New Century Reading

The Overstory

I hardly know how to describe this book. It's a novel about trees. Or a novel about people and how their lives are affected by trees, from the young woman who becomes a scientist passionately devoted to learning about trees and writes a book similar to this one, to a young man in Vietnam whose life is saved when he lands in a tree after abandoning his burning airplane, or another young man whose family has been photographing a rare American chestnut for generations, or a young college student on the verge of flunking out of college who dies in a freak accident but comes back to life desperately needing to save trees. 

It's also by necessity a book about the dire consequences of destroying trees and the havoc man is wreaking upon the planet by doing so. Powers is clearly on the side of saving the trees, and maybe it's because I'm on the same side that I didn't find him preachy at all. Instead, I marveled at the large cast of characters, all fully fleshed out, and how the stories gradually intertwine even while covering decades. He's a cerebral writer and also deeply interested in science, and he's clearly done an intense amount of research. But his writing doesn't come across as didactic, just literary and thoughtful, and so engrossing.

I did have a couple of quibbles along the way, including how he delays relaying a specific piece of information to the reader, but it's fairly clear what that info is early on. There was no need to hold it back. On the other hand, he lightly weaves in what might be magical realism--or is it? Maybe it's just the mental health of the characters involved. Or maybe it's both.

But in the end, while I've always been a fan of trees and a person who's growing more and more concerned about environmental issues, this book made me hyper aware of trees and their role in the world. I read the last third of the book while on a trip in the northernmost part of Minnesota, along Lake of the Woods, where trees are plenteous:

But there's also a paper mill up there that's a big source of jobs, so driving down the long highway, it wasn't uncommon to come across areas where trees are being logged. It would have made me a little sad before, but while reading this book? Heartbroken. And feeling like I need to learn a lot more about trees.

Highly recommended, but allow some time--it's not a quick read.

I Am, I Am, I Am

"On the path ahead, stepping out from behind a boulder, a man appears."

Pretty much every woman I know would read this opening sentence to Maggie O'Farrell's memoir, I Am, I Am, I Am, with a sickening jolt. It's the worst nightmare for all of us: We're out doing something benign, like taking a walk on a nice day, but we're alone, and suddenly...

This book is an examination of O'Farrell's brushes with death throughout her life, and not always her own. From the incredibly opening memory of being approached by an unknown, menacing man while out walking in the hills, to dealing with a string of miscarriages, to having fought off a deadly disease as a child herself, to having been a willful child who's mother probably was not sure would make it to adulthood, she looks at living, and dying, and what constitutes living. 

It's at times horrifyingly vivid. But that shows what a good writer can do with this kind of material.

It also made me reflect on some of my own weaknesses and short-sighted moments. While reading of a third near-loss while swimming, I found myself impatiently thinking, Didn't you learn anything the first two times??

But then I reminded myself of how, as I've gotten older, I've gotten increasingly terrified of heights. I know this about myself. I know that even a taller-than-normal down escalator gives me vertigo. So why, when my husband I recently went to Las Vegas, did I propose the idea of going to the observation deck of the replica Eiffel Tower? What made me think that would be the exception? 

It wasn't the exception, and I nearly had a full-blown panic attack 500+ feet in the air. We are all capable of denial and magical thinking. 

In any event, the message that O'Farrell urgently states throughout this book is: Don't be afraid of life. You don't know when it will end. Go on living, as best as you can. A worthy message at any time. 

The Wolf Border

A while ago, I read The Carhullan Army by Sarah Hall, and while it had some flaws, I thought it was interesting. Recently another blogger posted about one of Hall's more recent books, which sounded interesting--and very different from Carhullan Army--so I decided to give it a go.

