The Beauty of the Hedgehog

The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery is a great book.  This beautiful, moving, and occasionally very funny novel tells the story of an amazing woman and a startling young girl, and their parallel and eventually joined paths to recognition of beauty, in the self and in the world.

Renee is the concierge of a very upscale building in Paris, a supremely intelligent and grammatically exacting woman, and Paloma is one of her tenants , a 12-year old girl already fed up with the falseness of the adults around her and doubtful about life’s possibilities. Renee is acutely aware and appreciative of life’s moments of beauty and yet is unable to grasp the absolute beauty within herself.  Paloma is a French, intelligent, and female prepubescent version of Holden Caulfield, a confused and disillusioned but still young and therefore reachable rebel.  Her thoughts are presented to us through her two thoroughly engaging and at times heartbreaking journals; from Renee we get her inner thoughts and observations through first person narration.

This book is about finding a reason to live but it is absolutely un-American in its prescription: there is no easy path, life is full of difficulties, and you are on your own.  But if you are honest and intelligent and exacting, you will find and appreciate the beauty that exists in relationships and music and nature and books.  The book is about the pure beauty that is possible in moments of genuine expression, the fleeting moments that can still last forever in our minds because of their beauty and truth.

If we are lucky, many such moments occur in our lives and we are mindful enough to grasp the beauty.  One rainy afternoon I spent in a Barcelona Art Museum over twenty-five years ago, I was stopped short by a painting. I will always remember the beauty of that painting (although I can remember neither author nor title), and the painting has its same power to bring peace to me now as it did then.  It is a simple landscape of a dawning sky over a dark hillside, with a hermit just coming out of his cave in the hill.  Apricot-orange lines had been painted in beyond the darkened hermit and his burrow to show the dawning of day;  looking at the painting I felt the thawing wind of spring, the precious beat of living, the gratitude for another day granted.  Memories of mornings I’d spent in the country entwined with the experience of seeing the painting, creating layers of time to be stored and later savored.  The moment of seeing that painting and the moments of experiencing what was presented in that painting are moments that, when brought back by remembering, have sustained and comforted me.

Renee is also aware of the threaded memories of life, and of the beauty that endures to sustain and inspire us to continue on with the sometimes heavy burden of living; she tries to pass that knowledge to Paloma, not through lessons or lectures, but through sharing of ideas and thoughts.  It is the joy of conversation, of realizing a shared observation or enthusiasm or dis-enthusiasm, that brings Paloma around to a new commitment to living, even when faced very suddenly with death.

The Elegance of the Hedgehog offers us Renee’s beautiful but thoroughly realistic appraisal of life. When she herself must re-examine what she thought she knew about herself, the forced examination does not undercut her appraisal but serves to support it even more: we understand, as she does, that by living fully observant and appreciative of the beauty that appears fleetingly in actual time but permanently in our minds, we can survive and surpass the mundane and trivial and superficial.  We can make connections and stave off alienation; each moment caught by our flourishing minds only makes all the moments to come better and better. Young Paloma commits herself to finding those “moments of always within never” as a reason to live and that reason is good enough for me.

Reviewed by Nina Sankovitch - On the Read all Day blog, Nina blogs about one book a day.

Published by Europa Books - paperback - 978-1933372600 - $15.00

I am constantly surprised by the knowledge books provide, the way they let you experience and imagine things that could never have been possible otherwise. The way they tell stories that surprise, horrify or humble you. Mommy I’m Still in Here is one such story. As the tag line says ‘It is the story of a family’s journey with bipolar disease’.

I don’t know about others but I knew nothing about bipolar disorder or manic-depressive illness.

“Manic-depression distorts moods and thoughts, incites dreadful behaviors, destroys the basis of rational thought, and too often erodes the desire and will to live. It is an illness that is biological in its origins, yet one that feels psychological in the experience of it; an illness that is unique in conferring advantage and pleasure, yet one that brings in its wake almost unendurable suffering and, not infrequently, suicide.”

