Dani’s Story: A Journey from Neglect to Love (Diane & Bernie Lierow and Kay West)

After reading an interview with Kay West, the ghost writer of Dani’s Story, in the City Paper (a Nashville news magazine), I vaguely remembered hearing about the abuse case on the national news, but I couldn’t recall the details.  The interview was compelling enough to send me to Amazon for the book.  

Dani’s Story tells about a little girl in Florida who was profoundly neglected by her biological family and was eventually rescued and adopted by Diane and Bernie Lierow after they chanced upon a photo of her and felt an immediate connection.  Although Danielle would have been a healthy, normal little girl, the abuse she endured for the first part of her life rendered severe consequences:  She couldn’t feed herself.  She couldn’t talk, but only howled and grunted.  She was in diapers full time.  She walked on tip toe, a result of a neurological underdevelopment.  She had no sense of social or physical boundaries, running and climbing anywhere - into ocean waters and swimming pools, onto furniture, and into the kitchen freezer.  The biological mother had never taken Danielle to a doctor, but when she was examined after her rescue, at almost eight years old, she tested no higher than twenty months of age for various developmental functions.

Although Dani was initially “feral” and therefore extremely demanding, she was also surprisingly sweet natured, considering the abysmal conditions in which she’d been kept until Diane and Bernie found her.  Through tremendous sacrifice, patience, and love, the Lierows helped bring Dani to a normally functioning level on many counts.

The Lierow family, 2009

What struck me most about this story is that there is nothing extraordinary about the adoptive family.  Neither parent is too highly educated.  Neither has a glamorous career.  They had both been divorced twice before.  They’re not wealthy or otherwise privileged.  The mother’s first-person narrative isn’t poetic or intellectual.  She sounds like someone you’d run into at the grocery store - someone who looks and sounds completely typical until she tells her very atypical story about the gorgeous little girl beside her.  

When you read Dani’s Story, you’ll be confounded by the ignorance and incompetence of some people, but you’ll also be inspired by the wholehearted service and commitment of others, especially adoptive parents, and even more especially those like Diane and Bernie Lierow who adopt children with profound needs.

Check it out on Amazon!

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (Ken Kesey)

This is the chain of events that led me to One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest:

1. I read a segment of The Right Stuff (Tom Wolfe) for a college writing class and loved it.
2. I read The Right Stuff in its entirety and fell in love with Tom Wolfe.
3. I read The Electric Kool Aid Acid Test because Tom Wolfe wrote it, and I was intrigued by Ken Kesey in the story.
4. I read One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest because Ken Kesey wrote it, and I loved it.

In Cuckoo’s Nest, a mentally-ill American Indian, “Chief Broom,” narrates the goings-on of his psychiatric ward in the heyday of electroshock therapy and lobotomies.  Via his exaggerated perspective and his hallucinations (the Combine, the fog, the machinery in the walls), you see the greater forces, flaws, and effects of the system.

When Randall McMurphy, a rabblerouser and consummate gambler, joins the ward as a new patient, he bets the other patients that he can shake the impenetrable composure of their nemesis, Miss Ratched (“the Big Nurse”) within one week, and he in fact spends the rest of his institutionalization doing exactly that.  The previously perfectly running mental ward becomes the key battleground in psychological warfare between McMurphy and Nurse Ratched.  To the other patients, McMurphy functions as a raunchy, roughneck Jesus, coming to them on their own turf, challenging the powers that be, and working for the deliverance of his followers.  In the end, McMurphy succeeds:  He erodes the Big Nurse’s influence, and he effects the release or escape of those who want to leave.  But, like Jesus, McMurphy pays a tragic price for their salvation.

Ken Kesey

Kesey’s prose is artistically colloquial, relying heavily on dialogue for precise characterization - McMurphy’s congenial cockiness, Harding’s effeminate intellectualism, Billy Bibbit’s childlike innocence, etc. Through the narration, Kesey also captures Chief Broom’s quiet pride despite the indignities forced upon him, a symbol of his Indian ancestors.

The conclusion is sad and heroic and horrific and lovely, so much so that I’m reluctant to see the movie for fear that it will distort the sentiments Kesey intended.  I think I’ll wait a year or two.

