at the Museum of Modern Art--the first exhibit of the portraits taken by Walker Evans in the late 1930s on the New York City subways with a hidden camera. (Rules of Civility)
This is a book about some of the things I have loved most in life: my husband, Paul Child; la belle France; and the many pleasures of cooking and eating. It is also something new for me. Rather than a collection of recipes, I've put together a series of linked autobiographical stories, mostly focused on the years 1948 through 1954, when we lived in Paris and Marseille, and also a few of our later adventures in Provence. Those early years in France were among the best of my life. They marked a crucial period of transformation in which I found my true calling, experienced an awakening of the senses, and had such fun that I hardly stopped moving long enough to catch my breath. (My Life In France)
When I was very young and the urge to be someplace else was on me, I was assured by mature people that maturity would cure this itch. When years described me as mature, the remedy prescribed was middle age. In middle age I was assured that greater age would calm my fever and now that I am fifty-eight perhaps senility will do the job. Nothing has worked. Four hoarse blasts of a ship's whistle still raise the hair on my neck and set my feet to tapping. The sound of a jet, an engine warming up, even the clopping of shod hooves on pavement brings on the ancient shudder, the dry mouth and vacant eye, the hot palms and the churn of stomach high up under the rib case. In other words, I don't improve; in further words, once a bum always a bum. I fear the disease is incurable. I set this matter down not to instruct others but to inform myself. (Travels With Charley in Search of America)
Movies & TV Series:
Jessica Jones - Season Two - I really enjoyed the first season of Jessica Jones and couldn't wait to watch the new season. It was good, but not nearly as good (or tense) as the first. As much as I hated David Tennant's character, the show really needs both Jessica and Kilgrave.
Luke Cage - Season One - Just one episode and that was enough for me to say no more.
The Bridge - Season Three - Not as good as the first two seasons, but I won't explain why due to spoilers.
The Greatest Showman - After hearing so many great comments about this movie, I couldn't wait to see it. Sadly, I'm in the minority. I really didn't care for it at all. La La Land is a much better modern musical.
A Wrinkle In Time - So disappointing! I read the book many years ago and was eager to see the movie, but it was far too sappy. I watched it with my mom and husband and none of us liked it.
Outings & Trips:
Boondocking in Tillamook, Oregon
Brinnon, Washington
Boondocking in Sequim, Washington
Lunch break.
Visitors:
Kay and Teri
Internet friends since 1996
Kay and Robin
Blogging Friends
You can read more about this visit with these great friends here.
I hope everyone is enjoying their summer. Our weather continues to be mild, but we do get a few days of sunshine in between the overcast and drizzle. We're busy planning a big (two-month-long!) adventure for September and are hoping to bring some of our cooler weather to California, Nevada, Arizona, New Mexico and Texas!
Click on images for larger view.
Labels:
blogmates,
Monthly Summary,
movies,
Road Trip,
tv series
August 3, 2018
Looking Back - Cold Mountain
Looking Back... In an effort to transfer my book journal entries over to this blog, I'm going to attempt to post (in chronological order) an entry every Friday. I may or may not add extra commentary to what I jotted down in these journals.
Cold Mountain by Charles Frazier
Fiction
1997 Atlantic Monthly Press
Finished in January 1998
Rating: 2/5 (Fair)
National Book Award winner in 1997
Publisher's Blurb:
Cold Mountain is a novel about a soldier’s perilous journey back to his beloved near the Civil War's end. At once a love story and a harrowing account of one man’s long walk home, Cold Mountain introduces a new talent in American literature.
Based on local history and family stories passed down by Frazier’s great-great-grandfather, Cold Mountain is the tale of a wounded Confederate soldier, Inman, who walks away from the ravages of the war and back home to his prewar sweetheart, Ada. His odyssey thru the devastated landscape of the soon-to-be-defeated South interweaves with Ada’s struggle to revive her father’s farm, with the help of an intrepid young drifter named Ruby. As their long-separated lives begin to converge at the close of the war, Inman and Ada confront the vastly transformed world they’ve been delivered.