The author Kate had a perfect family with husband Mark and 3 children Chloe, Michael and Monica, all 3 years apart. Everything is going fine when the eldest daughter Chloe at the age of 17 suddenly experiences severe mood swings and depression. After doctor appointments and observations Chloe is diagnosed with Bipolar disorder. As the depression and mood swings increase, Chloe also starts hallucinating. She sees and hears things that are not there. Her relationship with her mother and siblings becomes strained due to her constant mood swings.

Kate also goes through a series of emotions like confusion, desperation, grief and guilt. Kate blames herself for not recognizing the signs early even though she knew there were a lot of cases of depression and substance abuse in the family.

When after constant monitoring Chloe’s illness becomes somewhat manageable, her son Michael is diagnosed with the same illness. He starts drinking and taking drugs to feel normal.

We can imagine what a mother goes through when one of her child falls sick, this twice is a mother’s nightmare. Kate has made a lot of sacrifices for her children. She explains the difficulties of living and caring for a chronically ill person. This one dialog had chills running down my spine. It’s when Chloe attempted suicide by cutting her nerves and after Kate patched her up.

“Through it all, Chloe did not fight me, did not talk, and did not respond. When we were finished, she raised her face to mine and stated matter-of-factly, “Next time I’ll cut the other way, straight down the vein. It’ll be faster and you won’t be able to fix it.” ”

This is also Kate’s story. She learned not to blame herself when she finally admitted to herself and to others that she is not responsible for what happened or will not be responsible for what happens in the future. Kate says she has come to terms with the fact that eradicating her children’s illness is not the solution.

“If we believe that disabilities must be altered or abolished, then we imply that the absence of disability equals a good life. But does it? Because if that’s true, one might deduce that anyone with a disability is inferior. That line of reasoning leads to a horrible, deeply disturbing, and dangerous arena.

Disability does not require solution or abolition, but understanding, and when necessary, temperature to allow the disabled to function more fully.

Bipolar disorder is a chronic mental illness. It does not go away. Chloe and Michael will always have it. It will forever alter their lives, and as a result, will alter ours too. Nevertheless, we embrace the experience and anticipate future legs of the journey because we know that this world, this life, offers everybody opportunities to learn and grow and evolve. ”

Okay, I’ll stop else I’ll end up quoting the entire book. All I can say is please, please, please read this book. It is sad, horrifying, depressing, uplifting, encouraging, gripping, informative, moving and hopeful. I hope Chloe, Michael and even Monica is doing fine. I hope the entire family is doing fine. I would like to take back my sentence ‘The author Kate had a perfect family…’ and correct it to ‘The author Kate has a perfect family…’. A family that supports one another, that understands each others problems and accepts it without judgment is nothing more than perfect.

Did you know that Napoleon, Mark Twain, Charles Dickens, William Faulkner, Sylvia Plath, John Keats, Virginia Wolf, Vincent Van Gogh were possibly victims of Bipolar disorder?

Reviewed by Violet Crush of the excellent blog by the same name.

Six novels in one.

The word genius is bandied about in several of the reviews I read of David Mitchell’s fourth novel, Cloud Atlas, and so I decided to read it, thinking Shakespeare, Beethoven, Einstein, Michaelangelo, etc., people who in my opinion, fill this billing. I found no genius in Cloud Atlas, but what I did find was a courageous attempt, including many brilliant moments, to write an apocalyptic novel for our times.

Let me start, and dismiss, the structure: six separate narratives linked by a comet-shaped birth mark, a music manuscript and probably a couple of other props that I missed. These are not in any event significant (if they are I missed the point) and the narratives are not really related except in the overarching sense that mankind has done and will continue to do bad things, including destroy the planet, all because of the will to wealth and power by the bad people among us. An old theme but one that bears scrutiny and, as I say, takes courage to address.