Check it out on Amazon!

The Year We Disappeared: A Father-Daughter Memoir (Cylin Busby and John Busby)

The Year We Disappeared is the memoir of a Falmouth, Massachusetts, police officer, John Busby, and his daughter, Cylin, who alternate the narration as they recall the brazen murder attempt on John in 1979, the subsequent damage to their family, and finally, their hard-earned healing.

For nearly a year after John is shot in the face with a shotgun, the Busby family stays in their house in Falmouth with round-the-clock police protection as the “investigation” bungles along.  The longer they stay, the more guarded they must become, until they’re essentially prisoners in their house.  Meanwhile, the slimeball culprit lives freely, protected by his own connections in the political structure.

During his narrative, John matter-of-factly relates how he knows who shot him, how the investigators suppress the evidence, and how he plans his revenge.  He also plainly describes the unpleasantries of his medical treatment and recovery.  In her comparatively innocent nine year-old voice, Cylin describes the childhood angst associated with constant visible police presence, the resulting dissociation from her friends, the terror of living with ever-looming death threats, and the horror of losing a happy, healthy, handsome father, and having him replaced with an angry, freakish, machine-dependent waif.

John and Cylin before the shooting

In the course of the year, John’s anger surges as he sees that the investigation has been lost to corruption and he witnesses the harm done to his family:  His wife suffers nervous breakdowns.  The children can’t play in their own yard.  Cylin’s brothers perform poorly and behave violently in school.  All of the kids lose friends and withdraw, suppressing their emotions and refusing to talk about their struggles.  So, in order to pursue a normal life, John and his wife decide they all should “disappear.”  They move from Massachusetts to a farm in Tennessee where they know absolutely no one, and where no one - not even law enforcement - knows they’ve gone.

John and Cylin now

The Year We Disappeared is, to say the least, an easy read for adults.  I blew through the 329 pages in a few days and never consulted my dictionary once.  Cylin (the primary author) has written several books for the tween and teen set, and this book, while fine for adults, is also more appropriate for juvenile readers.  She handles the violence and medical descriptions gracefully enough to be emotionally manageable for young readers, but starkly enough to illustrate the horrific nature of the crime.  This book may teach your kids to appreciate the threats placed upon police officers, to understand that evil exists even in institutions that are supposed to suppress it, and to be empathetic to others who have problems they can’t understand.

Check it out on Amazon!

My Michael (Amos Oz)

As an Israeli author, Amos Oz composed My Michael in Hebrew.  So, as a typical monolingual American, I had to settle for the English translation.  The translator (Nicholas de Lange) did a beautiful job, as far as I can tell.  The prose is elegant and maintains the intended dark timbre and simmering hostility of the original.

In 1950s Jerusalem, Hanna and Michael are a seemingly normal young married couple.  They start out fairly impoverished in a small apartment in a none-too-prestigious neighborhood, and over time, they do the things most couples do: have a baby, acquire nice stuff, take family trips, develop relationships with in-laws and neighbors.  But beneath the normalcy, Hannah emotionally detaches from her real-life circumstances as she increasingly engages with her fantasies.  Michael, who is pragmatic, responsible, and studious, can’t offer Hannah the adventure she craves.  She inwardly resents the stability and routine, and she drifts away from her husband.

The story isn’t plot driven.  Instead, it focuses on Hannah’s psychological evolution. Early in the narrative, she admits that she has always pined for a time in her youth when she was sick and bedridden because she loved the adventure of her vivid dreams while she rested. In her adulthood, her dreams and visions grow fantastically wild and frighteningly dangerous, even masochistic.

Aside from the central story line, My Michael also poignantly illustrates the social environment of the time in a study of contrasts - the scholars in Jerusalem and the laborers of the kibbutzim, the orthodox families and the secularists, the generally even-tempered men and the comparatively hot-headed women.