The Wolf Border is also set in the north of England, but that's where any comparison to Carhullan ends. The Wolf Border is the story of Rachel Caine, a British woman living in Idaho and working on a team of people focused on helping the wolf population recover and grow. She's satisfied in Idaho; the work is fulfilling, she has friends, and she's far from her (to put it mildly) difficult, eccentric mother. She takes a trip to visit Britain at the invitation of a wealthy British Earl, who has some ideas about reintroducing wolves to Britain and wants to offer her a job. But after visiting her mother, she politely rejects the job and returns to Idaho.

Then her mother dies, and things fall apart. Soon she realizes she's pregnant at almost 40 with the child of someone she works with, respects, cares for--but doesn't necessarily see as a life partner. Impulsively, she calls the Earl and asks if the job is still open. So back to Britain she goes.

This sounds like a book with lots of drama, and in some ways, it is. On returning to Britain, Rachel tentatively tries to establish a relationship with her brother and chilly sister-in-law that leads to unexpected outcomes. She deals with outraged locals who want nothing to do with wolves returning to the area. She handles another employee who clearly doesn't like her mission. And she gestates, growing a baby, giving birth, and learns how to juggle babies and work. (Or, as many parents know, how that often does and does not work.)

And yet, there's something calm and peaceful about this book for the most part. I considered it a quiet read, yet captivating. Author Hall creates a parallel between Rachel's changing life and her work with the wolves, but Hall carefully (and wisely) does not overuse the metaphor. The wolves are Rachel's career. She's an expert. This is what she does. And it's a lot of work, something Hall details and something I enjoyed reading about. Note: I also appreciated Hall's attention to work in Carhullan, because life in a dystopic world doesn't mean the end of daily work. Hall has a great grasp of that.

My only quibble is that I felt the ending dragged on too long. I don't want to give spoilers, so I won't explain that; I just felt it could have been more concise, which would have given it more of an emotional punch. Still, I'm so glad to have read this and just requested another book by her from the library.

 

Fidelity

I stumbled onto Wendell Berry recently. I mean, I've always been aware of him, but somehow I became aware of his Sabbath poems, and while exploring those, I saw two other bloggers post about books they read and liked by him. One was a collection of essays, and the other a short collection of stories called Fidelity.

Fidelity is overall a lovely collection set in the fictional rural community of Fort William, KY. This is a small enclave of farmers who stay for generations--or, rather, used to stay in the past, but as the late 20th century encroaches, that lifestyle is beginning to disappear. 

Berry makes it clear that it's a lot to lose. A lot of work, hardship, and poverty, yes, but the book's title is a broad hint as to what can be found here. It's something the people who have lived here all their lives know, and it's something that the rare newcomer learns, such as in the story A Jonquil for Mary Penn. Mary has defied her parents to marry Elton Penn as a teenager. Her parents disown her, and she is left alone in the small mountainside community of farmers. But there, she finds a new life, one she never would have expected, and a family to replace the one she's lost. 

The two longest stories, Pray Without Ceasing and Fidelity, are the best. The first is the story of a murder/suicide that took place in Fort William years ago, and how it affected the people there for generations. Fidelity is the story of the family of Uncle Burley. When Uncle Burley takes ill, they take him to the town doctor, who hospitalizes him, and soon the family realizes they've made an enormous mistake; Burley is full of tubes, not improving, and the doctors seem more than content to keep him that way. When a family member goes rogue and the community comes up against law enforcement, the story brings a showdown that's quite impressive. And yet, the story is about much more than that. It's about family secrets and confessions, and ways of life that are changing, and about the roles of law and government and how they're perceived, and the changes wrought in the 1960s. 

From what I've read, Berry has written other fiction set in this fictional town, and I think I'll eventually seek out more of it. This book was published in 1992, and to some degree, it feels old-fashioned. There's a lot of telling rather than showing, and a flowery style that isn't as prevalent now. I wouldn't want to do a continuous deep dive. But I would be willing to go back.

And I'll also watch Look & See, a documentary about Wendell Berry and the changing landscape of rural America, available for streaming on Netflix (at least for now). 