The heart of the book is the novella entitled, Sloosha’s Crossin’ An’ Ev’rythin’ After. This is a brilliant evocation of the world after the fall, a subject that has always fascinated me (think Alas, Babylon, A Canticle For Liebowitz, On The Beach), and one that Mitchell utterly dominates. His creation of language, culture, artifact, religion and poignant myth-like memories of the world before the fall, along with a compelling story line about a simple man caught up in the battle against evil, is brilliant and the work of a wildly creative yet disciplined imagination.

Two of the other stories come close to Sloosha’s, but do not quite hit the mark. The first part of The Pacific Journal of Adam Ewing, which is where Cloud Atlas begins, is the story of a good and honest man traveling as a passenger on a schooner from Australia to San Francisco. The horrors of these journeys under tyrannical and evil captains have been described before, but Mitchell’s take, with his balance between Ewing’s interior and exterior lives is well worth the read.

As is An Orison of Sonmi-451, a novella set in futuristic Korea, in which a cloned “fabricant” escapes  her slave status and ends up as the goddess worshipped by the simple inhabitants of Sloosha’s world. This narrative is filled with clichés (the planet is being destroyed by corporate greed, clones are deceived into believing they will go to an island paradise when they have completed their service, etc.). It is, however, saved from the cliché dust bin by the wonderfully imaginative setting Mitchell creates: language, technology, myriad Big Brother accessories—all come across as completely believable. This story, done in a series of interviews with the future goddess, lacks the fear factor that made 1984 great, but it is quite an achievement.

The other novellas, one pointless, (or to me, anyway) about a publisher trapped inn a nursing home, and the other–about a reporter in 1975 California trying to expose, a la Jane Fonda in The China Syndrome–the fatal design flaw in an atomic energy plant–is too painfully politically correct to be interesting. God appears out of a machine to save the heroine so often in this story that I thought at first Mitchell was pulling the leg of his readers, but no, he meant it.

I did not find genius in Cloud Atlas. I should not have expected to, knowing that the meaning of the word has been dumbed down, along with almost everything else in our culture. But it does contain brilliance and some great story-telling. For these reasons it is well worth reading.

Reviewed by James LePore , author of A World I Never Made.

Published by Random House - paperback - 978-0375507250 - $14.95

Breathing in Art

Reading Willa Cather’s The Song of the Lark is like breathing in art, instead of air.  It’s in the words chosen by the author, in Thea’s artistic pursuit of her voice (a lark, of course, known for its beautiful songs), and in Thea’s love of the painting, ”The Song of the Lark,” by French painter Jules Breton.  Here on the cover, it was painted in 1884, and now hangs in the Art Institute of Chicago, perhaps since 1894.  The book was published in 1915.

Thea describes the painting:

“But in that same room there was a picture–oh, that was the thing she ran upstairs so fast to see!  That was her picture…She liked even the name of it, “The Song of the Lark.”  The flat country, the early morning light, the wet fields, the look in the girl’s heavy face–well, they were all hers, anyhow, whatever was there.  She told herself that that picture was ‘right.’  Just what she meant by this, it would take a clever person to explain.  But to her the word covered the almost boundless satisfaction she felt when she looked at the picture.”

Toward the end of the novel, Thea says:  “I had lived a long, eventful life, and an artist’s life, every hour of it.  Wagner says, in his most beautiful opera, that art is only a way of remembering youth.  And the older we grow the more precious it seems to us, and the more richly we can present that memory.”

When the novel opens, Thea is eleven.  We meet her first as a child.  Late in the book, she says, “A child’s attitude toward everything is an artist’s attitude.”  Henri Matisse, years later, emphasizes this point in his famous essay, “Looking at Life with the Eyes of a Child.”  The artist, he writes, must look at everything “as though he were seeing it for the first time:  he has to look at life as he did when he was a child.”

Thea says, “They save me: the old things, things like the Kohlers’ garden.  They are in everything I do.”  It’s her being able to reach them, inside herself , that allows her to come into the fullness of her voice.

Reviewed by Cynthia Newberry Martin at Catching Days which is one of Powell’s Books’ “Lit Blogs We Love.”