Frazier reveals insight into human relations with the land and the dangers of solitude. He also shares with the great 19th century novelists a keen observation of a society undergoing change. Cold Mountain recreates a world gone by that speaks to our time.
My Original Notes (1997):
Well, I hate to say it but I was very disappointed with this novel. I had heard it was so good and I love southern writers, so I thought it would be great. It was mediocre. It moved very slowly, with very little dialogue and not much action. Even the lengthy descriptions of the landscape became tiresome to read. This novel didn't hold my interest very well and it was a chore to keep reading it. I did like the device of a story within a story, however. Reminded me of [Willa] Cather.
My Current Thoughts:
I don't remember much about this book other than the tedious nature of the writing. I think Frazier took two full pages to describe a raindrop dripping from a leaf in the woods! This is the rare case of the movie being much better than the book.
Cold Mountain by Charles Frazier
Fiction
1997 Atlantic Monthly Press
Finished in January 1998
Rating: 2/5 (Fair)
National Book Award winner in 1997
Publisher's Blurb:
Cold Mountain is a novel about a soldier’s perilous journey back to his beloved near the Civil War's end. At once a love story and a harrowing account of one man’s long walk home, Cold Mountain introduces a new talent in American literature.
Based on local history and family stories passed down by Frazier’s great-great-grandfather, Cold Mountain is the tale of a wounded Confederate soldier, Inman, who walks away from the ravages of the war and back home to his prewar sweetheart, Ada. His odyssey thru the devastated landscape of the soon-to-be-defeated South interweaves with Ada’s struggle to revive her father’s farm, with the help of an intrepid young drifter named Ruby. As their long-separated lives begin to converge at the close of the war, Inman and Ada confront the vastly transformed world they’ve been delivered.
Frazier reveals insight into human relations with the land and the dangers of solitude. He also shares with the great 19th century novelists a keen observation of a society undergoing change. Cold Mountain recreates a world gone by that speaks to our time.
My Original Notes (1997):
Well, I hate to say it but I was very disappointed with this novel. I had heard it was so good and I love southern writers, so I thought it would be great. It was mediocre. It moved very slowly, with very little dialogue and not much action. Even the lengthy descriptions of the landscape became tiresome to read. This novel didn't hold my interest very well and it was a chore to keep reading it. I did like the device of a story within a story, however. Reminded me of [Willa] Cather.
My Current Thoughts:
I don't remember much about this book other than the tedious nature of the writing. I think Frazier took two full pages to describe a raindrop dripping from a leaf in the woods! This is the rare case of the movie being much better than the book.
Labels:
2/5,
Books Read in 1998,
Civil War,
Looking Back,
New-To-Me Author
August 2, 2018
One Year Anniversary!
First Trip
Lynden, Washington
August 2, 2017
Last Trip
Alfred A. Loeb State Park
April 18, 2018
- traveled 3,204 miles
- spent 25 nights camping
- boondocked 3 nights
- camped in 4 Oregon State Parks
- camped in 2 Washington State Parks
- camped in 1 California State Park
- camped in 2 KOAs
- visited the Olympic National Park (and a rain forest)
- visited the Redwood National Forest
- visited family and friends in California
- camped with a herd of elk, peahens and peacocks
- spotted eagles and great blue heron
- 5 signs warning of bears or cougars
- 0 bears or cougars sighted
- 1 sewer hose lost on freeway
- and only got locked out of our rig once
Labels:
Camping,
Escape Trailer,
Retired Life,
Road Trip
August 1, 2018
Wordless Wednesday
Sequim, Washington
July 2018
Almost five years to the day, I shared another set of eagle photos, also in Sequim!
For more Wordless Wednesday, click here.
July 27, 2018
Looking Back - Little Altars Everywhere
Looking Back... In an effort to transfer my book journal entries over to this blog, I'm going to attempt to post (in chronological order) an entry every Friday. I may or may not add extra commentary to what I jotted down in these journals.
