Review: The Embers by Hyatt Bass

The Aschers once lived what seemed a charmed existence.  Celebrated playwright and actor Joe married successful actress Laura and they and their two children, Thomas and Emily, enjoyed summers at the family cottage in the Berkshires, their escape from New York City.  But beneath the shiny exterior, there are widening fissures and cracks even before seventeen year old Thomas, suffering from lymphoma, dies, an event that exposes the extent of dysfunction and tears the family apart.  Hyatt Bass has written an intense family drama in her first novel, The Embers.

Opening with daughter Emily Ascher trying to plan her wedding, wanting to hold it on the hillside where her brother's ashes are scattered, the narrative jumps between the present and the past.  With Joe and Laura now divorced and each of them having a problematic relationship (or non-relationship) with Emily, the estranged Aschers must come to an uneasy detent, face the tragedy that ripped them apart, and learn to build a fragile future while ackowledging that devastating past.  In the face of her wedding to a really nice, amazing guy, Emily still finds herself wondering what her brother would say about her fiance, about the state of their family, about her life and the way in which she has changed, turned herself around.  Interwoven with her growing apathy about the wedding, is the history of that fateful year and what really happened the night that Thomas died, why it has wounded each of the Aschers so deeply.

This is a psychological study of a family stepped in bitterness, sorrow, and regret but also of a family wanting to finally reconcile with the past and to be able to move unburdened into the future.  It jumps between the past of the 1990s and through to the present of 2007 in each of the voices of the main characters (although Joe's voice dominates) giving the reader insight into each of the characters' ideas about what really happened the night that Thomas died as well as their own personal stories and the state of the family leading up to the tragedy.  The various narrations highlight the small and large ways in which each of the characters feels the family as a whole and as individuals has failed him or her.  And none of the characters are all that sympathetic, each of them self-absorbed and unable to recognize pain in the others, so focused on their own perceptions that they are blind to the fraying of their relationships.

And yet, despite the lack of emotion, the slowness of the building atmosphere, and the frustration the reader feels towards the obviously damaged characters, the story still weaves a spell that holds the reader's attention.  The mystery of what actually happened to Thomas the night he died and how and why the guilt from then has so long been apportioned as it has turns out to be of little importance in the grand scheme of it all although the carefully controlled revelations of more and more information as the story progresses suggests otherwise.  It is the chance of reconciliation and healing through Emily's upcoming wedding that ultimately drives the novel.  It's powerful, beautifully written, realistic, and elegaic but with a kernel, just the smallest glimmer, of light and hope despite the initial catastrophic unraveling of the family and that makes all the difference.

Thanks to LibraryThing Early Reviewers for sending me a copy of the book for review.

Review: Seducing Ingrid Bergman by Chris Greenhalgh

Celebrated war photographer Robert Capa put himself in harm's way to capture the gritty, terrible, hell of war alongside the soldiers.  In the opening of this novelization focused on his pivotal affair with Ingrid Bergman, he parachutes into the French countryside with paratroopers, snapping pictures, dispassionately registering men dying around him.  He snaps blurry but important pictures of the storming of the beaches of Normandy as he follows so many young men into the churning bloodbath of that pivotal battle.  He is on hand for the end of World War II in Europe, living in Paris, battle-worn and tired, as the war winds down and the world tries to right itself.  Ingrid Bergman, the Academy Award winning actress whose life is stultifying, safe, and completely prescribed, has just arrived in Paris to entertain the troops still waiting to be returned home to the States when she meets Capa at the Ritz Hotel.

 

As these two very different people, both at a crossroads in their lives and searching for direction, come together in a passionate and brief all-consuming affair, they cannot escape their pasts or avoid their futures, only able to snatch a tiny piece of time out of time with each other.  Greenhalgh has vividly drawn a tortured Capa, hard-drinking, casual with money, and unable to envision life in a civilian world.  Capa narrates his own sections in first person, his inner turmoil and unsettled feeling coming through in a staccato and sometimes choppy voice.  Bergman's sections are narrated in the third person, making her character more remote and more of a cipher than Capa's character.  Constrained by her public image, the world's and her studio's expectations of her, and the very fact of her marriage to husband Petter plus the existence of her small daughter, Bergman has to subsume her desire for Capa and their love affair, keep it clandestine and private in order to ensure her seemingly assured Hollywood future. 

