The Book Thief

Photo taken by Ms. C

I had been in a Holocaust-themed reading rut for a long time prior to reading this book.  In fact, I could not bring myself to read any literature on the Holocaust since visiting Auschwitz-Birkenau in April 2011. 

I could research the topic into oblivion during my Undergraduate days...  I would read book after book on the Holocaust prior to my visit to Auschwitz-Birkenau.  Yet, I was now unable to read the first few pages of any Holocaust-themed item.

What was the weirdest part about my reading rut?  The actual visit at Auschwitz-Birkenau did not move me to the degree that I thought it would.  I found that the camp, while an emotional site, had become too tourist-centered.  It was only after I returned to Canadian soil that the thought of reading about events at the place I had just visited began to disturb me.  I could vividly picture what the authors were writing.  I could recall walking in that very camp the authors were so expertly describing, and if I closed my eyes, their stories and my experiences at the same site began to overlap.

Consequently, I have a large pile of Holocaust literature sitting on my bookshelf waiting to be read. 

I told my friend, K, my reading problems... and the fact that I really wanted to read a book called The Book Thief.  After a little persuasion, I left a store with The Book Thief placed neatly into my shopping bag.  I began reading the book later on that afternoon.

Why Men Love Bitches

Argov's Why Men Love Bitches is one of those non-fiction, self-help-y books that circles of female friends often pass around.  I remember my friend recommended it to me years ago. If I must guess it was around early 2007 when she burst into my workplace claiming that I had to read this book... it was just that good.  And, with  a title like its own, I clearly remember the first day it was introduced to me.

But, what was all the fuss about?

Argov claims that women all-too-often become dependent and much too obliging to the men they date.  Argov suggests that men will have fun with the gals who are that way... but they won't keep them.  Who do men fall in love with?  Bitches.  Not the girl who gives everything up, but the girl who stands her ground, is independent, and has respect for her body and mind.

My Temporary Life

Martin Crosbie's My Temporary Life is a complex and dark tale of the life of Malcolm, a Canadian-Scottish man in the late twentieth century.  Crosbie delves into the childhood, adolscence, and adulthood of Malcolm as he experiences the hardships of his parents divorce, trans-Atlantic life (he spends his summers in Vancouver with his mother and remaining time in Scotland with his father), puberty, and his slowly developing romance with Heather which sends him on a suspenseful chase throughout Canada.

Beautiful Artifacts, Heartbreaking Relics

I received my first e-mail from an author requesting a book review in late March. As the writer of a little-known blog I was shocked to discover that any author would offer up their book for my criticism.

I was unsure about performing the review. What if I didn't like the book? The author suddenly became a person and perhaps, because of that, I wondered if I would be able to write a honest review. I have brutally pointed out the flaws in literature in the past. I hoped to be able to do the same when the author became more than words in a book. When I was greeted with a format (short stories) and style (magic realist) that I do not frequently pursue, I agreed to the task.

Vanishing Acts

People say that you should venture outside of your comfort zone. Try something new, try something that has never really attracted you. You never know what you are missing until you've given it a little taste.

I've avoided reading Jodi Picoult for many, many years. I have glanced at the summaries of her novels - mostly, it seems, containing plots of court cases (ie: murders, child sexual abuse) and other high-drama situations. To be blunt, I'm not into law stories. However, I found Picoult's Vanishing Acts gleaming on a bookstore's shelf and I thought it was high time I gave her work a shot.

Vanishing Acts confronts issues of memory, loss, addiction, and the reinvention of identity. Picoult provides readers with the tale of a father who kidnaps his daughter from his divorced wife. She provides reasons to justify the Father's behaviour, but ultimately leaves it to the reader to determine the gallantry of his actions.

Hands

I'm currently reading Diane Ackerman's The Zookeeper's Wife. I'm roughly halfway done the book and I absolutely love the characters and unfolding events. It is a harrowing tale of the Holocaust and has led me to ponder aspects of everyday life.

Ackerman's descriptions are exquisite. One of her sentences has jumped from her pages and into my psyche, and I just have to share:

"hands cradle newborns, build cities, plant vegetables, caress loved ones, teach our eyes the shape of things - how round swells, how sand grits - bridge lonely hearts, connect us to the world, map the difference between self and other, fasten onto beauty, pledge loyalty, cajole food from grain, and so much more."

(p 177-178)

Reading the above passage instantly reminded me of my teenage years. I remember my mother telling my sixteen/seventeen (something-teen?) self to look at my hands if I ever felt sad or disheartened by one of life's roadblocks.

Why hands?

Hands are responsible for so much of what we are, what we have, and what we remember. There may be low points in life and hands can be extremely damaging forces. But, at the end of the day, we know there is good in this world as our hands have expressed love for others, care for those in need, striven for excellence in one of our own creations, and in essence, helped create the patchwork quilt of characteristics, accomplishments, and memories that compose us as unique human beings.


P.S. This is my one hundredth post. Thank you to all who have commented, followed, and sent me words of encouragement for this little blog.

Vows

I’ve been feeling down and I can’t exactly put my finger on why. I feel like I have been trapped in a whirlwind. My intuition has been going haywire. Maybe this is how life greets a graduate? Maybe I miss university life… or something else? I don’t know.

So why am I throwing all this out onto the web? Well, I've recently heard of a new writing exercise. It sounded like an interesting and creative way to spend a weekday night… and spew pent-up emotion.

The deal? Write a piece of fiction/non-fiction or poem/list (basically anything) with each sentence of your work starting with a letter of the alphabet, in sequential order. In the end you’ll be left with 26 sentences.

Confused yet? Hopefully you won't be after you read my entry. And maybe, just maybe, you'll want to make one of your own. If you do, feel free to add a link to your post in the comments - I'd love to read what you come up with!

A Secret Kept

Tatiana de Rosnay's newest work, A Secret Kept, vividly depicts a Parisian son's search to discover the truth behind his mother's sudden death which occurred over 30 years ago. De Rosnay examines a family's deepest secrets of love and betrayal. Themes of death and attraction are intricately connected to each other and abound within de Rosnay's work.

A Secret Kept is very emotional. It is not so much an emotional experience for the reader. Instead, the content and descriptions within de Rosnay's work are laced with deep emotional overtones and significance for the characters within her story. Illustrations of desire, passion, raw sexuality, guilt, grief, and hatred bounce off of the many pages of this novel. It is a dark tale and one not to be taken lightly.