Little Altars Everywhere by Rebecca Wells
Fiction
1996 Harper Collins (first published in 1992)
Finished in December 1997
Rating: 4.5/5 (Very Good!)
Publisher's Blurb:
Told in alternating voices of Vivi and her husband, Big Shep, along with Sidda, her siblings Little Shep, Lulu, Baylor, and Cheney and Willetta--the black couple who impact the Walkers' lives in ways they may never fully comprehend--Little Altars embraces nearly thirty years of life on their plantation in Thorton, Louisiana, where the cloying air of the bayou and a web of family secrets of once shelter, trap, and define an utterly original community of souls.
Who can resist the rich cadences of Sidda Walker and her flamboyant, secretive mother, Vivi? Here, the young Sidda--a precocious reader and an eloquent observer of the fault lines that divide her family--leads us her mischievous adventures at Our Lady of Divine Compassion parochial school and beyond. A Catholic girl of pristine manners, devotion, and provocative ideas, Sidda is the very essence of childhood joy and sorrow.
In a series of luminous reminiscences, we also hear Little Shep's stories of his eccentric grandmother, Lulu's matter-of-fact account of her shoplifting skills, and Baylor's memories of Vivi and her friends, the Ya-Yas.
Beneath the humor and tight-knit bonds of family and friendship lie the undercurrents of alcoholism, abuse, and violence. The overlapping recollections of how the Walker's charming life uncoils to convey their heartbreaking confusion are at once unsettling and familiar. Wells creates an unforgettable portrait and funny attempts to keep reality at arm's length. Through our laughter, we feel their inevitable pain, with a glimmer of hope for forgiveness and healing.
An arresting combination of colloquialism, poetry, and grace, Little Altars Everywhere is an insightful, piercing, and unflinching evocation of childhood, a loving tribute to the transformative power of faith, and a thoroughly fresh chronicle of a family that is as haunted as it is blessed.
My Original Notes (1997):
Excellent! Just as good as Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. Made me laugh and cry. What a marvelous author. Interesting device to use different characters' voices for each chapter. Varies the story's point of view. [I must not have encountered this before, but it's very common in the books I read now!] Highly recommend!
My Current Thoughts:
I wish I could remember more about this novel and I no longer own a copy, so I can't glance back and see if I highlighted any passages. Funny that I had never read (or noticed) a book with alternating points of view! I do believe it's time to reread both Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood (which I talked about here) and Little Altars Everywhere. I think I need to devote an entire month to rereading some of my favorites!
Little Altars Everywhere by Rebecca Wells
Fiction
1996 Harper Collins (first published in 1992)
Finished in December 1997
Rating: 4.5/5 (Very Good!)
Publisher's Blurb:
"We are swinging high, flying way up, higher than in real life. And when I look down, I see all the ordinary stuff--our brick house, the porch, the tool shed, the clothesline, the chinaberry tree. But they are all lit up from inside so their everyday selves have holy sparks, they'd go and kneel in front of them and pray and just feel good. Somehow the whole world looks like little altars everywhere."Little Altars Everywhere is a national bestseller, a companion to Rebecca Wells's celebrated novel Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. Originally published in 1992, Little Altars introduces Sidda, Vivi, the rest of the spirited Walker Clan, and the indomitable Ya-Yas. It is now available for the first time in hardcover.
Told in alternating voices of Vivi and her husband, Big Shep, along with Sidda, her siblings Little Shep, Lulu, Baylor, and Cheney and Willetta--the black couple who impact the Walkers' lives in ways they may never fully comprehend--Little Altars embraces nearly thirty years of life on their plantation in Thorton, Louisiana, where the cloying air of the bayou and a web of family secrets of once shelter, trap, and define an utterly original community of souls.