Publisher by Wilder Publications - paperback - 978-1604595109 - $12.95

Full Circle

In July, I read Arlington Park by Rachel Cusk, a writer I’d never read before.  Upon finishing the novel, I immediately wanted to reread it.  Instead, I began a journey that has lasted four months:  reading each of Rachel Cusk’s books in the order she wrote them.  With this post, we come full circle, back to the book that started it all.

Watching Rachel Cusk develop as a writer was like watching a house being built.  With Arlington Park, her most recent book published in 2006, not only is the house built and decorated, but the author is now sitting by the fire with a latte.

Arlington Park is well written and digs deep into truth.  It’s about women–real and flawed.  It’s about marriage.  It’s about not only the lives we plan to live and choose to live, but the lives we end up living.  In an article written in 2005, Cusk said, “I remain fascinated by where you go as a woman once you are a mother, and if you ever come back.”  Arlington Park is one of the best books I read in 2008, and a new addition to my all-time favorite books.

The first sentence:  “All night the rain fell on Arlington Park.”  The falling of rain appears like a refrain throughout the book.  The rain falls on everyone in Arlington Park.  It falls on all of us.

The novel is divided into ten unmarked sections:  1-the rain fell; 2-Juliet; 3-Amanda; 4-Christine, Maisie and Stephanie at the mall; 5-Solly; 6-in the park/the rain had stopped; 7-Juliet; 8-Maisie; 9-Christine; and 10-party at Christine’s with Juliet, Maisie, and Maggie.

The first time I read it, I was so taken with Juliet that I didn’t want to leave her to switch to Amanda.  This time, it did not feel like a brusque change, but felt right.  Because it’s not just about one of us; it’s about all of us.

Here’s a little flavor of what you have to look forward to:

Juliet about a recording of a song by Ravel:  “The sound of it brought tears to Juliet’s eyes. It was the voice, that woman’s voice, so solitary and powerful, so–transcendent. It made Juliet think she could transcend it all, this little house with its stained carpets, its shopping, its flawed people, transcend the grey, rain-sodden distances of Arlington Park; transcend, even her own body, where bitterness lay like lead in the veins. She could open somewhere like a flower…open out all the petals packed inside her.”

Solly about her inability to communicate with a Japanese student renting out their extra room:  “…she became aware of how much of her lay shrouded in this inarticulable darkness.”

Solly:  “Suddenly she saw her life as a breeding ground, a community under a rock…There was a lack of light, a lack of higher purpose to it all. How could she have forgotten to find out what else there was? How could she have stayed there, under her rock, down in the mulch, and forgotten to take a look outside and see what was going on? All at once she didn’t know what she’d been thinking of.”

Reviewed by Cynthia Newberry Martin at Catching Days a wonderful blog that is one of Powell’s Books’ “Lit Blogs We Love.”

Published by Picador - paperback - 978-0312426729 - $14.00

A brief synopsis:
A lost child…
On the eve of the first world war, a little girl is found abandoned on a ship to Australia. A mysterious woman called the Authoress had promised to look after her – but the Authoress has disappeared without a trace.
A terrible secret…
On the night of her twenty-first birthday, Nell O’Connor learns a secret that will change her life forever. Decades later, she embarks upon a search for the truth that leads her to the windswept Cornish coast and the strange and beautiful Blackhurst Manor, once owned by the aristocratic Mountrachet family.
A mysterious inheritance…
On Nell’s death, her grand-daughter, Cassandra, comes into an unexpected inheritance. Cliff Cottage and its forgotten garden are notorious amongst the Cornish locals for the secrets they hold – secrets about the doomed Mountrachet family and their ward Eliza Makepeace, a writer of dark Victorian fairytales. It is here that Cassandra will finally uncover the truth about the family, and solve the century-old mystery of a little girl lost.

It’s really difficult to tell you much about this book without spoilers. So while I was thinking about how to write the review I read the synopsis on Kate Morton’s site (given above). As you can see there are 3 layers to this novel. 3 layers that answer the same questions, ’Where did Nell come from?’, ‘Who were here parents?’ and ‘why was she put on a ship to Australia as a 4 year old?’

