Fiction | Picky Girl: I read. I teach. I blog. (pickily)

Review: Appointment in Samarra by John O’Hara

May 072013

*This book was sent to me by the publisher, Penguin Classics Deluxe Edition, in exchange for an honest review.

In one of the greatest scenes I’ve read in recent memory, Julian English fantasizes about throwing his drink in the face of Harry Reilly. What has Harry done? Nothing, really. But at this particular dance, Harry Reilly tells story after story, and it’s not just that – Harry has a specific method to his storytelling, mannerisms of which Julian tires. But he dissuades himself, reminding himself that Harry has loaned him quite a bit of money to pull Julian out of a pinch at the Cadillac dealership. Plus, Julian’s afraid people might think it’s because Harry dotes on Julian’s wife, Caroline.

The narrative passes, and then one partygoer tells another that Julian did indeed toss his drink into Harry Reilly’s face, and as the inside of the book says, “in one rash moment born inside a highball glass, Julian breaks with polite society and begins a rapid descent toward self-destruction.”

Just a small indiscretion in the scheme of things, really, but in 1930s suburban Pennsylvania, Julian’s action threatens to topple the carefully placed house of cards that the city of Gibbsville and its elite have created. In a society where single men and women are paired off based on their looks and prospects, and the society page lists who attended whose party, Julian has willfully placed himself outside the rules, and O’Hara depicts Julian’s existential crisis in brilliant moments of stream of consciousness and internal monologue. As Julian remarks at one point, there are other, worse indiscretions – affairs conducted under the nose of one’s wife; domestic abuse; suicide – but those are one offs. Julian English’s breach is not just societal; it’s seen as evidence of English’s hatred of Catholics (Reilly is a Catholic), as evidence of his snobbishness, as his place is higher than that of Reilly’s.

John O’Hara is near brutal in his descriptions of the various characters in Appointment in Samarra – deftly describing a well-respected doctor and a small-time whiskey runner in equally harsh light. Even Julian’s wife, the lovely and admired Caroline, doesn’t escape his ire. Though she loves her husband, she’s much too concerned with the demise of the couple’s social status to concern herself with her husband’s rapid descent. Yet even in O’Hara’s bald depictions of these people, there is sympathy, to the end. For, if any people were more a product of the times, it’s the Gibbsville set. Bound by their conventions but expected to be young and free and daring, the men and women in Appointment in Samarra are, much like the title of the book, destined to burn quick and bright before meeting their fates.

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Review: Aunt Dimity & the Lost Prince

blogging, bookish, fiction, fun read, mystery

Apr 302013

*This book was sent to me by the publisher, Viking Books, in exchange for an honest review.

I’ve heard it said that when the poet T.S. Eliot was writing The Wasteland, he chose February as the cruelest month, then changed it to April in revisions. If you ask me, he got it right the first time. As far as I’m concerned, February’s only redeeming feature is its brevity. If it were any longer, I would tear it from my calendar in protest.

Lori Shepherd is in mom hell. Her husband is in sunny Majorca, and she’s stuck inside with eight-year-old twin boys. Bad weather has shut down school, and the only thing keeping her sane is her neighbor, Bree Pym. Seeking refuge from paint fumes at her own home, Bree helps keep the boys entertained by suggesting a trip to Skeaping Manor.

Full of ghoulish exhibits, Skeaping Manor is…unique, and Lori leaves the boys to ogle shrunken heads with Bree and heads up to visit the silver only to find an enigmatic little girl in a pink puffy coat looking at a silver salt cellar. When the little girl, Daisy, tells Lori about the origin of the salt cellar and a lost Russian prince, Lori is struck by the little girl’s poise and sadness. So when she finds a pink coat like the little girl was wearing with a silver salt cellar in the pocket the next day at a charity shop, Lori thinks maybe Daisy was telling the truth. She’s even more curious when she finds out Daisy and her mother have left town without a trace.

With Aunt Dimity’s supernatural wisdom comforting her, Lori strikes out with Bree by her side, learning a little something about herself and the “lost prince” they seek.

This is my first go round with Aunt Dimity, and it certainly won’t be my last. I had no idea Aunt Dimity was otherworldly – she doesn’t quite seem to be a ghost – but I was a bit skeptical. No fear! Aunt Dimity & the Lost Prince was absolutely one of the most fun cozy mysteries I’ve read in a while, and I’ve already scoped out the ebook prices to see how many I can buy on payday.

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Review: The River of No Return by Bee Ridgway

blogging, bookish, fiction, fun read, mystery, picky, romance, travel

Apr 252013

*This book was sent to me by the publisher, Dutton, in exchange for an honest review.

