Self-doubting Ruth is coddled by her immigrant mother, who uses food to soothe and control. Defiant Francesca believes her heavy frame shames her Park Avenue society mother and, to provoke her, consumes everything in sight. Lonely Opal longs to be included in her glamorous mother’s dinner dates—until a disturbing encounter forever changes her desires. Finally, Setsu, a promising violinist, staves off conflict with her jealous brother by allowing him to take the choicest morsels from her plate—and from her future. College brings the four young women together as suitemates, where their stories and appetites collide. Here they make a pact to maintain their friendships into adulthood, but each must first find strength and her own way in the world.
When it was fairly new, my book group read Bee Season by Myla Goldberg. I liked it very much, and I think most of the other members of the group felt the same way. I had purchased the book, and I still have it. Of course, it was a bestseller, and was eventually adapted into a movie (which I never did see — by then we had kids and less free time).
Around the time when her follow-up, Wickett’s Remedy, was published, Myla Goldberg was at a book event — might have been Book Expo America, but I’m not sure — and she gave a talk about some of the research she had done for the new book. (I watched this talk on television — specifically, on Book TV.) She mentioned spending time in the reading room of New York Public Library, and requesting some World War I-era newspapers from the closed stacks. She talked about the Spanish influenza epidemic of 1918. Her enthusiasm for her subjects, and for library research, made me like her even more than I’d liked her first book.
In 2007, I came across the audiobook of Wickett’s Remedy at the library, and checked it out. I was interested to hear the story, but doubly intrigued when I saw that Myla Goldberg was narrating it. Many authors are NOT great narrators, but having seen that talk on Book TV, I thought Goldberg might pull it off. She did not disappoint, and I fell in love with this novel. I even have it in my Favorites collection on LibraryThing.
The reviews were mixed for this book. Part of this has got to be because Bee Season was such a hit, and it would be hard for the next book to live up to that. (All this talk about Donna Tartt, who just won the Pulitzer for heaven’s sake for The Goldfinch, her third novel, and how much people still love her debut, The Secret History, after all these years, and all they say about the second novel is, “Oh, she did have The Little Friend in between, but that wasn’t as well-received.” So a bit of sophomore slump is fairly common. Okay, sorry for the long aside.) But also, readers who were expecting something in the same vein as Bee Season were in for a bit of a shock. While the first book is contemporary, the second is set in Boston during the 1910s, and the largest part of the story is set around 1917 and 1918, with the backdrop of America’s entrance into World War I, and the Spanish influenza epidemic. Bee Season, as I recall, has a fairly traditional, mostly linear narrative, while Wickett’s is a patchwork of voices and formats.
People who like mixed formats and somewhat experimental fiction, along with multiple narratives and timelines, should really try Wickett’s. The main story is about Lydia Kilkenny, a young woman from an Irish Catholic South Boston family who works in a department store, meets and marries a medical student named Henry Wickett, then helps him to develop a “remedy” to ease people’s minor ills. The secondary storyline is about a man named Quentin Driscoll and his “QD Soda,” a product and company launched around 1918. These parts of the story are primarily told through excerpts from a newsletter, the “QDISPATCH” or “QD Dispatch,” dated in the early 1990s. (Some of the QD stuff is maybe longer than it needs to be, but I found it mostly entertaining. And think about branding, brand loyalty, and consumer culture as it is today, and the QD Soda Company doesn’t seem like a big stretch.)
The book also includes articles and letters from newspapers, many of which are taken directly from newspapers of that period. (In the audio, the news articles are accompanied by the clacking of typewriter keys.) While we spend much of the book very close to Lydia, the news clippings add a sense of the epidemic’s scope, its terrible impact beyond the Boston of the novel. The Quentin Driscoll storyline also includes some correspondence: letters from an elderly man to his son, and from the management of a nursing facility to Ralph Finnister, the CEO of QD Soda in the 1990s.
Finally, there are the voices of those who have passed on, speaking from beyond the grave, giving further perspectives on the main action of the novel. So, while Lydia’s story is the largest part of the novel, and it’s written in typical third-person, linear fashion, it’s surrounded by notes in the margins, where these other people are adding their two cents to the narrative. I would guess this is the most disorienting part of reading the print version of the book, and it could have been frustrating to me as well. It might be difficult to know exactly where to “insert” the additional comments so that they fit into the flow of the story. Because I listened to the audio version, I didn’t have to make those decisions, it was all just read to me. Moreover, they are narrated by other people, not by Myla Goldberg, so it’s always clear that it’s an aside from a voice beyond, a sidestep from the main story. The CD’s box says, “Read by the Author, with David Aaron Baker, Chris Burns, Ilyana Kadushin and Stina Nielsen.”