Who can resist the rich cadences of Sidda Walker and her flamboyant, secretive mother, Vivi? Here, the young Sidda--a precocious reader and an eloquent observer of the fault lines that divide her family--leads us her mischievous adventures at Our Lady of Divine Compassion parochial school and beyond. A Catholic girl of pristine manners, devotion, and provocative ideas, Sidda is the very essence of childhood joy and sorrow.
In a series of luminous reminiscences, we also hear Little Shep's stories of his eccentric grandmother, Lulu's matter-of-fact account of her shoplifting skills, and Baylor's memories of Vivi and her friends, the Ya-Yas.
Beneath the humor and tight-knit bonds of family and friendship lie the undercurrents of alcoholism, abuse, and violence. The overlapping recollections of how the Walker's charming life uncoils to convey their heartbreaking confusion are at once unsettling and familiar. Wells creates an unforgettable portrait and funny attempts to keep reality at arm's length. Through our laughter, we feel their inevitable pain, with a glimmer of hope for forgiveness and healing.
An arresting combination of colloquialism, poetry, and grace, Little Altars Everywhere is an insightful, piercing, and unflinching evocation of childhood, a loving tribute to the transformative power of faith, and a thoroughly fresh chronicle of a family that is as haunted as it is blessed.
My Original Notes (1997):
Excellent! Just as good as Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. Made me laugh and cry. What a marvelous author. Interesting device to use different characters' voices for each chapter. Varies the story's point of view. [I must not have encountered this before, but it's very common in the books I read now!] Highly recommend!
My Current Thoughts:
I wish I could remember more about this novel and I no longer own a copy, so I can't glance back and see if I highlighted any passages. Funny that I had never read (or noticed) a book with alternating points of view! I do believe it's time to reread both Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood (which I talked about here) and Little Altars Everywhere. I think I need to devote an entire month to rereading some of my favorites!
Labels:
4.5/5,
Books Read in 1997,
Humorous,
Looking Back,
prequel,
Southern Fiction
July 26, 2018
Morningstar: Growing Up with Books
Morningstar: Growing Up with Books by Ann Hood
Nonfiction - Memoir
2017 W. W. Norton & Company
Finished on January 5, 2018
Rating: 4/5 (Very Good)
Publisher's Blurb:
In her admired works of fiction, including most recently The Book That Matters Most, Ann Hood explores the transformative power of literature. Now, with warmth and honesty, Hood reveals the personal story behind these beloved novels.
Growing up in a mill town in Rhode Island, in a household that didn't foster a love of literature, Ann Hood discovered nonetheless the companionship of books. She learned to channel her imagination, ambitions, and curiosity by devouring ever-growing stacks. In Morningstar, Hood recollects how The Bell Jar, Marjorie Morningstar, The Harrad Experiment, and The Outsiders influenced her teen psyche and introduced her to topics that could not be discussed at home: desire, fear, sexuality, and madness. Later Johnny Got His Gun and The Grapes of Wrath dramatically influenced her political thinking while the Vietnam War and the Kent State shootings became headline news, and classics such as Dr. Zhivago and Les Miserables stoked her ambitions to travel the world. With characteristic insight and charm, Hood showcases the ways in which books gave her life and can transform--even save--our own lives.
I am so glad I trusted my instincts and bought a hardcover copy of this little gem-of-a-book before the holidays. I read Hood's previous book (The Book That Matters Most) last year and enjoyed her writing style so well that I added her entire backlist to my TBR list on Goodreads. Not only was I eager to read more by her, but a book about books is an immediate purchase for me. This one did not disappoint. I only have a few pages marked, but as I read them a second time, I know that I will return to this book in the coming year, making notes of more books to read and recommend to my book club.
My only quibbles about Morningstar is that Hood has a tendency to repeat herself and there are a few times in which she states the obvious (for example, she mentions well-known facts and details about World War II and Vietnam with which most adults are familiar), but her general love of books and her reactions and feelings about specific books (The Grapes of Wrath and The Bell Jar, to name just a couple) are spot-on. In addition to inspiring me to reread The Grapes of Wrath, she has also given me reason to add Majorie Morningstar and Rabbit, Run to my future reading list.