Julia Percy sits beside her grandfather’s deathbed, grieving his coming death and anxious about what life without him means. As an orphan whose cruel cousin Eamon will come into the family estate and title, Julia is concerned. Plus, the magic of her life, her grandfather’s ability to manipulate time, will die with him, and it saddens her.

Meanwhile, Nick Davenant is 200 years in the future and an ocean away. Having jumped just as death was imminent on the battlefield, Lord Nicholas Falcott wakes up to the knowledge that he can never go back. The Guild, a secret network of time travelers, trains him to live in his new present and gives him a new name and an ungodly amount of money to adjust.

And he’s mostly fine with that, except the dark eyes of a young woman haunt his dreams. When an edict from The Guild arrives, Nick learns that everything he’s believed about time travel is false, that he can go back – and The Guild needs him to return to his own time because there are others like him but with different, more sinister aims. Nick is hesitant to return, but he’s thrilled to reunite with his mother and sisters and the dark-eyed girl, Julia, the granddaughter of an earl who lives in the neighboring estate.

Time travel in The River of No Return is no scientific experiment. Instead, time jumpers only move within the river of time through periods of intense emotion – and most jumpers only discover their abilities on the point of death. Learning to harness that energy is Nick’s task. Julia, on the other hand, is unaware of her abilities, thinking her grandfather was the manipulator of time. As her cousin attempts to find the talisman, something he believes will give him these abilities, Julia comes to realize her grandfather was not the manipulator…she is. Her abilities far exceed those of her grandfather or The Guild, and that puts the dark-eyed Julia, the woman Nick realizes he loves, in danger.

I don’t think there’s much you can say about a book that kept you up until 3:45 a.m., but I’ll try. The story of my relationship with this book began when I told the publicist I was intrigued by the premise of a different sort of time travel novel. The relationship heightened when I opened the package and discovered an absolutely beautiful book tucked inside. I actually gasped. I knew it was true love when I didn’t eat dinner, missed the gym, and only looked up at 3:45 a.m., the book finished and tucked by my side. Even after I set it down, I thought about this book, part time travel, part Regency romance, all adventure. Now that’s a good read.

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I’m a Book Pusher 2: WBN 2013

blogging, bookish, fiction, poetry

Apr 242013

Last night I joined over 25,000 people in the United States who were giving away books for World Book Night. In its second year, World Book Night is a collaboration between publishers, authors, and booksellers (as well as donors) to spread the love of reading. Thank you so much to the World Book Night organizers for allowing me to be part of such an amazing event. Check out my thoughts from last year.

After a mad dash home from work and a dozen texts between me and my mom (who was a giver this year, too), I feverishly began making bookmarks as I did last year to pass out with my book – Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris. Because I’m trying to get back into my gym routine, I decided not to skip but instead bring a copy to my Zumba instructor, a guy with a wicked sense of humor. He said he was actually familiar with Sedaris because he had been in a production of The Santaland Diaries, so I knew it would likely be a hit.

Hot, red in the face, and sweaty from Zumba, I met my mom in the parking lot of the park where we handed out books last year. In the minutes I was waiting for her, I turned to “You Can’t Kill the Rooster” and proceeded reading and laughing until tears were streaming down my face. In it, Sedaris describes his younger brother, the one his parents were too exhausted to discipline in the same manner as David, going from warnings of “Don’t smoke pot” to “Don’t smoke pot in the living room” in about a decade. Full of obscenities but absolutely hilarious, the story is gold. My mom walked up and asked why I was crying. As I tried to explain, tears streaming down my face and still laughing, she listened, but I don’t think I quite got across to her the extent of the bad language…

She and I headed toward a fire station – her brilliant idea – and we spent a pleasant time visiting with the firemen and getting a tour of the station. She even climbed up into the truck while I snapped a few photos. She was handing out a volume of American poetry in large print, a vastly different type of book and honestly, an easier sell to most.

Mom checking out the fire engine. We passed on putting on the uniforms.

After enjoying a visit with the firemen and seeing the obvious pride they take in their work, we headed to the gym, my not-so-smart idea. Duh. People are working out. It’s difficult enough to approach people, and approaching them while they’re hot and sweaty didn’t seem the best idea. We had discussed going back to the hospice center where we gave last year, but today was 6 months to the day that my grandmother died there, and strange though it was that we’d been there to give out books just months before her arrival there and her death, neither of us felt like going.

On to the grocery store! It was overcast today, and not many people were out and about, so we decided the grocery store might be perfect. We checked with the manager at the grocery store near my house, and she ok’d it. Not only did she ok it, but she also wanted a copy of each of our books. She explained that she does like to read but that just having finished school, she was ready to read for fun.