‘The forgotten garden’ is a journey to find these answers, a mystery that spans 2 continents and 2 centuries, a mystery that will lead 2 women, Nell and Cassandra, to Cornish coast, Blackhurst Manor and ultimately to a cottage on a cliff and a forgotten garden. A garden that lives and breathes, a garden where fairy tales were written and secrets kept safe.

When Nell was 4 she was left alone on a ship sailing from Europe to Australia. She was adopted by a man who found her all alone and couldn’t leave her to fend for herself. When Nell turns 21, her father tells her the truth. Nell is devastated by this. After some years, before her father dies, he arranges to return to Nell the suitcase with which she had arrived. Based on its contents and a book of Fairy Tales written by Eliza Makepiece, Nell decides to find out who she really is. After Nell dies, her granddaughter Cassandra follows her grandmother’s footsteps when she learns that Nell has left her a cottage in Europe as an inheritance.

Essentially there are 3 stories running in parallel, Nell’s search for her parents, Cassandra’s search for her grandmother’s past and finally the story of Eliza and Rose, where it all began.

This was my first Kate Morton book and I was blown away by her writing and her ability to spin 3 complicated plots together. Al though at times I was confused with what was happening; overall it was a fantastic book. I wanted more of this book and considering it’s almost 600 pages, that’s saying a lot. Her writing is so beautiful that I found myself getting lost in the small sea side town, in Eliza and Rose’s story and wondering how it all fit. I tried to guess the mystery a lot of times but was always wrong. The story I loved reading most of all was that of Eliza. She was so vivacious, rebellious and full of life.

Kate Morton’s writing is so evocative and her way of describing things is so beautiful that you cannot help but get lost in the story. Take for example,

He was a scribble of a man. Frail and fine and stooped from a knot in the center of his knobbled back. Beige slacks with grease spots clung to the marbles of his knees, twiglike ankles rose stoically from over-sized shoes, and tufts of white floss sprouted from various fertile spots on a otherwise smooth scalp. He looked like a character from a children’s story. A fairy story.

Some people might find the writing style very wordy but it worked for me. I suggest giving this book your full attention instead of clubbing it with a couple of other reads, because as I said, there are 3 plots running simultaneously and if you read it in gaps you might get confused by the jumps.

Highly Recommended.

P.S: If you like reading fairy tales, you might like this book even more.

Reviewed by VioletCrush - here’s the link to her excellent blog

Published by Atria - hardcover - 978-1416550549 - $26.00.

Back in 2006, before my blogging days, I read The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon and it became the book in which I’ve compared everything else to since. When The Angel’s Game came up for review on Shelf Awareness, I knew I had to read it as soon as possible. I dropped everything when it arrived in the mail.

David Martin is a down and out writer. He’s absolutely brilliant but he’s never been able to show that he can write more than penny dreadfuls. His mentor is about to marry the girl he’s madly in love with and, by the way, he’s dying of a brain tumour. Things look bleak until a mysterious publisher, Andreas Corelli, appears and promises David all his desires if he’ll write one book for him. A book that people would live and die for.

David agrees but is perplexed by what Corelli wants from him. Not being a believer in an afterlife, he feels he’s writing another sham, “a vaudeville” as the boss calls it. Soon though, David feels that he’s being pulled into something more sinister. The book and his life seem to be following the same path as his predecessor, the writer of a book he took from The Cemetery of Forgotten Books. A man whose life fell apart as he descended into madness.

When David starts investigating the writer’s story, evil forces put himself and his loved ones in danger of their lives- and their souls.

The Angel’s Game is dripping in atmosphere. It’s Super Gothic, an old-fashioned creepy tale. I felt like I was in the 1920s. I could feel the buildings hovering over me, see the dark streets and alleyways as I read. Strange, unexplainable things happen to David. The question is: who is the publisher no one has ever heard of before? The man with the wolf-like eyes and smile? Zafon gives us room to make our own conclusions, but I think we know who we’re talking about here.