The additional narrators and occasional sound effects help to bring the action to life. Goldberg’s lively delivery makes her a great companion as you follow Lydia’s journey from home to marriage, through grief, to the discovery of her true calling, and toward renewed hope. Wickett’s Remedy has a sense of immediacy that brought me into Lydia’s life, and inside the influenza epidemic, and quite simply touched my heart. I wish more readers, and audiobook fans, might give it a try, and some of them fall in love with it as I did.
I took the day off from work today so I could do most of the housecleaning I usually do on Saturdays. Tomorrow, I’m going to be READING! Or at least that’s my plan. Even if I don’t read a TON, it feels good to have a good amount of cleaning done, and a block of time when I know I’ll be able to read. At the very least, I want to finish TransAtlantic by Colum McCann, since we’re discussing it at my book group in a few days. After that, it’s all gravy.
Over 400 people have signed up to participate in the 24 Hour Read-a-Thon. I’m so happy to be joining them!
Anais Hendricks, fifteen, is in the back of a police car. She is headed for the Panopticon, a home for chronic young offenders. She can’t remember what’s happened, but across town a policewoman lies in a coma and Anais’s school uniform is covered in blood.Raised in foster care from birth and moved through twenty-three placements before she even turned seven, Anais has been let down by just about every adult she has ever met. Now a counter-culture outlaw, she knows that she can only rely on herself.
I climb up on my oak tree, let myself fall back until I am hanging by my knees, hair trailing across the forest floor. It’s soothing. The trees still have some leaves, all dry and crackly. The rest are mulch. Hundreds of tiny wishes drift through the woods, they sparkle in the dim, and dance up as silver orbs. (p. 157)
I remember I had this amazing bike, a chopper with a flag on the back. I had tae use stabilizers even though I was nine; I learned to ride it so late it was embarrassing.“Why did you not learn before you were nine?” some kid asked me.I wobbled around him with one stabilizer lifting off the ground.“My mum was too busy tae teach me.”“Too busy doing what?”“Your da.”“What?”“And your brother.” (p. 98)
Identity problem. Funny that. Fifty-odd moves, three different names, born in a nuthouse to a nobody that was never seen again. Identity problem? I dinnae have an identity problem — I dinnae have an identity, just reflex actions and a disappearing veil between this world and the next. (p. 86)
I received an advance reader’s edition of The Spark: a Mother’s Story of Nurturing Genius, by Kristine Barnett, through the LibraryThing Early Reviewers program. The quotes in my review are from that advance copy, and might differ slightly from the published book. The back cover gives a good overview:
Kristine Barnett’s son Jacob has an IQ higher than Einstein’s, a photographic memory, and he taught himself calculus in two weeks. At nine he started working on an original theory in astrophysics that experts believe may someday put him in line for a Nobel Prize. Last summer, at age twelve, he became a paid researcher in quantum physics. But the story of Kristine’s journey with Jake is all the more remarkable because his extraordinary mind was almost lost to autism. At age two, when Jake was diagnosed, Kristine was told he might never be able to tie his own shoes.
It took a while for the book to arrive, and then it took ME a while to work it into my reading priorities, but when I finally got started on it, I was completely absorbed. In the first twelve to fifteen months of his life, Jacob Barnett was a normal, happy, affectionate baby, with occasional hints of above average intelligence: Kristine writes, “He learned the alphabet before he could walk, and he liked to recite it backward and forward” (p. 13). But around 14 months old, Kristine and her husband Michael began to notice small changes in Jake. He talked less, smiled less, and became generally less interested in other people. Kristine ran a home daycare, and the other children treated Jake as their younger sibling. During that first year, he loved interacting with the other kids, and trying to do the things they did, but by the time he reached about 15 months old, they could barely get his attention. Instead, he was fascinated by shadows, by the play of light and dark on the walls.
