The Movement of Stars

The Movement of Stars by Amy Brill (2013)

Hannah Price is a young quaker who lives on the island of Nantucket with her father and twin brother. She has ambitions to be an astronomer, but it is 1845 and there are no women's colleges with astronomy programs. Still, even without a formal education her father and her teacher have both taught her well and she continues to watch the stars every night in hopes of a discovery that will make her name. One day she is approached by a black man named Isaac Martin, who is hungry for knowledge and also excluded from formal education. Hannah takes him on a student, but as their friendship develops she becomes the object of scandal and tries to reconcile what her heart is telling her with what her community will accept.

The intriguing premise of this book appealed to me for similar reasons as A Study in Seduction, but held more promise than a paperback romance could. The novel is based on real-life astronomer Maria Mitchell, though a great deal has been added and embellished. Plus, I like that it is set locally - New England books always hold a special appeal.

Brill's writing is eloquent and strong, keeping me engrossed throughout the almost 400 pages. The astronomy was kept fairly basic, so as not to scare off us non-scientists, but still lending an air of the excitement of anticipating a discovery. Hannah also had a job as a junior librarian at the Athenaeum, a membership library that sounded like a stately and beautiful building. No wonder Hannah enjoyed her job there so much. Hannah's family members, the various townspeople, and especially Isaac Martin, were fairly well fleshed-out and appealing.

I struggled to figure Hannah out a lot of the time. A Quaker, she was allegedly devoted to Meeting but seemed very surprised when tongues began wagging about her running around town in the middle of the night with a black man. Even though it was innocent, surely she must have known how it would appear. At the same time, she was quite judgmental about other women of her acquaintance, like her brother's fiance. She didn't even give them a chance and I couldn't understand why she dismissed them so quickly. Partway through, I began to really dislike her. But later I began to sympathize with her again and found her much easier to relate to. This uneven character development was troubling.

Still, on the whole it's an enjoyable novel that was a pleasure to read and even spurred me to check out a beginning book on astronomy from the library. I think it will appeal to those who like New England historical novels with ambitious female characters. The Movement of Stars will be published on April 18.

I received The Movement of Stars as part of Penguin's First Flights Program.

Glass

Glass by Sam Savage (2011)

Edna writes about her late husband Clarence, and about herself, and about the various interruptions that occur during all this writing. Her downstairs neighbor has left her to care for her plants, fish, and rat and Edna struggles in vain to keep them all alive while still putting many hours towards her work. Well, not her work exactly, because Edna hasn't gone to her job for a while now, for unspecified reasons. Her work now is her writing, which she refers to not as writing but typing. It seems that Edna types everything that flits through her disordered mind.

Glass is just one long monologue from a narrator who can't possibly be reliable, but is still irresistible. Her stream of consciousness meanders through her childhood and her marriage, revealing bits of her life and thoughts in a nonlinear fashion. There must be a method to her madness though, because it was easy to follow her strange train of thought back and forth through the past and present.

I liked Edna's voice a lot and have gone back to re-read parts I especially liked, such as this line about her mysterious return to writing: "One day I am staring out the window or quietly eating oatmeal at my table or, as I mentioned, weeping, and the next day I am typing." Her thoughts will turn suddenly from one thing to another, like when she discovers one of her neighbors' fish dead and, without even a paragraph break, begins talking about her father's death. Frequently it will be completely unrelated, like when she was thinking about a man who had just been killed in an explosion and suddenly interjects, "Nigel won't stop squeaking his wheel, despite my shouts." Nigel being the rat, of course.

For the most part Edna is unsentimental. "I imagine some people will prefer that I say something on the order of Clarence was the love of my life. I could just as well say that he was the boredom of my life, the annoyance of my life, the chief obstacle to higher things of my life, and so forth." Their marriage was indeed troubled, which we can gather from the fragmented story of Clarence's relationship with another women and Edna's time away at a place she refers only to as "Potopotawoc" which I think must be some sort of camp for the mentally ill. Leaving out so many important details makes it difficult to piece together the story of her life properly and many holes are left.

Yet she will now and then philosophize about something seemingly trivial. She once traveled through Europe on a train, waking up to find that to her surprise she was passing through Switzerland. Although sleeping through Switzerland is no different from sleeping through France she wonders "if the important thing is what actually happened in the past or only what we remember having happened." And the knowledge that she was in Switzerland may have changed her life in some minute way, but wouldn't it have changed in the same way if she misread the sign and only thought she was in Switzerland? (This can probably apply to many stories from her life!) But this is why I liked Edna so much - with all the wildly disparate things running through her head, it was impossible to predict which one she'd get hung up on and ruminate about for a page or so, and which she'd just gloss over in passing.