We gave out a few books, with one guy even opening the book of poetry and reciting it to us as his girlfriend laughed from the car. Everyone was appreciative and excited once they got over the wariness of a stranger coming at them with a book.

So a friend has another friend on FB who posted about getting one of our books. She didn’t know we were passing them out but knew enough to ask if it was me. It was!

Mom and I then headed out to the entrance, and only then did we realize our problem. Mom’s giving away mostly wholesome, all-American poetry. I’m handing out a book that drops the “f-bomb” more frequently than a Real Housewife and uses the word “turd” – a word I cannot believe I just typed and that I’ve never used. So mom’s talking up her book of poems to little old ladies and turns to me: “And she has a book of essays!”

I’m trying to give her “the eye” to tell her this might not be the right fit, but oblivious to my discomfort, we hand one of my books over to an unsuspecting elderly Indian lady in traditional garb.

“Mom, I don’t think you realize just what this book (shaking it a bit) has in it,” I said after the lady walked away.

“Is it vulgar?”

“Well, it’s not exactly Best Pastoral American Poems,” I said.

So we changed our tactic. We had an unspoken agreement. Women with young children or older people in professional clothes got the poetry book. Who ended up with my book? I don’t know that I can describe it. You just get a sense about people. I’d open with an explanation of what World Book Night is, describe the book, and then offer it up.

“If you’re easily offended or don’t like bad language, it might not be for you,” I said.

“It’s racy,” my mom said.

I don’t know about you, but racy is a word I reserve for lingerie or 50s movies such as Peyton Place, but it did the trick. People grabbed at it. So beware. If you were in the Kroger parking lot in Beaumont today and got Me Talk Pretty One Day, I don’t want any complaints. You’ve been warned: it’s racy.

Review: Let’s Explore Diabetes with Owls by David Sedaris (& Giveaway)

blogging, bookish, fiction, fun read, giveaway, nonfiction, picky

Apr 232013

*This book was sent to me by the publisher Little, Brown in exchange for an honest review.

I am an unabashed fan of David Sedaris and have been, from the first time I cracked open Naked on an airplane and embarrassed my sister by laughing out loud for the greater majority of the flight. Since my Sedaris reading was all pre-blog, I haven’t had an opportunity to share my love until today*. When I read that his latest book would come out this week, I decided I would gift it to myself for my birthday. Then, lo and behold, this book (actually two copies) appeared on my doorstep last month. I may have been a little excited, considering I’d just driven home from Dallas (a five-hour drive) but plopped down and read this in one sitting.

After the disappointment of When You Are Engulfed in Flames, I was nervous about Let’s Explore Diabetes with Owls. I needn’t have been. One of the first stories describes how Sedaris’s father would drop trou each evening, remaining all business up top but sporting his undies for all and sundry to see, regardless of who or what was about. He talks about his parents, and their parenting methods, comparing them to modern parents: “I don’t know how these couples do it, spend hours each night tucking their kids in, reading them books … then rereading them if the child so orders. In my house, our parents put us to bed with two simple words: “Shut up.” That was always the last thing we heard before our lights were turned off. Our artwork did not hang on the refrigerator or anywhere near it, because our parents recognized it for what it was: crap. They did not live in a child’s house, we lived in theirs.” Harsh as it sounds, Sedaris successfully points out the pretty massive changes in our societal view and treatment of children now as compared to many of our own childhoods.

Along with his typical essays are short, fictitious monologues (which I could have done without), a form he says he’s learned from teens who perform “Forensics” for judges, and Sedaris is sharp tongued in the monologues, pointing out the absurdity of all of us – a man who justifies murder because of gay marriage, a woman writing to berate her sister for a cheap wedding gift after she’s stolen the sister’s intended – but he’s just as pointedly critical of himself. He discusses his compulsive diary writing: “I tried rereading it recently and came away wondering, Who is this exhausting drug addict? I wanted to deny him, but that’s the terrible power of a diary: it not only calls forth the person you used to be but rubs your nose in him, reminding you that not all change is evolutionary. More often than not, you didn’t learn from your mistakes…”

Although not as packed with laughs as perhaps Naked or Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, Sedaris’s collection reflects a maturing essayist and humorist. Yet even with the moments of sincerity and sobering self examination, Let’s Explore Diabetes is the bold, funny, and mildly offensive return to the Sedaris for which most have long waited.

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*Which I’ll do in this review but also as I hand out copies of Me Talk Pretty One Day for World Book Night. Yippee!

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