As for the artistic quality, the English is gorgeous, much better than most originally American-English books.  Even so, I realize that much was unavoidably lost in translation.  For example, my Israeli cousin pointed out one contrast which otherwise would have been completely lost to me because of the intrinsic meanings of the Hebrew city names.  She explains:

“Even the opposition between Jerusalem (where Michael and Hannah live) and Holon (where Michael's father lives) is extreme.  The abbreviation of Jerusalem is Yam, which means sea in Hebrew (even though there is no sea in Jerusalem).  And the Hol in Holon means sand in Hebrew.  Hannah drowns in Jerusalem in her dreams and hallucinations, but in Holon she thrives (and visits the seashore).”  

Thanks to my cousin Michal (aka Miki) for her linguistic insight (and for gifting me with this beautiful book).  

I also found this audio recording of a BBC World Book Club interview with Amos Oz. (Note:  They spell his first name Amoz.)  The primary-source perspective is a treat, as Oz discusses lots of cool details I didn't cover, such as how the story psychically came to him as a young man living in a kibbutz, and whether he personally likes or dislikes the characters of Hannah and Michael.  If nothing else, it’s fun to hear the author’s voice and beautiful Israeli accent.

Check it out on Amazon!

The Paris Wife (Paula McLain)

The Paris Wife was recommended to me as a non-fiction.  And it is, somewhat.  We could probably more accurately say “based on a true story.”  Generally, it’s the biography of Ernest Hemingway’s first wife, Hadley, told in her voice.  Still, the author cannot possibly have been privy to all the detailed goings-on in Hadley’s mind as written, so she offers this disclaimer: “Although...people who actually lived appear in this book as fictional characters, it was important for me to render the particulars of their lives as accurately as possible, and to follow the very well documented historical record.”  So I in turn give you, my readers, this disclaimer of my own:  While I admit that I may have mildly cheated in allowing The Paris Wife as my non-fiction, I accept that the main events are factual, and I therefore choose to be graceful to myself and let it slide.

If you’re not into art and literature, the story itself is thoroughly compelling as it describes Hadley and Ernest’s immediate fixation on one another, their ill-advised long-distance courtship, their passionate marriage, mostly in poverty, and finally the fatal love triangle in 1920’s-era bohemian Paris.  If you’re at all familiar with the literary scene of that time and place, you’ll love the intimate and dirty little look at not only the Hemingways, but also at the greats with whom they socialized, people like F. Scott Fitzgerald and his loony wife, Zelda, Gertrude Stein and her lesbian partner, Alice, along with plenty and diverse mistresses and scorned lovers.

McLain portrays Ernest Hemingway fairly, I think, not as a hopeless drunk or a lecherous slimeball.  Instead, she illustrates alcohol’s role as a social fixture and mutual coping mechanism, and discloses Ernest’s depressed and desperate mindset and as he grapples with his affection for both Hadley and his eventual second wife, Pauline, in an environment where monogamy is not the norm.

This text had me so intrigued with Ernest that, when I finished, I decided to chase it with a selection from his short stories.  I found “The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber” in an anthology on my shelf and went into it blindly.  Be warned:  If you’re as mush-hearted as I am, don’t do what I did.  Don't read this right before bed.  Why not?  Because a big game hunt goes terribly, terribly wrong.  Hemingway’s trademark sparse and brutal treatment will demand at least an hour of nerve-regathering.  Best read it by broad daylight.

Check it out on Amazon!

The Grapes of Wrath (John Steinbeck)

I had never read this book before.  I know, I know - shame on me!  (I’ve never seen the movie either, but that’s forgivable, right?)  Several months ago, I saw The Grapes of Wrath on one of those lists of books everyone ought to read, and as an American bibliophile in general and a Steinbeck fan specifically (East of Eden is one of my all-time faves), I felt guilty and ordered it from Amazon.  Now, after Steve Martin and Howard Schultz, it was time for one of the greats.

I won’t wax verbose with plot summary because you likely know the gist already.  In short, Steinbeck illustrates the struggles of migrant workers during the Great Depression via the Joad family, share croppers in Oklahoma who are forced off their land during the Dust Bowl.  They load up the jalopy Beverly Hillbillies style, and the whole famdamily heads to California to pursue the widely advertised work and good wages.  When they arrive, they discover that work is elusive, wages are paltry, and the socio-political climate is hostile.