Like Savage's other books (Firmin and The Cry of the Sloth), Glass is short at 223 pages. Savage's writing is tight, colorful, and - even in a stream of consciousness book that's light on plot - concise. No matter how troubled, or even unlikable, his characters are, I always enjoys their perspectives. I'm looking forward to his newly-released novel, The Way of the Dog. If his other books are anything to go by, it's sure to be fantastic.

Eleanor and Park

Eleanor and Park by Rainbow Rowell (2013), narrated by Rebecca Lowman and Sunil Malhotra

Eleanor is the new kid at school, encumbered not only by her newness but by her size, the redness of her hair, and her limited wardrobe. When she boarded the school bus on her first day there was one vacant seat - next to an Asian kid named Park. As the other kids on the bus laughed and jeered at Eleanor, she and Park sat quietly next to each other every day, not talking. Until finally they did.

The two did not fall in insta-love. They begin by tolerating each other, then by sharing comics and music and, eventually, friendship. Quickly that turns to romance and they become devoted to each other. But there are complications. Eleanor lives in a very troubled household with her meek mother, abusive stepfather, and several younger siblings with whom she shares a bedroom. She lacks a lot of things that are basic to most teenage girls: a phone, washing machine, privacy for bathing, a toothbrush. Batteries for her walkman. Permission to have a boyfriend.

Park lives with his parents and younger brother. Their household is pretty stable, though not perfect. Park never quite lives up to the expectations of his father, a veteran who expects his son to be more manly than he has turned out so far. Park's mother runs a beauty salon out of the house and is fiercely protective of Park.

Eleanor was one of the most genuine and likable characters I've come across. She is fat, pale, and redheaded, quickly dubbed Big Red by her peers. She has a believable level of self-esteem, enough to get by but not much more than that. She writes lyrics from songs she's never heard on her book covers because it's music she wants to hear but doesn't have access to. (Oh, how I remember that from the 80s! The options were radio or buying cassettes and if you weren't near a decent radio station and had no money to buy cassettes you were screwed. I feel your pain, Eleanor!) She is wonderfully clever. In describing a mean girl from school she says, "She's what would happen if the devil married the Wicked Witch and they rolled their baby in a bowl of chopped evil." When Park asks why she likes him so much, one of her reasons is "You look like a protagonist."

And Park? I mostly liked Park because of how much he appreciated Eleanor. Knowing some teenage boys in my time, I was doubtful of his acceptance of this outlier. But he has his own problems with self-acceptance. He is, after all, the only Asian kid in their part of Nebraska. (His younger brother takes after their white father.) He is also unfortunately pretty. Park is convinced that nobody outside of Asia finds Asian guys hot. His many moments of charming awkwardness frequently included inadvertently insulting Eleanor when trying to complement her. "She should smile like that all the time," Park thought. "It made her face cross over from weird to beautiful."

Eleanor and Park had the perfect kind of sweet high school romance that made me super nostalgic for something I never had. I mean, who really had that kind of romance in high school? But we all wanted to. It was sweet without being saccharine, innocent without being too innocent and, like all good romances, doomed. (Which you learn in the very first paragraph of the novel.)

The only thing that could make this book any better is being read well, and the audiobook definitely delivered. My new favorite narrator Rebecca Lowman (of Rules of Civility) read Eleanor's chapters, while Park's were narrated by Sunil Malhotra, who I would happily listen to again. Both readers made the sweet parts sweeter and the clever parts funnier.

I'm so happy that Eleanor and Park is the big popular YA book this year (so far!). I love dystopias, but sometimes you need some real kids in the real world, having themselves a little romance. Rainbow Rowell is understandably being compared to John Green, and I'm very happy to learn that this is actually her second book, and she has a third coming out this fall. Also? Super bonus: Eleanor and Park has playlists.

Sunday Knitting

I've made the Slipped Stitch Rib Socks before, but I don't remember them working up so quickly. Last time it took me five months, this time it was just under a month.

I especially like how the gusset looks a grid of tiny little squares.

This yarn is quite lovely. It's KnitPicks Stroll, which I expect to be durable as it's 25% nylon. It's soft and comfy and comes in a variety of beautiful colors. I received it as a gift, but I'm sure I'll be buying some in the future.