Kristine describes how Jake is gradually swallowed up into autism, to the point where he stopped speaking for a couple of years. Kristine and Michael initially resist the diagnosis, but not for long: all the signs are there. The first formal evaluation results in a diagnosis of Asperger’s syndrome, but after the second evaluation, before Jake’s third birthday, the diagnosis is revised to “full-blown, moderate to severe autism” (p. 32). The therapist who conducted the second evaluation explained that “Jake had likely been diagnosed with Asperger’s (a mild form of autism characterized by relatively high functioning) instead of full-blown autism because his IQ was so high — a shocking, off-the-charts 189 on the Wechsler Intelligence Scale for Children” (p. 32).
Chapter after chapter, the story of this amazing boy, and this incredibly resilient family, held me enthralled. In many ways, the Barnetts are an “ordinary” family — while Kristine ran the home daycare, Michael worked at Target, then later at Circuit City, until his store was closed early in the recession. Kristine’s anecdotes about toddler Jake include Matchbox cars and crayons. They’re hard-working, generous people, who love their kids and want to do what’s best for them, and try to help others who are facing difficulties too.
In short, the Barnetts are a lot like most other American middle-class families. But, they have a son who is profoundly gifted. Kristine writes, “According to Miraca Gross in her book Exceptionally Gifted Children, there is less than one profoundly gifted person per one million” (p. 230). This boy essentially stopped interacting and communicating with other people when he was a toddler, and his parents were told by experts that Jake might never speak again. We know from the back of the book that Kristine decided to follow the “spark” she saw in Jake, to help him pursue his passionate interests, and this helped him eventually overcome the symptoms of autism, so he could come back into “the regular world,” yet still be himself. Jake’s story is worth reading on its own, but Kristine’s story, and that of the whole family, just adds to the richness of the book. The back cover doesn’t mention that Kristine and Michael’s second baby had a rare and potentially fatal condition; that Kristine herself was later diagnosed with another serious health problem; that in addition to the regular daycare, the Barnetts created a charitable program for autistic children, run out of their home. Kristine writes:
So every morning, I’d open the day care as usual and work a full nine-hour day there. But twice a week, after the day care children went home, I’d vacuum the room and set up a mock kindergarten for autistics kids. I called the program Little Light. … [I]nstead of hammering away at all the tasks these kids couldn’t do, I thought we’d start with what they wanted to do (p. 68).
I can tell you that The Spark is inspiring, a testament to the power of love and family, and also the value of going with your gut, especially with regard to what’s best for your kids. But I’d rather say that Jake and his family, and the journey they’ve taken so far, is just fascinating. I feel like I know them, yet I also believe that Kristine is a superwoman. If you have kids, or want to have kids, you should read this book. If you know someone who is autistic, have an interest in autism, or enjoy any kind of “medical memoir,” you should read this book. If you’re an educator of any kind, you should read this book. If you don’t fall into any of those other categories, but you just like any story about people facing obstacles and working to overcome them, then for heaven’s sake, JUST READ THIS BOOK.
I am grateful to LibraryThing and Random House for the chance to read and review this advance edition, and for the privilege of meeting Jacob and his family. To author and supermom Kristine Barnett, who wrote that this book is “the chance to share Jake and his gifts with the world” (p. 243), thank you, thank you, thank you!
I listened to a Guardian Books podcast today that included an interview with writer Andrew Solomon about his latest book, Far from the Tree: Parents, Children, and the Search for Identity. I didn’t realize until today that it had won the 2012 National Book Critics Circle award for general non-fiction. One of his earlier books, The Noonday Demon: an Atlas of Depression, is a favorite that I’ve recommended to others.
Far from the Tree explores families where there is a profound difference between parents and child: deaf child of hearing parents, gay child of straight parents, child with schizophrenia, child becomes a criminal, and even child prodigy who possesses an incredible talent. It took him over 10 years to research and write it. This page on the Guardian website has a short article, and also a video of Solomon discussing the book.
Once in a while, I learn about a book that I want to buy new, and even in hardcover, because it’s important to me to support that author’s work and career — a financial affirmation, if you will. Even though it’s over 900 pages, I’m pretty sure I’ll be buying my own copy of Far from the Tree, and soon. And it might take me years, but I will read it!