Despite the straight and relatively surprise-free plot line, the characters’ll catch ya.  Steinbeck draws them expertly and empathetically, and his control over the Okie dialect is so perfect, you hear them.  The intermittent descriptive chapters, largely in Steinbeck’s own gorgeous prose, are so poetic that I took to reading them aloud.

Considering some of our current political debates, the remembrance of this history is especially relevant.  The migrants’ plight somewhat parallels the situation faced by many of today’s “undocumented workers.”  You may be inspired to revisit your own ideas on illegal immigrants.  The Joads’ story may also broaden your thoughts on labor unions.  No matter how you feel about unions today, if this story is at all accurate, you’ll see how essential they were, at least initially, to US economic progress.  And the theological viewpoints in the book may get you thinking about the role religion plays in modern international hostilities.

Rarely when I finish a book do I gape at the last page and say, Wow.  This time, I did.  The final scene of The Grapes of Wrath is so poignant, so repulsive and beautiful, so hopeless and hopeful.  Don’t worry - no spoilers here.  But if you haven’t read it already, don’t peek!!

Check it out on Amazon!

Onward: How Starbucks Fought for Its Life without Losing Its Soul (Howard Schultz with Joanne Gordon)

You may know that, as a rule, I alternate my reading selections between fiction and non-fiction.  You may also know that my daughter works at Starbucks.  Those two bits of trivia dictated my decision to read Onward: How Starbucks Fought for Its Life without Losing Its Soul.  I assure you, this book was never on my Amazon Wish List, so here’s how it happened:

When Onward was released, Starbucks gave a "Special Partner Edition” to each employee.  In turn, my Blessed-Precious gifted it to me.  Having just finished Steve Martin’s Shopgirl (fiction), it was time for a non.  And there sat Onward on my bookshelf, one of only two unread non-fictions. The other was a mountain climbing story, and since I’d read Three Cups of Tea not terribly long ago, I wasn’t up for another high-altitude adventure.

I admit that I approached Onward with a decided dearth of enthusiasm.  First of all, I’m ambivalent at best about coffee, and big business doesn’t make the short list of things I care deeply about.  Nevertheless, here’s the gist: 

Howard Schultz is the founder and ceo of Starbucks.  (The executives don’t capitalize their titles - a gesture of humility, I suppose.)  When he stepped back from that role in 2000 for several years, taking on a chairmanship instead, he was initially pleased with the continued health and growth of his company under the new leaders.  Then came the Great Recession.  Starbucks’ stock value declined alarmingly, but Schultz was convinced that the company’s woes did not strictly result from the economic downturn.  He observed several disconcerting operational and leadership issues, and in order to redirect the company, he returned as ceo in 2008.  This book details how Schultz stepped away from company growth strategies and focused instead on improving the product, the company image, and the customer experience in order to make Starbucks profitable again.

Schultz’s timbre is that of a parent and a pastor.  Starbucks is his baby, and the world is his mission field.

The Frustrated Father:  Schultz tells humbling stories of Starbuck’s misadventures and even his own “parenting” faux pas.  For example, Starbucks discontinued in-store bean grinding for a while in order to operate more efficiently.  Of course, this lessened the aroma of coffee in the store, thereby depleting an essential element of the customer experience.  So, at Schultz’s directive, stores began grinding beans in-house throughout the day.  Schultz also tells how he championed products which turned out to be failures, and how he demanded the end of breakfast sandwiches only to bring them back upon customer outcry. 

The Proud Papa:  Schultz brags like crazy when his baby done good.  He discusses Starbucks’ environmental and humanitarian work at length, and he details the development and launch of successful new products like Pike Place brew (for customers who prefer a milder blend) and the VIA instants (which were introduced to Schultz in 1989 by a cell biologist, then tweaked and perfected for twenty years until they were finally brought to market in 2009, surprising even the most obnoxious skeptics with their quality). 