The Burning Air

The Burning Air by Erin Kelly (2013)

Darcy Kellaway was denied a scholarship place at the elite school headed by Rowan MacBride and vowed revenge upon the MacBride family. Years later, as Lydia MacBride faces her own mortality, she considers the greatest regrets of her life, which she has kept secret from her family. After her death, the family gathers at a country house called the Far Barn. But there is a newcomer in their midst, one who threatens the family in a way they are completely unprepared for.

I read The Burning Air based on a starred review that compared it to Gone Girl. It's not like that book exactly, but has a similarly dark psychological mess, with twists. Revenge is a fascinating (and pretty foreign) concept to me. It's oddly enjoyable to watch someone plan payback over the course of years, the vindictiveness eating away at their life.

The MacBrides were a fairly typical middle class family, the sort you could find in any book of domestic fiction. Because of Rowan's position, all his kids received a private education (though this is in England, so it's called "public"), and none of them truly appreciate what they've been given both in education and in terms of their supportive family. They're not bad people, just not especially interesting.

I'd love to talk about Darcy Kellaway, but honestly the less said about that character, the better. Trust me. That is someone you need to get to know over the course of reading this novel.

The ending was a little unsatisfying and I have mixed feelings about it. But I suppose there are never good ways out of these situations, so I'll take it. Last weekend I was sick and did a ton of reading (hence the 3 reviews this week), and I managed to read this in just over 24 hours. It was so gripping it would have been a quick read under any circumstances. If you like crime or psychological fiction I highly recommend it.

Wintergirls

Wintergirls by Laurie Halse Anderson (2009)

Lia and her best friend Cassandra made a pact to be the skinniest girls in school. Even after their friendship ended, they each continued to pursue this goal. Then Cassandra was found dead in a motel room and Lia realizes that the phone calls she had ignored that night were from her. Suddenly Lia is haunted by her friend and is even more determined not to eat, no matter how hard her family tries to make her fat. They just don't understand.

Lia and Cassandra considered themselves "wintergirls" and that is how Lia also described the other patients at the clinic where she was sent a couple of times to recover. Because of her eating disorder Lia was often cold, and the text was infused with other wintery images as well. The climax of the novel even takes place during a snowstorm. Lia herself is frozen somehow, suspended in a place where she can't move forward, rather like her friend who has died and is still hanging around.

Lia's voice was a darkly poetic with strong visual imagery: "When I was a pink, hairless mouse, she took away the razor. I curled up in a matchbox filled with sawdust and covered my face with my cold rope tail." Regarding a struggle with her mother she says, "She tried to talk me out of it, but I pulled up the drawbridge, locked it with iron bars, and posted an armed guard." Fairy tale imagery is also sprinkled throughout, including at least two references to a "gingerbread path." But sometimes another voice came through, one more like a regular teenage girl in New England: "In the spring of fifth grade, the boob fairy arrived with her wand and smacked Cassie wicked hard." Frequently words and phrases are crossed out, which some readers may find an annoying affectation, but I think it works here. This character is not being honest with herself (or anyone) and I think these corrections just reinforce that.

At times I just wanted Lia to snap out of it and not be so self-indulgent. She was forcing everyone around her to make her the center of their worlds. There's a passage in which her mother tries to force Lia to eat. Lia says "You aren't supposed to push me. I have to feel safe with food." Her mother responds "That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard." I agree! Lia doesn't ever feel safe with food and she needed someone to take a hard line with her. Her mother thought Lia's father and step-mother were going way too easy on her, which they were. Like Lia's mother, I began to lose patience with her behavior, which I know isn't fair - it's not as though Lia deliberately had an eating disorder because it was enjoyable.

Mostly I appreciated how the story was told through her experience, how she felt so threatened by everyone who was clearly just trying to help her, and how she was so unequipped to cope with the guilt surrounding her friend's death. It was this guilt that triggered Lia's behavior again (she had barely been recovering as it was) and it became clear just how much the two girls had enabled each other. Lia even admitted sabotaging Cassie's recovery: "I pulled her back into the snow because I was afraid to be alone." But now she is alone, and the horror of being left behind to live with the consequences is more than she can handle.

Eating disorders are rather a staple in teen books, and Anderson does a great job of weaving the issue into a larger well-crafted story. This is no after school special; it's exactly the kind of good storytelling I'd expect from a writer of this caliber. If you're not familiar with her, I also recommend Speak and Fever 1793.