Favorite Passages:
Before Skip gave me that boxed set of Steinbeck, no one had ever given me a book as a gift. But the gift was even bigger than he'd imagined. When I read the first line of The Grapes of Wrath--"To the red country and part of the gray of Oklahoma, the last rains came gently, and they did not cut the scarred earth"--some writerly thing broke loose in me. "Spread a page with shining," Steinbeck once advised writers, and I could see that shine as I read. I understood it. I had read big, fat novels before, losing myself in Victor Hugo's Les Miserables and Boris Pasternak's Doctor Zhivago. Those sweeping stories, tragedies and triumphs spanning years and years, had captivated me for their otherness. But The Grapes of Wrath was so American, and the Joads so familiar somehow, and the language so lyrical, and the setting so real, that by reading it I saw what writers could do. And it dazzled me.and
It did not occur to me that somewhere in the library sat volumes of poetry. It seemed to me a precious thing, a poem, and I could not begin to imagine where poems resided. But one night as I played my favorite album, Simon and Garfunkel's Sound of Silence, it struck me that its eponymous song was actually a poem. Wasn't darkness, my old friend personification? And words like silent raindrops fell a simile? The neon God a metaphor? I played the song over and over, a notebook in hand, teasing out its meaning. Then I turned my attention to I am a rock--metaphor! I am an island! When we had to write a paper on our favorite poet, my classmate Nancy wrote hers on Robert Frost and Steven wrote his on Edgar Allan Poe. But me, I wrote mine on Paul Simon.and
Isn't this the magic of books? That a fourteen-year-old girl can exactly identify with the fictional character of a twenty-six-year-old, married, former basketball star from Pennsylvania just as readily as that same girl--Italian American, blue-collar, Catholic in a small town--exactly identifies with Majorie Morningstar, an upper-middle-class Jewish girl in New York City? When I read Rabbit, Run, I understood that Rabbit, and John Updike, knew me. The me I didn't think anyone else saw.
and
This is why we all read, isn't it? To know the world and ourselves better. To find our place in that world. Even if you did have access to readers and guidance on what to read, even if you grew up in a family that loved to read and owned shelves of books, still, still, one day a book falls into your hands--perhaps it's Beloved or A Wrinkle in Time or A Tree Grows in Brooklyn; perhaps it's Great Expectations or Pride and Prejudice--whatever book it is, it falls into your hands at just the right moment when you need to read it. It transforms you. Perhaps it lifts you up when you are at your lowest; perhaps it shows you what love is, or what it feels like to lose love; perhaps it brings you places far away or shows you how to stay put when you need to.There are so many books about books and books about readers, many of which I've read and are sitting on my "keeper shelf" for future readings. Ann Hood has written a gem, which is short enough to read annually, but not long enough to satisfy my curiosity about any other books she has loved and can recommend. Morningstar is a perfect gift for any book lover and I'm so happy I gifted it to myself this past Christmas.
Labels:
2018,
4/5,
Ann Hood,
book about books,
Memoir
July 24, 2018
The House at Tyneford
The House at Tyneford by Natasha Solomons
Fiction
2011 Plume
Finished on December 27, 2017
Rating: 4.5/5 (Very Good!)
Publisher's Blurb:
It's the spring of 1938 and no longer safe to be a Jew in Vienna. Nineteen-year-old Elise Landau is forced to leave her glittering life of parties and champagne to become a parlour maid in England. She arrives at Tyneford, the great house on the bay, where servants polish silver and serve drinks on the lawn. But war is coming, and the world is changing. When the master of Tyneford's young son, Kit, returns home, he and Elise strike up an unlikely upstairs-downstairs friendship that will transform Tyneford--and Elise--forever.