The Proselytizing Pastor:  Schultz unrelentingly preaches that no coffee in the world surpasses Starbucks in quality.  He is personally pained when he sees someone carrying a cup with any logo but the green Siren.  Also, as he describes (ad nauseum) the goings-on at Starbucks leadership conferences, he comes off like a charismatic clergyman.  After the opening speakers have primed the crowd, he takes the pulpit and calls down the Starbucks Spirit with his sermons (which he quotes by the paragraph), filling the congregants with zeal to do the good work, spread the word, and grow the church.  (Metaphors mine.)

Despite the snarkiness of the previous paragraph, I liked Onward more than I thought I would.  The quality of the writing is pretty standard for a ghost-written project - technically adequate, but not artful or inspiring.  The content, however, garnered in me a greater appreciation for the high-level corporate perspective, especially the pressures that top leaders experience.  I now also understand the sentimentality that entrepreneurs have for their businesses. 

And to celebrate the reading of the final chapter, I admit that I, the consummate “a little coffee with my cream” person, prepared and enjoyed (really enjoyed!) a cup of Tribute VIA, black, thankful for the twenty years of development effort invested so that all I had to do was boil water.

Check it out on Amazon!

Shopgirl (Steve Martin)

Shopgirl is a novel by Steve Martin.

Yes.  The Steve Martin.

Yes.  A novel.

No.  Not a comedy.

I first realized that Steve - May I call him Steve? - is a serious thinker and a good writer when I read (well, listened to) his autobiography, Born Standing Up: A Comic’s Life.  So, when I needed to spend three more dollars to get free Amazon Super Saver Shipping and then saw Shopgirl on the bargain list, I thought, “Hey.  Could be fun.”  Once I started reading it, I polished it off in three days. 

Here’s a teaser:  The main character, twenty-eight year old Mirabelle, works at the glove counter at Neiman Marcus in Beverly Hills.  She’s subtly smart, unconventionally beautiful, and quietly talented.  She’s also debilitatingly introverted, chronically undermotivated, and clinically depressed.  She begins relationships with two men - one young, classless, and broke, and the other middle-aged, refined, and filthy rich.  Then there’s the requisite nemesis, the seductive Lisa, whose perpetual objective is to usurp Mirabelle’s romantic interests.

I found Steve’s narrative sometimes rushed, especially toward the end.  He could have, should have, spent a few more chapters detailing key events that he barely mentions in conclusion.  Also, a couple of his point-of-view shifts feel jouncy.  But because I like Steve so much, I’m willing to forgive.  For someone who isn’t primarily lauded as an author, the story is surprisingly effective and engaging, with a couple of fun twists, some fairly profound psychological insight, and a nice amount of hot sex.

Shopgirl isn’t gonna make it into any anthologies of great American literature, but if you’re a Steve Martin fan - and even if you’re not - I bet you’ll enjoy!

Check it out on Amazon!

Natural Acts: A Sidelong View of Science & Nature (David Quammen)

In his introduction to Natural Acts, Quammen aptly describes the book as “a chimerical creature.”  It’s a collection of his articles and essays spanning the years 1981-2007, grouped roughly according to the time period in which he wrote them.  The sections are, as a group, pretty darned mismatched, but each is cohesive in and of itself.  Quammen is a cerebral writer with a vast vocabulary.  He avoids verbal filler and fluff, and he sticks to his purpose, which is to inspire among Joe Schmoes like me a concern for ecological issues.

For me, Quammen’s first section, “All God’s Vermin,” achieves that objective.  In these early writings, he talks on a friend-to-friend level about various animals of generally ill repute: beetles, mosquitoes, crows, black widows, octopi, vampire moths, anacondas, and bats.  He’s life-of-the-party funny, the kind of person you want to sit next to at a banquet so he can regale you with his commentary.  But while you’re laughing, he gets you to consider and appreciate the unsung merits of these “vermin,” and that gets you thinking that other not-so-beloved creatures may also deserve your attention and respect.

After that, unfortunately, things get a little boring.  The author loses his sense of humor, and the essays get didactic, like required university lectures - more cerebral dissertation than witty conversation.  If you’re into environmentalism, you’ll probably like it more than I did.  But for me, the subject matter in most of the later essays couldn’t hold my interest, and the deficit of comedy didn’t help.  I felt as if I’d been duped into sitting through an under-inspiring sermon because the pastor opened with a few great jokes.