A Day in the Life of Marlon Bundo

Oh, John Oliver. You and your crew keep me informed, entertained, and, at times, charmed. This is definitely one of those charmed times.

Recently John Oliver did a story about how Mike Pence has a pet bunny named Marlon Bundo (and noted that in fact, that is a pretty cute name for a bunny), and Pence's daughter wrote a picture book for children about Marlon Bundo's life with the VP, called Marlon Bundo's A Day in the Life of the Vice President. Oliver did a segment where, while conceding how cute the whole bunny thing was, he explored just how not-cute Mike Pence is, particularly when it comes to the LGBTQ community. (If you haven't seen it, click on that last link to see it on YouTube. It's well worth watching.)

So in response to Pence's bunny book, Oliver's team came up with their own: A Day in the Life of Marlon Bundo. In Oliver's creation, Marlon Bundo is a sweet little boy bunny with just one problem. He's lonely. Then one day he meets another bunny, the bespectacled Wesley, and together they begin hopping together and enjoying one another's company. 

Soon they realize that nothing would make them happier than getting married and spending the rest of their lives hopping together. 

But there's a problem. There's a giant stinkbug in charge, and he says boy bunnies can't marry other boy bunnies. Boy bunnies can only marry girl bunnies.

I don't want to give spoilers. But let's just say that how Marlon Bundo and Wesley get through this crisis is downright heartwarming.

Listen. I wanted to read this book because clearly it's an epic trolling of our current VP, and I can think of few better ways to spend my time than engaging in trolling that hateful (and hate-filled) man. But here's the thing. This darling little picture book rises well above your basic troll and becomes a book that, if I still had little ones in the house, I would totally read to them. The illustrations are adorable, the story is sweet, and it transcends the story of accepting gay marriage into acceptance of all kinds of differences of all kinds of people (or animals)--celebrates differences, actually. What better message to deliver to a young child?

Besides, profits from the sale of the book are being donated to the Trevor Project and AIDS United. So many ways to win with this one. Hop on over to your local independent book retailer and get a copy, and you'll feel like you've done a lot of good.

Forty Autumns

Forty Autumns is a true story of a family first caught behind East German lines after WWII, then separated by the new country's boundaries. The author, Nina Willner, is the daughter of Hanna, who escaped East Germany after multiple tries, then--with one exception--didn't see them for 40 years.

Willner herself has an interesting backstory, in that she became a U.S. Army intelligence officer and ended up serving in Berlin during the Cold War. She was quite aware that she had family there, but it wasn't even remotely safe for her to try and find them. And when I say safe, I mean it wasn't safe for her, nor was it safe for the East German family members.

The story is told in short segments, some of which focus on the experiences of the family members left behind in East Germany, some on Hanna's life outside of East Germany, some on Nina's life as an intelligence officer, and some general history of the time, to give more context and scope on what was happening. It's a mostly successful approach, although towards the end I found myself wearying of the political explanations and just wanted to get to the part where East Germany dissolves and the family could finally meet again. There was also a long stretch involving Hanna's niece, Cordula, who became an East German athlete during the highly competitive sporting years, when sports were all that East Germany had to brag about. But Cordula's sporting adventures, while numerous, were overall not that interesting and could have been shortened.

But the other parts of the book were riveting. From the German women waiting for their husbands and sons to come home from WWII in defeat, to learning their small town has been put under Soviet control, to the ever-tightening noose around their necks as the East German government became totalitarian, makes for tense, can't-turn-pages-fast-enough reading. The misery of food shortages, the fears that neighbors were informants, that not looking interested enough at a military parade could end a career--Willner tells these stories straightforwardly and frighteningly. Highly recommended. 

Eligible

Generally, I have a pretty firm rule about not reading books that are updated versions of classics. However, a friend told me that this book was highly enjoyable. Turns out she was right.