It's probably a good thing that I didn't recognize Natasha Solomons' name or remember that she wrote Mr. Rosenblum Dreams in English (which I wrote about here). Had I realized that The House at Tyneford wasn't my first encounter with Solomons' writing, and that I was disappointed with her previous novel, I doubt I would have given this book a try. Thank goodness for a poor memory, as I loved this wonderful novel! I began reading it in October, but for some reason wound up setting it aside. When I finally got back to the book, I started over from the beginning and wound up loving the lush, rich writing, reminiscent of Rosamunde Pilcher's prose.
I remember that Sunday with absolute clarity--it was one of those perfect June mornings that make one certain Eden was a summer's day in southern England. The bells rang out across the hillside, chiming with the tinkle of the sheep bells in the field beside the churchyard. Swallows zoomed across the empty sky, while on a stone wall a black cat watched yellow ducklings dabble on the pond with greedy eyes. I took a deep breath and filled my lungs with summer. The air was laced with the fragrance of a thousand wildflowers and the sunlight made the snapdragons and foxgloves in the cottage gardens shine vermillion pink. The entire countryside was smeared with colour; the sky a bold, throbbing blue and beneath it the meadows sprinkled with buttercups, shining like gold coins. Back then I didn't know the names of the flowers--they came later--but now instead of patches of orange and yellow petals, I recall cowslips and creeping jenny. In the distance the sea sparkled and glittered, white spray crashing on the shore.The House at Tyneford reminds me of an old-fashioned story that has a mixture of romance and suspense, with characters you either love or despise, bringing to mind classics such as Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights. It's been a long time since I've read such an engrossing novel and with over 350 pages, I still wanted more. Now that Downton Abbey is finished, I would love to see a TV series based on this novel, especially since I love the World War II time period.
There was no use objecting. I hurried out of the kitchen and went to straighten my hair and splash my face. Despite the lack of staff, and the inordinate distance between kitchen and dining room, standards had to be maintained. The digging up of the potato patch and the disappearance of the underservants had disturbed Mrs. Ellsworth, and she sought reassurance in the details of luncheon in the wainscoted dining room at one o'clock. Mr. Wrexham, walking past the kitchen door with his laden tray and perfectly starched shirt, proved to her that England was mighty and indestructible. Wars might be declared, kitchen boys vanish to join the navy, blackout curtains smother the french windows and previously reliable footmen leave without notice, but lunch would be served at five minutes past one and the butler would wear white cotton gloves.Could it be that, between novels, Solomons became a more polished, sophisticated writer or did she simply have a better editor this time around? The answer to that question will most likely go unanswered, but if you ask if I will read more by her, my reply is an emphatic yes! Without a doubt!
Labels:
2017,
4.5/5,
Historical Fiction,
Natasha Solomons,
World War II
July 21, 2018
Bandon - Day Four
October 25, 2017
Bandon, Oregon
Bullards Beach State Park
Another slow, lazy morning. I caught up on social media while Rod did a little freelance work. The campground was quiet and the sun was shining, giving promise to another beautiful day.
A room with a view. Sort of. Our site had plenty of shrubs, providing a decent amount of privacy.
We decided to go into town for lunch and went back to the Bandon Fish Market, a spot we tried a few years ago. Sadly, it wasn't nearly as good as that first visit.
We had planned to drive over to the beach, but the clouds were rolling in, so we headed over to Face Rock Creamery for ice cream. These are "small" servings! We were definitely not disappointed with this treat!
After indulging in all of that ice cream, I decided to go for a little bike ride. Sunshine, no wind and warm (but not hot) temps made for a beautiful afternoon ride. I could ride for hours on a stretch of road like this one!
I spotted a coyote in the field and quickly jumped off my bike so I could get some pictures.
Once he found a safe distance, he stopped and looked back at me before heading toward the ridge. I should have brought my good camera with the telephoto lens!
Ah, back to my favorite lighthouse.
I love this huge piece of wood. I can't imagine it washing ashore, but in a winter storm, anything is possible.
A view of the town of Bandon from the lighthouse.
Evening glow.
No wind, so the river was very calm.
Another fun evening listening to Game 2 of the World Series. It was actually a very thrilling game. The Astros beat the Dodgers 7-6 in extra innings after five hours!