Check it out on Amazon!

Slaughterhouse Five (Kurt Vonnegut)

While Vonnegut says in the very first chapter of Slaughterhouse Five that he intends the story to be an “anti-war book” (which he admits will be about as pointless as an “anti-glacier book”), it seems to me that he also (and probably not secondarily) intends it to be a platform for questioning some basic tenets of Christianity.

The main character is Billy Pilgrim, whose name is significant in that he's a childlike American who finds himself on a sort of a spiritual journey.  Throughout the novel, the author draws parallels between biblical events and the events in the story, although these parallels aren’t always immediately evident.  As Billy’s journey takes him down paths of dubious validity (specifically, abduction and captivity by friendly aliens), we eventually see what Vonnegut is saying:  Billy’s complete faith in his extraterrestrial experiences is similar to, and as silly as, the believers’ faith in Christ.

Sooo, fair warning:  If you’re a Christian who doesn’t like to be questioned or challenged, you’ll probably find Slaughterhouse Five an uncomfortable read.  But if you’re up for some challenging thinking outside the Bible box, you’ll find lots of thought-fodder here.

As for the story itself, it is not driven by a linear plot.  In fact, as Billy hops involuntarily and unpredictably back and forth through time, the story develops like a puzzle, with each vignette adding a new piece of the intended picture.  You see more clearly what the author wants to say as the puzzle gets closer and closer to completion.  Instead of being swept into the story by a riveting plot, you’re carried by your empathy for Billy and by intrigue at the philosophical ideas Vonnegut subtly presents through him and the people he finds himself attached to.

The first and last chapters work like a picture frame.  After finishing the book, you may want to reread them.  Vonnegut plants several little ideas there which may have seemed inconsequential on the first reading.  On second look, though, you’ll understand how significant they are, and you’ll appreciate the masterful way he develops those seeming trivialities into key elements of Billy’s story.

Since I read Slaughterhouse Five not long after finishing Unbroken (Laura Hillenbrand), I'll give ya a little “compare & contrast.”  While both are WWII stories, the obvious difference is that Unbroken is a biography and Slaughterhouse Five is blatantly fiction. 

Other differences: 

Unbroken’s humor is light and quippy.  Slaughterhouse Five’s humor is dark and sardonic. 

Unbroken’s prose is conversational.  Slaughterhouse Five’s prose is poetic. 

Unbroken celebrates Christianity.  Slaughterhouse Five seriously questions it. 

Also, Unbroken and Slaughterhouse Five have entirely different objectives.  Unbroken lauds an American hero by minutely detailing the horrors he suffered and his actions toward survival and success.  On the other hand, the Slaughterhouse Five war stories, which are nowhere near as graphic, serve mainly as background for the characters’ psychological development.  In Slaughterhouse Five, there are no overt heroes.  Instead, we see mostly childlike soldiers who develop various neuroses and psychoses as a result of their war experiences.  And I suppose that’s what makes it an “anti-war book.”

Check it out on Amazon!

I Remember Nothing (Nora Ephron)

Nora can write.

Her style is simple.  She's opinionated, left wing, and pretty darned feminist.  But she's funny and subtly graceful, and that's why she can say the things she says without looking bitchy.  When you disagree with her, you smile about it.

In case you didn't know, she wrote the screenplay for When Harry Met Sally.  That's how good she is.

I Remember Nothing is a collection of short, anecdotal essays.  The way she says things makes them simultaneously light and profound.  That's her gift.

I say that she "says things" because that's what it sounds like.  It's not like she's writing at you.  It's like she's talking to you.  And you just wanna listen.

Her subject matter in and of itself isn't always (in fact, usually isn't) profound, particularly special, inherently comical, or especially interesting, but the way she communicates makes it fun.  I went through essay after essay without getting tired of anything.