There are parts of The Angel’s Game that are similar to The Shadow of the Wind but this is a much darker book. In fact, the story gets darker as the book progresses. It is a violent story as well, with a high body count by the end. But even through the darkness, there is light. David’s love for Cristina never wavers. The love story is underneath it all.

I love what Zafon has to say about The Angel’s Game and The Shadow of the Wind. I think it sums it up exactly:

“Thus, if Shadow of the Wind is the nice, good girl in the family, The Angel’s Game would be the wicked gothic stepsister. Some readers often ask me if The Angel’s Game is a prequel or a sequel. The answer is: none of these things, and all of the above. Essentially The Angel’s Game is a new book, a stand-alone story that you can fully enjoy and understand on its own.”

The writing is lyrical, the characters vivid. Even the minor characters, ones that appear only briefly, feel like real people. I wondered what their stories were. So many of the major characters have complexities that make them so interesting. I had mixed feelings for David’s mentor, Petro Vidal, at times I was frustrated with him and others I felt so sorry for him. And Corelli… he’s just spooky!

I don’t think I can say more about this book without sounding like I’m gushing. The Angel’s Game won’t have to be put in The Cemetery of Forgotten Books but it will make unto my Bookshelf of Unlendable Books. If I lent this one out and never got it back, there would be hell to pay.

Highly recommended.

Reviewed by Chris who reviews books regularly at Book-a-rama.

Published by Doubleday - Hardcover - 978-0385528702 - $26.95

Lionel Shriver’s We Need To Talk About Kevin is one of most intense, disturbing, well-written, and deeply affecting books I have ever read. I finished it in awe of Shriver’s considerable writing talent, as well as the horrifyingly real, unforgettable story she created. I’ve struggled with this review, which is unlike me - usually I am eager to write about a book as soon as I finish it. With Kevin, though, I have found myself starting this review over and over, not entirely sure how to talk about it without giving too much away, while still giving it the credit it is due.

We Need To Talk About Kevin is the story of Eva, a woman who entered motherhood with deep ambivalence and gave birth to Kevin, a difficult baby with whom she never bonded. The book is told through letters from Eva to her husband, Franklin, in which she looks back on their marriage, Kevin’s birth, and his difficult childhood and adolescence, recounting with frank honesty her experience as a mother.

Kevin is more than just a difficult child, however - he is deeply disturbed and, in the end, psychopathic. The book culminates with him executing a mass murder at his high school - a fact that is revealed in the first chapter. His first 15 years of existence are filled with incidents that grow increasingly more hateful and demonic, and the book explores how Eva feels about her son, her role as his mother, her possible cuplability in how he turned out, and her relationship with Franklin, who consistently turns a blind eye to Kevin’s evil nature and the danger he poses to his family. There is some truly horrifying stuff in here, which I won’t reveal in this review for fear of spoiling it for readers.

I know people who won’t read this book based on the subject matter, and I can understand why. But they are missing out on Shriver’s writing. She is a beautiful, eloquent writer, as I also learned from her most recent book, The Post Birthday World (reviewed here). Here is just one passage out of many that I marked purely for their craftsmanship:

[On] the birth of both of my chidren, I could immediately discern a dominant emotional tone, like the top note of a chord or the foreground color of a canvas. In Kevin, the note was the shrill high pitch of a rape whistle, the color was a pulsing, aortal red, and the feeling was fury.  The shriek and pump of all that rage was unsustainable, so as he grew older the note would descend to the uninflected blare of a leaned-on car horn; the paint in the foreground would gradually thicken, its hue coagulating to the sluggish black-purple of liver, and his prevailing emotion would subside from fitful wrath to steady, unabating resentment.

So, what is the purpose of this book, other than being what is at heart a real-life horror story? It is a thorough, modern examination of motherhood, the nature of the sacrifice of identity, and of course, an exploration of the role that parents play in shaping their children. Was Kevin’s personality ultimately a product of Eva’s ambivalence? Or was her tortured introduction to motherhood caused by a son whose antisocial and alienating personality was formed in the womb? Were Kevin’s actions meant to impress his mother, punish her, or neither? What loyalty do parents owe to their children, even at their own great personal expense?