Bandon, Oregon
Bullards Beach State Park
Another slow, lazy morning. I caught up on social media while Rod did a little freelance work. The campground was quiet and the sun was shining, giving promise to another beautiful day.
A room with a view. Sort of. Our site had plenty of shrubs, providing a decent amount of privacy.
We decided to go into town for lunch and went back to the Bandon Fish Market, a spot we tried a few years ago. Sadly, it wasn't nearly as good as that first visit.
We had planned to drive over to the beach, but the clouds were rolling in, so we headed over to Face Rock Creamery for ice cream. These are "small" servings! We were definitely not disappointed with this treat!
After indulging in all of that ice cream, I decided to go for a little bike ride. Sunshine, no wind and warm (but not hot) temps made for a beautiful afternoon ride. I could ride for hours on a stretch of road like this one!
I spotted a coyote in the field and quickly jumped off my bike so I could get some pictures.
He was a little skittish and started to run off after he spotted me.
Ah, back to my favorite lighthouse.
I love this huge piece of wood. I can't imagine it washing ashore, but in a winter storm, anything is possible.
A view of the town of Bandon from the lighthouse.
Evening glow.
No wind, so the river was very calm.
Another fun evening listening to Game 2 of the World Series. It was actually a very thrilling game. The Astros beat the Dodgers 7-6 in extra innings after five hours!
July 20, 2018
Looking Back - All Over but the Shoutin'
Looking Back... In an effort to transfer my book journal entries over to this blog, I'm going to attempt to post (in chronological order) an entry every Friday. I may or may not add extra commentary to what I jotted down in these journals.
All Over but the Shoutin' by Rick Bragg
Memoir
1997 Pantheon Books
Finished on December 22, 1997
Rating: 5/5 (Outstanding!)
Publisher's Blurb:
A haunting memoir about growing up dirt-poor in the pines of Alabama--and about moving on but never really being able to leave.
The extraordinary gifts for evocation and insight and the stunning talent for storytelling that earned Rick Bragg a Pulitzer Prize for feature writing in 1996 are here brought to bear on the wrenching story of his own family's life. It is the story of a war-haunted, hard-drinking father and a strong-willed, loving mother who struggled to protect her sons from the effects of poverty and ignorance that had constricted her own life. It is the story of the life Bragg was able to carve out for himself on the strength of his mother's encouragement and belief. And it is the story of his attempts to both atone for and avenge the mistakes and cruelties of his past.
All Over but the Shoutin' is a gripping account of people struggling to make sense and solidity of life's capricious promises. A classic piece of Americana, it is made vividly, movingly particular by Rick Bragg's searching vision, generous humor, and richly nuanced voice.
My Original Notes (1997):
The best book I've read all year. The absolute best!
He made me laugh out loud. Made me almost cry. Made me want to meet him and his mama.
Bragg writes the most beautiful sentences!
My Current Thoughts:
I was born in Canada and raised in California, but after reading anything Rick Bragg writes, I can't help but speak with a southern drawl. Words and phrases such as, Y'all, poooool, Sugar, and bless her heart have suddenly wormed their way into my vocabulary! All joking aside, this man can write. His gorgeous phrasing reminds me of Pat Conroy's lyrical passages in Beach Music. (Oh, those Southern writers.) He makes me laugh and tugs at my heartstrings. I read this book over twenty years ago and it's remained on my shelf of lifetime favorites, waiting to be read again. I think it's time. It is truly fine writing.