Far From the Tree

Far From the Tree: Parents, Children, and the Search for Identity by Andrew Solomon (2012)

Andrew Solomon's new book examines horizontal identities - those foreign to one's parents and which require identity from a peer group. He examines a variety of horizontal identities and posits that our strength as a society comes from this diversity, and that living with someone who is different from you in fundamental ways fosters empathy and tolerance. In the first chapter (entitled "Son") he lays out his assertions along with a story of his own horizontal identity (he is gay), and then explores a different one in each of the following chapters: "Deaf", "Dwarfs", "Down Syndrome", "Autism", "Schizophrenia", "Disability", "Prodigies", "Rape", "Crime", "Transgender", ending with a chapter called "Father," in which he sums up his research and discusses his own experience becoming a parent.

Far From the Tree has been incredibly popular since it was published just a few months ago, surprising not because of the subject matter but because of the length. I never thought I'd pick up a 900+ page nonfiction book, much less finish it. I wasn't even very interested in reading it until I read this review, in which the reviewer says that a) the world would be a better place if everyone read this book and b) you really only need to read the first 48 pages to get the idea. "Well," I thought, "I can read 48 pages." The thing is, it's really hard to stop there, because while you've gotten the author's main idea, you haven't even gotten to the good stuff yet. (Also, the last 200 or so pages are notes and an index, so the book is really only 700 pages.)

The most interesting chapters for me were the ones that dealt with various types of disabilities. Some of the parents, even of extremely disabled children, insisted that they wouldn't change anything if they could, and there were times when I found it difficult to believe they really felt that way. A couple of parents of severely disabled children admitted they wished their children weren't disabled and said parents who say differently are lying. Parents of a child with Down Syndrome said if they could wave a magic wand and make him normal they would. Life is hard for him. But for themselves, they wouldn't change a thing because it's made them who they are, and they are better than would have been otherwise. These parents greatly differed from those who found such strength in their identities, and expressed outrage at cures or prevention. And that is what's most fascinating about the book I think, and its greatest strength - the many different perspectives and opposing viewpoints from people dealing with the same challenges.

It wasn't all about disabilities though. The chapters on the mentally ill, children born of rape, those who are drawn to crime, and transgender children offered insights on other types of horizontal identities. I'll admit I got a little bogged down about halfway through when I hit the chapter on musical prodigies. I understand why it was included, how genius can alienate just as much as disability, but I just found the subject boring. The "Transgender" chapter surprised me because the experience has been described very differently elsewhere. Here, gender seemed to be defined by trappings like clothing and toys and certain colors, which are all social constructs. Previously I've heard the transgender experience compared to body dysmorphia, which makes a lot to more sense to me (though obviously that doesn't mean it's more accurate.)

One of the most touching parts of the book was in the "Crime" chapter when Solomon visited with Dylan Klebold's parents and found them an easy and wonderful family to spend time with. The visit raised more questions than it answered, but I was glad it was included. In fact, you could say the entire book raised more questions than it answered. (It would be fantastic for a book group, if you can convince other people to read such a lengthy tome) In his ten years of research, Solomon encountered and explored many other issues and identities he was unable to include. He also interviewed parents of children who were obese, had addictions, dyslexia, AIDS, cancer, or were religious fundamentalists, supermodels, or bullies. These could be fascinating as well. But I suppose in terms of his premise, it all boils down to the same thing - these people are different from their families and that experience is one of both challenge and growth.

Not being a parent myself, I have no insight into the experiences of parenting any kind of child. But the interviews and Solomon's own experiences as a parent were described in a way that made it easier to understand and believe. (Honestly though, if I was in any way tempted to change my mind and have a kid, reading this would have quashed that urge.) Even if you're not a parent, you have likely been part of a family, and can therefore relate to - and learn something from - some aspect of this book.

There is so much to say about this book, and indeed I've been talking about it to anyone who will listen. I wish I had read it for a book group, because I really would like to sit down with people who have also read it and discuss it extensively. It's incredibly fascinating, there's a lot to learn, and I think everyone can relate to some aspect of it since we all know someone who fits into one of these categories. I do recommend the first chapter as it lays out his premise and background for the book, but then you could easily just read the chapters that interest you and leave the rest. Don't be daunted by the length, as I was -I highly recommend giving it a try.