So I spent several weeks in October and November re-reading The Passage by Justin Cronin, then reading its sequel, The Twelve, which I enjoyed a great deal but didn’t LOVE the way I loved The Passage. Then I spent a few days reading the play The Intelligent Design of Jenny Chow: an Instant Message with Excitable Music by Rolin Jones, the guy I knew briefly during my time at Smith, who went on to write for the TV show Friday Night Lights, and who inspired me to write a poem called “The Walk.” Anyway, after reading the two Cronin books (both basically doorstops, though The Twelve is maybe 200 pages shorter), and then a really skinny book (the play), I’m not sure what to read next. Also, book group is in less than two weeks, and we never actually picked a book for December, so there’s nothing lined up with a deadline attached.
This got me thinking a bit about my reading habits, and how I seem never to write reviews — or almost never. A lot of the time, even when I know I have to write a review, like for LibraryThing’s Early Reviewer books, it’s very, very difficult for me to get around to writing it. It seems a little strange to me, because even though I’m an inveterate procrastinator, I truly do love to write. (You probably can’t tell that from my blog this past year or two, I’ve neglected it so badly.)
I’m thinking that, sometimes, there are books that I’m compelled to write about. In the early days of my blog, I remember feeling this way about both The Book Thief and The Glass Castle. But for every book that grabs me that strongly, I usually read eight or ten that I enjoy to a greater or lesser degree, but don’t feel so overwhelmed by them that I can’t move on from them until I’ve mulled them over in writing. I think this is the main reason I’ve never considered myself a book blogger, even when I was posting more regularly, and most of what I was posting was book-related: because it’s such a chore for me to review books.
And suddenly, I’m reminded of a discussion I had at Smith with my advisor, Doug Patey. I was having a rough semester, and I was sitting in his office, probably getting some combination of academic guidance and moral support. I remember saying, “I don’t want to rip books apart, I just want to read them and enjoy them.” He asked, “Can I give you some advice?” I said he could. “Don’t go to grad school for English.”
So that’s it, really: I do enjoy writing about books, in general, but it can be hard to review them, because I don’t want to rip them apart. Sometimes I don’t WANT to look at them too closely, but just enjoy them for what they are.
The other part is, if I finish reading a book and I don’t feel an overwhelming need to think it over, to work through my ideas and emotions in writing, then what I must do next, as soon as possible, is decide what I’ll read next, and then start reading it. The short periods “between books” can be fraught with uncertainty, but also full of wondrous possibility. What, what should I read next?? And will it be thrilling and amazing, will it be beautiful, will it be moving, or thought-provoking? Will it change how I feel or think about things, will it show me something new? Will it change my life?
Wow, I knew I hadn’t posted in a while, but didn’t realize it’s been over two months — jeesh!
And truthfully, this is sort of a faux-post, which I’m able to put up only because Ryan’s baseball coach decided not to go to the post-season awards night. Apparently Ryan was one of only two or three kids who were planning to attend, so the coach decided it wasn’t worth it. Since it was over 100 degrees out AGAIN, I was totally fine with that decision. 😀
But anyway — sorry about that tangent — I finally pulled out the spiral notebook I was writing in last summer and fall, and wrote two entries this past week: last Friday, 7/27, and Sunday night, 7/29. So, the pictures below of those pages will give additional info about what we’ve been up to, besides being too busy to blog and too hot to have much outdoor enjoyment. (Yes, too hot, for weeks and weeks and weeks, I think. Even I am thinking ahead to the fall with a touch of fondness, which is almost unheard of!)
I miss you, little blog!
I’ve found myself unexpectedly alone in the house with nothing I immediately need to do, so I’m writing this to let people know that, Yes, I’m still alive, but I really HAVE been too busy to get in touch and catch up. The calendars for April and May look like this:
First: after watching the checkbook numbers get smaller and smaller in recent months, and our finances get tighter and tighter, I finally found a way to get some extra money. I happened to check the TSCPL job page and found they were looking for a shelver, an 18-hour a week position. Now, I lost count long ago of the number of times I’d applied to work at TSCPL, and even the number of times I was actually interviewed. I know the first time I applied there was before I was pregnant with Kyle, so it was at least 13 years ago! But never before had I tried to get a job where I was so obviously overqualified, which also suited my particular talents so well. I actually wrote a cover letter to go along with my application and resume, explaining that I have always loved putting books and other media in order, and that I’d recently rearranged a section of F. Scott Fitzgerald right there at TSCPL! (Sort of like, I’m willing to put your books in order anyway, so it would be awesome if you’d pay me to do it. No, that’s not actually what I said, but it’s how I felt.)