Nora Ephron

I guess Nora's biggest "drawback" is that she appeals mainly to women.  (Note that only people with a uterus commented in my pictured Facebook string below.)  I suppose that's not bad if women are your intended audience, but the pragmatist in me wonders, "Does she mean to reduce her potential readership by fifty percent?"  I question whether she goes into a project thinking, "I'm going to write a book especially for women."  (On the other hand, the dust jacket is pastel green and peach.  If she wanted to appeal to men, she should have made it grey or brown with semi-porn artwork.)

In any case, I've never heard a man say, "Nora Ephron is great!"  But men should read her stuff.  If you're a man, it'll give you priceless insight into women.  And you need it.  Trust me.

Tell ya what.  If you're a guy and you read I Remember Nothing as a result of reading this blog, then I'll read something you want me to read, okay?  Read the book, tell me about it - what you liked, what you didn't like, why you think her stuff appeals more to women than men.  Then tell me about a book you'd like me to read and why, and if it's a widely-known work of good literature (and "good literature" is determined by my discretion), I'll take on the task.

Check it out on Amazon!

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (Douglas Adams)

I decided to read The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy after I saw it on one of those lists of "Books Everyone Should Read" and noticed that several of my Facebook friends had read it.  I'd never heard of it.  

I went into the story pretty blindly (as is my preference), having only read the Amazon editorial and a few readers' reviews.  I knew it was science fiction and British comedy, and that's it.

Sci-fi is among my least favorite genres.  I probably only like poppy self help and academic theory less.  But I don't like not knowing literature that my friends know.   

By the time I was about two-thirds through, I didn't get it.  I mean, it was okay.  The narration and dialog are sharp & witty, and the space adventures are kinda fun.  The chronically depressed robot is a riot.  Still, mainly, it seemed silly and pointless.

Finally I asked one of my colleagues, Jeff C., who enjoys literature in general and sci-fi particularly, "Is there some deeper meaning I'm just not seeing?"  He said he'd started the book but never finished it.  He just wasn't overly captivated by it.  "But the movie was great," he said.  (I, not surprisingly, didn't know there even was a movie.)  Suddenly, three more people jumped in, all of whom had seen the movie, two of whom loved it, and one who said it stank, but the book was great.  So...maybe I should watch the movie??

Anyway, Jeff said it's a satire on life.  It says, basically, "Don't take everything so gol-blasted seriously."

Douglas Adams

It's fairly incredible what that bit of insight did for my interest and enjoyment.  I had way more fun with the story thereafter, and I found the last several chapters downright enchanting and hysterical.  I may have to reread it in a few years.  I'll probably like it better.

Check it out on Amazon!

Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption (Laura Hillenbrand)

After I emailed a work friend with a book recommendation and my reasoning behind it, he suggested that I should start a blog of book reviews. I thought this was not an inherently horrible idea.

I hope to keep my reviews short & informal, and you can follow up with your comments, questions, and complaints if you feel like like it, and then if I feel like it, I'll respond to you. If, after a while, no one seems to care, then I'll abort the mission. I'm not a fan of perpetual rejection.

Also, please let me know if you have any suggestions for improving the blog. (Hopefully your suggestion won't be "Please stop.") I'm clue-free on blog protocol because (a) I seldom read blogs, (b) I've never blogged to any audience of more than one before, and (c) I'm too lazy to research the elements of successful blogs.

One more thing: If you notice any typos or errors, please tell me. I'd like to fix them.

For the pilot episode, here's my email commentary, verbatim, for the book Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption (Laura Hillenbrand). I'd sent my friend the Amazon link, to which he responded, "Boy this sure did get great reader reviews too!" ... to which I responded:

In my experience/opinion, the reader reviews on Amazon can be very hit or miss. I've bought some books with great reader reviews & found them to be a snore. I've learned, as a general rule, to consider the source (i.e., whether the review writer has anything intelligent to say and if they even know how to structure a decent sentence themselves, the type of audience the book is likely to generate, etc.) and take the opinions with a grain of salt.

The short version of my review on Unbroken is this:

• Effective (but not overly artistic) writing
• Fantastic, sometimes barely believable, story
• Inspires appreciation for the Rules of War
• Illustrates the best and worst of human psychology, especially as it applies to war-time mentalities

I read a whole lot of books and don't recommend many of them. This one, I recommend.

Check it out on Amazon!