It's a tricky thing, updating a book like Pride and Prejudice (which is also one of my favorite books of all time), but author Curtis Sittenfeld pulls it off with aplomb. She move the action to Cincinnati, Ohio, in the 2010s, and all the favorite characters are here: the Bennet family, the Bingleys, Catherine de Bourgh, and, of course, Fitzwilliam Darcy. But in the process of updating, she comes up with believable reasons for the five Bennet girls to not be married, and gives them contemporary personalities that have the heart of the classic Bennet girls as well.

Mrs. Bennet is here, of course, fluttering and annoying everyone in her path, and also with a bit of a shopping addiction that, combined with her husband's recent heart surgery while uninsured, has left them in dire financial straits (and their marriage in questionable shape). Jane and Liz have developed careers (Jane as a yoga instructor, Liz as a writer) that have allowed them to move to New York City, while Mary is a perpetual student, and Lydia and Kitty are flighty, shallow young women who focus on CrossFit and avoiding carbs while living their lives on their phones. Jane and Liz return to Cincinnati to help when their father is hospitalized. Suddenly they learn that a highly attractive young doctor is moving to town, having become famous from being on the reality TV series Eligible (think: The Bachelor). And all the mayhem begins.

What's so enjoyable about this book is its clear fondness for the source material, and also its respect for it. Even while updating (and the reality TV concept is just kind of brilliant), it holds close to the emotions and emotional progression of the original. Sittenfeld is a hilarious writer and is very adept at bringing Austen's wit into the 21st century. 

And while I won't give spoilers, Sittenfeld also updated the ending in a way that gives the book a more feminist approach, and also doesn't leave Mary out as the sad sack of the Bennet family. Well done, Curtis Sittenfeld.

Sourdough

Lois Clary is a tech guru, living the supposed dream life in the Bay Area with a high-profile job in a tech company. But in reality, the job is frustrating and exhausting, leaving her with nothing to enjoy. One day she discovers a little food delivery company nearby that offers only a couple of spicy dishes and homemade sourdough bread. These foods prove to be manna to her soul. 

Then she learns that the owners, who are Mazg, are being deported. Lois had been buying their food nearly every day, so before they leave, they give her the precious sourdough starter. Lois does not cook or bake. She has no idea how to do any of these things. But being a highly logical tech person, she digs in, researches, and figures it out. 

However, there's something interesting and different about her bread, and she gains attention and is eventually invited to a very special, underground (figuratively) food market that's not yet open to the public, but which features a variety of cutting-edge foods and techniques. And things get crazy from there.

Sourdough's author, Robin Sloan, is also the author of the bestselling Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore, which I read, but didn't love; it seemed twee and precious to me. But this one interested me, and I'm so glad I read it. There's a lot of satire going on here, both about the tech world and the food world. It manages to avoid some of the preciousness I found in Penumbra, and I found Lois Clary to be a congenial, all-too-human narrator, a young woman who's trying to find her way in life and does so through the unexpected gift of sourdough starter. There are magical elements, of course, because this is Robin Sloan.

My one quibble was with the ending, which I won't spoil, but I will say it felt rushed and not entirely believable. Still, the path there was most enjoyable.

A Small Porch

This is such a lovely book. Poet Wendell Berry apparently has taken up the habit over the decades of spending his Sabbaths outdoors, wandering his farm and nearby natural spots, and thinking and writing about them. This strikes me as something pretty much everyone could benefit by doing, religious or not. (Although, as I write these words, my area has just received a foot of snow and it's still snowing on Sunday, so I won't be going out exploring today.)

He's a smart man, and careful with his language. The poems are deceptively simple, but that often adds to their effectiveness:

"There is never an end to imagining
the lives of the birds. Or to wondering
at the superfluous beauty and unspeaking
flight of butterflies who light nearby:
the Eyed Brown, the Spicebush Swallowtail,
the Red Admiral, the Red-spotted Purple.
These so visible must stand for countless ones
and kinds easily overlooked or hard to see
or invisible. A world of words could not
describe this wordless world."