I feel like I could go on and on about this book and still never exhaust my thoughts and questions.

Reviewed by Gayle Weiswasser of Everyday I Write the Book - Because who has time to figure out what to read? (a sentiment Readiac supports

Published by Harper Perennial - paperback - 978-0061124297 - $13.99

In her debut novel, The Help, author Kathryn Stockett goes inside the homes of 1960s Mississippi to show the relationships between young white women and the black maids they employ.

Skeeter, a new Ole Miss graduate, is back home in Jackson, single and living with her parents again. Her two best friends, Elizabeth and Hilly, are both married, with small children and full-time help. As Skeeter observes the relationships between her friends and their maids, she becomes increasingly interested in the lives of the women who take care of her friends’ houses and children.

As Hilly pushes her initiative for Junior League members to build separate bathrooms at their homes for “the help,” Skeeter is frustrated by the racial lines drawn so firmly, even boldly asking Elizabeth’s maid, Aibeleen, “Do you ever wish you could…change things?”

When Skeeter, ironically, takes on the housekeeping advice column at the local paper to get writing experience, she turns to Aibileen to help her ghost write. But, as the relationship matures, a new idea develops.

What if she interviewed some of Jackson’s housekeepers (and surrogate mothers) to tell their stories? Would things, in fact, change?

Given the racial atmosphere of the time, it’s a dangerous proposition, yet Skeeter and Aibileen join together and take the risk for the greater (potential) good of the project.

I feel like I’m not even doing the summary of this book justice. I had to stop myself from telling the entire story, because it struck such a chord with me.

While I didn’t grow up this way, my father did, raised by Matt Eva while his parents worked at their grocery store in a small Georgia town. She stayed on long after he was gone, and I spent my days with her when I visited during the summer as a child. She was as much of an influence on me as my own grandparents.

The Help is so incredibly honest and authentic, and it’s impressive that Stockett could tell the story equally well from the perspectives of both Skeeter and Aibileen. The stories from the maids are sad and shocking, as they endure countless acts of abuse and discrimination, but they are also sweet and tender, as these women form powerful relationships with the children in their care, raising them as their own.

This book…this book…is simply amazing.

Reviewed by Jill Pinheiro in her very fine book centric blog Breaking the Spine.

Published by G.P. Putnam - hardcover - 978-0399155345 - $24.95

Synopsis:
During the Nazis’ brutal siege of Leningrad, Lev Beniov is arrested for looting and thrown into the same cell as a handsome deserter named Kolya. Instead of being executed, Lev and Kolya are given a shot at saving their own lives by complying with an outrageous directive: secure a dozen eggs for a powerful Soviet colonel to use in his daughter’s wedding cake. In a city cut off from all supplies and suffering unbelievable deprivation, Lev and Kolya embark on a hunt through the dire lawlessness of Leningrad and behind enemy lines to find the impossible.

My review:
I’m just going to say it up front–I loved this book. Honestly, I thought it sounded interesting but I was not expecting to like it as much as I did. This coming-of-age story is set against the background of the siege of Leningrad. With a siege as a backdrop, you would expect to be horrified–and Benioff does not pull any punches here. You would expect the story to be sad, and it is, although you will be astounded by the resilience of the Russian people. You would not expect humor, but Benioff is even able to give the reader that. Lev and Kolya’s relationship is marvelous and very real. So many authors feel the need to squeeze all of their research into the story, but Benioff has a deft touch with his research, not allowing it to overwhelm the story. The pacing is perfect. The story moves along well, with a nice mix of action and quiet moments. Some books I recommend to my female friends, some to the males; this one I recommend to everyone.

Reviewed by Lisa Sheppard whose nicely done blog LitandLife is here.

City of Thieves is published by Plume in paperback - 978-0452295292 - $15.00