 

The story of their affair is told using very photographic imagery which occasionally tips over the top into something a little too saccharine, especially given the fact that their love story was in fact doomed to be destroyed by the glare of Hollywood, Capa's demons, and Bergman's obligations.  Both the post-WWII Parisian setting and the lushly successful Los Angeles scenes were sharply observed and cinematically described and Greenhalgh has woven both Capa's and Bergman's pasts skillfully into the narrative, adroitly placing their love in the larger context of their lives.  Their love may not have been destined to last forever but it was certainly pivotal for both of them, shaping each differently and driving them to their ultimate decisions.  Obviously, as both Capa and Bergman were real people, Greenhalgh has had to make them as believable as possible given what we know about them but he has added many thoughts and feelings that no one could have known, integrating his own inventions into the real life people and doing it well enough that we don't question the truth of their inner selves.  An intriguing read, fans of Golden Age Hollywood will certainly appreciate this glimpse of a moment in the life of one of the iconic actresses of the era, and all readers will most likely be inspired to visit (or revisit) Bergman's films and to search out Capa's amazing photographs in the wake of this novel.

Thanks to the publisher for sending me a copy of the book for review.

Review: My Bookstore edited by Ronald Rice

I used to work at an independently owned bookstore.  This was many years ago before I had kids.  And as frustrating as that place could be (it cured me of wanting to own my own bookstore), there really was something magical about it.  After I chose to stay home with my babies, we moved away from the town it was in but whenever we came back to visit, that store was one of the first places I popped into each and every trip.  It was a startling and sad day when I heard through old friends that it was closing even though we had been gone from the city where it was for years by then.  And in all honesty, when we drive through now once or twice a year, it's still a reflex for me to glance over to where it used to be, briefly forgetting and fully expecting it to still be shining out from its welcoming space.  Independent bookstores do inspire that kind of long time loyalty and I'm still jealous of the people who have their very favorite store still around for them.  In My Bookstore: Writers Celebrate Their Favorite Places to Browse, Read, and Shop, this collection of brief essays extols the included writers' neighborhood independents, the stores that have meant the most to them as an author, or even just the stores that invariably welcome them and gives them joy whether close to home or a continent away.  And the essays capture the ways in which these special stores feed the soul, encourage growth, and foster the imagination for all of us.

 

The stores are located all over the country and the writers are from a variety of genres but each of them share their deep connection to the owners, employees, and spaces that make their chosen store so very special.  Some of the authors look at the stores purely from the standpoint of a reader.  Others tell of the welcome they've received as published authors.  And all of them know that their chosen store is in fact the very best store not only in their corner of the city, state, or country, but in fact the best store anywhere.  The writers' love for the stores is palpable in absolutely every one of the entries in the book.  Some of the essays are short and others lengthier.  Some focus only on the store in question while others are more rambling and farther ranging.  Some are as much about the author him or herself as much as they are about the book shop.  It's best to dip into the essays one at a sitting as they can run together.  While each store is no doubt individual and they are peopled by unique and different folks, there are quite a lot of commonalities between good bookstores and so sometimes differentiating amongst the many highlighted here is difficult.  This book is a neat concept and will certainly help me search out good independents, something I try to do when I travel some place new, but this is very definitely not a book to sit down with and read straight through because of the inevitable similarities between essays.  Over all, it's a bit gimmicky but if it helps to maintain the fiscal health of the bookstores mentioned as well as those equally deserving but not included, it will have been a worthwhile gimmick and I'll be perfectly happy to have bought it (and at one of the included stores, just in case anyone was wondering).

Review: Charlotte Street by Danny Wallace

Jason Priestly (no, not that one) is not doing well.  He's depressed.  He gave up his job as a teacher to become a journalist but his work writing snarky reviews for a free local newspaper is not very fulfilling.  He's still obsessing over his ex-girlfriend but according to her cheery Facebook posts, she just got engaged to someone else. His life is so dull his own most recent Facebook status update is that he's eating soup. Nothing much is going right for him and he's indulging in a huge pity party.  Until one day when he helps a beautiful girl getting into a cab with a load of packages.  She smiles at him and rides out of his life.  But he has her disposable camera which he inadvertantly forgot to hand back to her and after looking for her at various different times on Charlotte Street and not finding her, his roommate Dev convinces him that he should develop the pictures despite Jason's own concerns about the ethics of it all.  After all, the pictures might contain clues to her identity and if she is the girl that fate has directed him to find, he should at least make the effort, right?  So goes the premise of Danny Wallace's debut novel, Charlotte Street.