Rick Bragg writes like a man on fire. And All Over but the Shoutin' is a work of art. I thought of Melville, I thought of Faulkner. Because I love the English language, I knew I was reading one of the best books I've ever read. By explaining his life to the world, Rick Bragg explained part of my life to me. I fell in love with is mother a hundred times. I wept when the book ended. I never met Rick Bragg in my life, but I called him up and told him he'd written a masterpiece, and I sent flowers to his mother. ~Pat Conroy
Searingly honest, beautifully written, All Over but the Shoutin' is perhaps the most courageous thing Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist Rick Bragg has ever written. Bragg has never failed to record the grace and dignity of people who life their lives in the margins. Here he gives us the story of himself, a child of poor white Southerners, and of his family--an alcoholic, mostly absent father, and an extraordinary mother, quietly heroic in the face of devastating poverty. Bragg looks down the corridors of his past with love, hate, humor, regret, self-doubt, and understanding. In the telling, he may occasionally flinch, but he never turns away. ~Willie Morris
Bragg's tribute, a love story for his mother, honored her for the sacrifices she made as a mother. What a remarkable way to say thank you.
All Over but the Shoutin' by Rick Bragg
Memoir
1997 Pantheon Books
Finished on December 22, 1997
Rating: 5/5 (Outstanding!)
Publisher's Blurb:
A haunting memoir about growing up dirt-poor in the pines of Alabama--and about moving on but never really being able to leave.
The extraordinary gifts for evocation and insight and the stunning talent for storytelling that earned Rick Bragg a Pulitzer Prize for feature writing in 1996 are here brought to bear on the wrenching story of his own family's life. It is the story of a war-haunted, hard-drinking father and a strong-willed, loving mother who struggled to protect her sons from the effects of poverty and ignorance that had constricted her own life. It is the story of the life Bragg was able to carve out for himself on the strength of his mother's encouragement and belief. And it is the story of his attempts to both atone for and avenge the mistakes and cruelties of his past.
All Over but the Shoutin' is a gripping account of people struggling to make sense and solidity of life's capricious promises. A classic piece of Americana, it is made vividly, movingly particular by Rick Bragg's searching vision, generous humor, and richly nuanced voice.
My Original Notes (1997):
The best book I've read all year. The absolute best!
He made me laugh out loud. Made me almost cry. Made me want to meet him and his mama.
Bragg writes the most beautiful sentences!
My Current Thoughts:
I was born in Canada and raised in California, but after reading anything Rick Bragg writes, I can't help but speak with a southern drawl. Words and phrases such as, Y'all, poooool, Sugar, and bless her heart have suddenly wormed their way into my vocabulary! All joking aside, this man can write. His gorgeous phrasing reminds me of Pat Conroy's lyrical passages in Beach Music. (Oh, those Southern writers.) He makes me laugh and tugs at my heartstrings. I read this book over twenty years ago and it's remained on my shelf of lifetime favorites, waiting to be read again. I think it's time. It is truly fine writing.
Rick Bragg writes like a man on fire. And All Over but the Shoutin' is a work of art. I thought of Melville, I thought of Faulkner. Because I love the English language, I knew I was reading one of the best books I've ever read. By explaining his life to the world, Rick Bragg explained part of my life to me. I fell in love with is mother a hundred times. I wept when the book ended. I never met Rick Bragg in my life, but I called him up and told him he'd written a masterpiece, and I sent flowers to his mother. ~Pat Conroy
Searingly honest, beautifully written, All Over but the Shoutin' is perhaps the most courageous thing Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist Rick Bragg has ever written. Bragg has never failed to record the grace and dignity of people who life their lives in the margins. Here he gives us the story of himself, a child of poor white Southerners, and of his family--an alcoholic, mostly absent father, and an extraordinary mother, quietly heroic in the face of devastating poverty. Bragg looks down the corridors of his past with love, hate, humor, regret, self-doubt, and understanding. In the telling, he may occasionally flinch, but he never turns away. ~Willie Morris
Bragg's tribute, a love story for his mother, honored her for the sacrifices she made as a mother. What a remarkable way to say thank you.
Labels:
5/5,
Books Read in 1997,
Looking Back,
Memoir,
Rick Bragg,
Southern Authors,
Top Ten
July 18, 2018
Wordless Wednesday
Labels:
On My Walk,
Oregon Coast,
sea stars,
tidepools,
Wordless Wednesday
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