The first half of this slim volume contains a number of these spare, thoughtful poems. The second half is an essay called "The Presence of Nature in the Natural World: a Long Conversation," which is indeed long at 77 pages. But it does read like a conversation, albeit one-sided, with a thoughtful farmer (Berry is a farmer) who wants to discuss the views poets (Alain de Lille in the Plaint of Nature, Chaucer, Spencer, Milton, Pope, Pound) have viewed nature and how humans can and do operate within it. But he also wants to talk about the problems men wreak upon nature, especially farmers, and why it's important that the conversation around farming begin to focus on that, before it's too late. He notes with exasperation that many self-proclaimed environmentalists are loud in their support of wild areas, but silent on what's happening to vast swaths of farmland--and what happens to that farmland could (and already is) have a dangerous impact on what's still wild.

Together, the poems and the essay show a fine mind, a thoughtful, concerned farmer, a lover of poetry and language. Can't ask much more out of a book than that.

Flat Broke With Two Goats

As this book opens, Jennifer McGaha and her husband Davis seem to have it made--they have a nice home in North Carolina, three children, he's got a thriving accounting business, she teaches part time. But as the economy tanked in the early 2000s, so did their financial situation. And in the all-too-real-world way humans behave sometimes, Jennifer was happy to let her husband handle the finances and not ask questions, and he was willing to keep the worst information from her. Until they faced eviction.

If you're wondering how a grown woman today could so willingly stick her head in the sand, Jennifer has a doozy of an explanation. At the tender age of 20, she fell in love with a college classmate, got pregnant, and got married. And after the wedding, it became all too clear her new husband had quite a lot of issues, not least of which was his tendency to become violently angry. He beat her often, threatened her life (and that of their dog). It took a while, but Jennifer was finally able to escape with her daughter. I honestly don't blame her for going into a second marriage that's not at all violent or abusive, and then take a "it's all perfect don't question it" approach. 

The only saving grace of their situation was that David had access to a remote cabin that they could rent very cheaply while they tried to sort out their financial problems (which, among other things, involved owing the IRS more than $100,000). The cabin was far from ideal; "rustic" barely began to cover it. It needed extensive work, it was in the middle of nowhere, and one morning, Jennifer found a copperhead roaming around inside. (Spoiler alert: I hate snakes, and there are quite a few of them in this book, and yet I kept reading.)

But slowly, they begin to rebuild a life. Since they have the room, they decide to add chickens to the mix, reasoning that they can eat the eggs the chickens produce (but Jennifer is adamant that they won't kill them to eat the meat). Eventually the idea of having goats becomes appealing, especially as Jennifer learns how to make cheese and yogurt from goat's milk. They try gardening and draw the attention of law enforcement, who think they're trying to grow marijuana. Through it all, Jennifer reflects on her beloved grandmother, who had no choice but to live this way, and how there's still something to be said for living off the land and taking care of yourself.

Overall, I really enjoyed this book. It's a bit uneven, with some repetition and occasional deeper dives into scenes that were unwarranted. I've read some reader reviews that complain that Jennifer blames everyone else for her situation. I didn't see that at all. Multiple times she takes the blame for things that are indeed her fault. Sure, she's flawed. Who isn't? Besides, her love for the chickens and the goats did a lot to redeem her, at least for me. I mean, a woman who will pour a cup of coffee and go sit with a goat that's just starting to go into labor, so the goat won't be alone, has something going for her, even if it's not financial good sense.

By the end, I felt that Jennifer and David had learned a lot about themselves, each other, and life in general, and had found a new way forward that wasn't just tolerable, it was desirable. She felt like someone I'd like to have coffee with and buy goat cheese and yogurt from. I would almost say I'd like to visit her cabin, but: snakes.

So. Your mileage may vary, but I enjoyed the ride.