 

Jason is wallowing in his own inability to find happiness.  He's directionless and living a pitiable, disappointing sort of life until this missed connection with "The Girl" rejuvenates him, gives him a quest and a reason to get out of bed every day.  But even as Jason starts to work through the pictures on the camera, searching for the girl, he must also continue to wade through his current life and find the strength to face the truths about himself and his past that are holding him back.  He's not just on a quest to find the girl, he needs to find himself. 

 

Although narrated by Jason with an occasional sprinkling of ambiguous blog posts from The Girl, there's a growing ensemble cast here with characters joining the story and becoming integral to the search for the girl.  Flatmate Dev is the catalyst for developing the pictures but his quiet tolerance of Jason's gloomy gussing ebbing drives him to push Jason onward in the search.  His new friend, Abbey, who helps him discover a hot new band; his old friend, Zoe, who continues to give him work; his ex; and a volatile former student named Matt all help him in his search, recognizing a restaurant, a watch, a destination in London, and help him look into his own heart and grow as he gets closer to the elusive girl meant to be.  But it's not smooth sailing solving the mystery of her identity.  Jason, because he is Jason, bollockses things up quite a bit, drunk Facebooking his ex, alienating Dev, and just generally being an immature git among other things.  But just as in real life, these are speed bumps in the path of striving for maturity and on the way to contentment and the way that Jason handles them shows the ways in which he is changing.

 

The novel's premise is incredibly intriguing and Wallace has done a nice job with it.  Jason isn't always the most appealing character and there are times the reader wonders if he deserves to find "The Girl."  He is a self-absorbed, pain in the ass whiner a lot of the time but there's something about the idea of fate and his slow growth away from that pitiful, oblivious self-centeredness that keeps the reader in there with him.  There are a ridiculous amount of coincidences, especially in the search, that might stretch credulity but serve to show just how connected we all are in this age of rampant social media.  There are moments of good humor and the pathos of what-ifs.  It's interesting to read a romantic comedy from a guy's perspective and this Hollywood-ready novel delivers not only that but a riff on connection and the importance of it in all of our lives.  The ending is a bit rushed but overall, it's a fun and engrossing read.

 

Thanks to LibraryThing Early Reviewers for sending me a copy of the book to review.

Review: An Extraordinary Theory of Objects by Stephanie LaCava

Moving is hard. It's hard as a child and as an adult. And as strange as it sounds, it can be hardest on the awkward, shy, and introverted. Because it takes them so much time to warm up to people and they spend so much time in their own self-contained world, when they venture out of that comfortable solitude, they are more alone than the extroverted person who has had to leave behind a whole pack of friends.  I know this because I am that person.  And I have moved six times as a child and seven times as an adult.  Nothing about moving is easy.  But I've never had to move to another country and face cultural and language barriers in addition to the rest of the stresses of moving.  Stephanie LaCava was just twelve when her father moved her family to France from the US.  As she recounts in her unique and fascinating memoir, An Extraordinary Theory of Objects, this move, coming as it did when she was already feeling like a misfit, absolutely decimated her.  As chronicled in these pages, she collected objects that became a way of keeping her anchored to the world, her way of reaching for connection during a painful and hard time of her life.

The memoir itself is told in a series of essays capturing memories linked through the cabinet of curiousities that LaCava was accumulating as she struggled to fit into her ex-pat life in suburban Paris.  Many of the objects are illustrated in the text and are accompanied by extensively footnoted histories, breaking the narrative flow, causing the reader to retreat from the reality and sadness of LaCava's awkward, lonely teenaged years just as she herself did, folding herself into the objects that she collected and imbued with talismanic importance.  It's a risky format as it will alienate some readers but others will be fascinated by this fragile girl's coping mechanism and terribly interested in the tangential information about the objects.  I was the latter reader, but as LaCava herself says about the memoir as a whole, "Consider the source."