So, long story short, they were really hiring two shelvers, and incredibly, 13+ years after my first attempt, I finally became an employee of TSCPL! I just got my first real paycheck yesterday, and thank heavens, the extra money is going to be a huge help for us. I’m working 58 hours a week, but we need the money, and shelving books and DVDs feels less like work than any other second job. Don’t get me wrong, it IS work, and there are moments when I don’t love it, but mostly I enjoy it, I like the people, and I’m still amazed that I’m finally working there.
As for my full-time job, I just learned this past week that a decision has been made to “downsize” my library, and to relocate it — though it might only be moving to a room adjacent to its current location but much smaller. I expect to get more concrete information this week, but my colleague Becky and I have already starting some initial planning about what to have in the new location (if there’s room), and what we’ll add to our existing “library annex,” back in the basement of the lab, in the “old library.” I’m trying to stay as positive as I can about it; for one, there hasn’t been any talk of actually eliminating the library and/or my position, so priority number one, remaining employed and with health insurance, seems to be secure. Yay!
Between the lack of finances, the workload at my day job, and the potential second job, I wavered about whether to attend the Special Libraries Association conference in Chicago this July. After getting the shelving job, I decided to skip the conference this year, and just plan to go to the MTKN and pooled fund meetings this coming fall. Now, knowing that I could be moving my library in early or mid-July, it’s definitely for the best that I didn’t make those plans and register for SLA, since I really need to be here to move my library.
The boys have been busy, and have kept us busy, with the usual sports and school activities. Ryan’s new baseball team has practices and games, but they’re more competitive, and playing in tournaments — two so far, both in KC (though the second one had games on Saturday but was rained out on the Sunday). I think we’ll be in two more before the season ends, but I admit, I lose track. Both boys’ basketball season ended in mid-March, but then Kyle signed up for a 5-week spring basketball league, which just ended three days ago. This past week has actually seen the end of the boys’ spring after-school running club, which met two days a week, and Kyle’s bridge club, which was held before school three or four days a week for the past five weeks. The bridge club ended on Thursday morning with a tournament, and on Thursday afternoon, almost 90 kids in the running club participated in a 5K run-walk. Ryan made fourth place in the 5K, and Kyle came in tenth.
Finally, this past Wednesday, Ryan had his first appointment with the dermatologist, who confirmed what we’d suspected for the past couple of months: the areas of “hypopigmentation” on Ryan’s face and neck are caused by vitiligo. It was nearly invisible last fall and winter, but with the warm days and baseball practices came the early spring tan, and not only were the patches more visible, but as weeks went by, we could see they were getting larger. And of course, it took a long time to get to the dermatologist: I called his regular doctor at the start of spring break for a referral, so we got in six to eight weeks later than we would have liked.
It’s not known exactly what causes vitiligo, but it’s thought to be an autoimmune disorder, where the immune system attacks or suppresses the cells that cause skin pigment. There’s no cure, but there are some different treatments available. We’re starting with an ointment that works to suppress the immune system in those small areas, so the skin might repigment. It will be weeks before we’ll know if it’s working. We made a follow-up appointment for mid-August. When I asked the doctor if it’s likely to spread further, he said, “It can do whatever it wants.”
|Ryan, posing for me a few weeks ago|
|Kyle and Ryan (not fighting, that’s unusual)|
I hate that Ryan has to deal with this, but so far, he’s been good about it, and he hasn’t been teased. Because he’s been going to school with most of the same kids for years, and the school year was maybe 3/4 over before it started really showing, I hope most of the kids in school will just think, “That’s still the same smart, fast, goofy Ryan, his face just looks a little different.” And, although we’ll need to be even more vigilant with the sunscreen, vitiligo itself doesn’t cause him any pain or itching, and there’s no health danger directly connected with it. So far, it seems the thing that annoys him the most is that “the kids who ask me what happened to my face, they’re usually the same ones I’ve already told a million times but they keep asking me.” The doctor gave us the option of no treatment or start with the ointment, and I asked Ryan to decide. Since he chose the ointment, I hope it helps.
Of all the sentences in all the books I read in 2011, this sentence has to be one of my favorites:
Until now, I’d never realized how much Dad resembled a dog being pushed unwillingly into a swimming pool.
It’s from A Fraction of the Whole, the debut novel by Australian writer Steve Toltz. It was around that part of the book (page 430 of the 530-page hardcover edition) that I asked myself, “How can a person be so witty and creative and funny for so many pages?”