The memoir was moving and very personal, despite the footnote interruptions.  It is indeed a bit odd, definitely unusual, and not what most people expect of a memoir.  But it showcases beautifully the very remoteness of serious depression, the ache of being an outsider, and the loneliness of teenagers.  It is not, however, a memoir of place but rather a person and Francophiles looking for tales of living in Paris will likely come away disappointed by the lack of Parisian feel here.  The timing of the essays is not even and so while there are many pieces of her adolescence laid open to the readers' gaze, there are points glossed over and skipped entirely as well plus an essay or two at the end bringing LaCava from her unhappy years in France to her adulthood and to the genesis for the book.  The very breadth of the pieces highlights the fact that these are not one overarching narrative but very definitely connected vignettes.  There is an emotional distance here, a retreat behind the objects themselves, but it is one I recognize and appreciate, a coping mechanism even now.  And LaCava knows that she is looking back at the objects of her childhood, using them as the scrim through which to view a painful and haunting piece of her life.  I thoroughly enjoyed this rather non-traditional, quirky, gorgeously designed, and unexpected little book but readers will have to appreciate it for what it is instead of what it's not.

For more information about Stephanie LaCava and the book visit her website, her Facebook page, follow her on Twitter, and even check out her Pinterest page. Follow the rest of the blog tour or look at the amazon reviews for others' thoughts and opinions on the book.

Thanks to Trish from TLC Book Tours and the publisher for sending me a copy of this book to review.

Waiting on Wednesday

This meme is hosted by Breaking the Spine and is meant to highlight some great pre-publication books we all can't wait to get our grubby little mitts on.

Austensibly Ordinary by Alyssa Goodnight. The book is being released by Kensington on Jan. 29, 2013.

Amazon says this about the book:  Steamy, funky, and thoroughly modern, Austin, Texas isn't much like the gardened country estates of Jane Austen's work. But there might be a few similarities in its inhabitants...

Cate Kendall is no stranger to daydreams of brooding men and fancy parties--after all, she teaches one of her beloved Jane Austen novels in her English classes every year. But as for romance or adventure in her own life, the highlight of most weeks is Scrabble with her cute coworker, Ethan, and he draws the line at witty banter. But Cate is ready for a change. When she finds a mysterious journal that seems to have a link to the soul of the great Jane Austen herself, she knows it's her chance. And she grabs on with both hands...

Before she knows it, Cate has invented an alter ego with an attitude, attended some seriously chic soirees, and gotten tangled up with a delicious mystery man. And she's uncovered enough unexpected secrets about Ethan that her Scrabble partner has taken to brooding looks and unfathomable silences. It's a positively Austenite predicament, and Cate is sure she'll land in hot water and heartbreak--but maybe not with Jane herself to guide her...

Merry Christmas from my family to yours

(As always, I reproduce our family's Christmas letter for all of you, my loyal readers.  Enjoy and have a very Merry Christmas today.)  I almost didn’t write the annual letter this year but then decided it wouldn’t feel fully festive at all of your houses without the much anticipated craziness from here.  I’m just sure you all stage a reverent and dramatic reading of the letter and far be it from me to deprive you of such joyous entertainment.  But seriously, if I don’t recap the year, the kids will never have anything concrete to point to in therapy and we certainly can’t have that.  Without further ado, the 2012 K. year in review.

January: Starting the year off with a bang, the school called to inform us that T. had created an inappropriate password for some educational site they were using.  The story is long and involved and too inappropriate even for my Christmas card so you know it’s bad.  (Although feel free to ask us about the story because we do love to tell it.)  But to prove that we are once again not in the running for parents of the year, both D. and I busted out laughing when we heard the password(s).  I think this is the earliest that we’ve a) ever been called by the school and b) that we’ve kissed that parents of the year award away.

February: After 10 years of abuse, the minivan’s transmission finally pooped out and K. had to get a new van.  The very next day D. also got a new car.  He might have been operating under the influence of new car smell and so not entirely sober when he signed those papers.  K. understood as the new car smell was pretty enticing, at least as long as it lasted (not long, incidentally) against the usual funk of dance shoes, sweaty socks, and various other stinky kid stuff.  Also this month, W. made the high school’s tennis team.

March: T. hit double digits (10) which means we no longer have any little kids at our house, not that he’s ever thought of himself as a little kid.  R.’s dance competition season started to hit full stride and even K. got to participate on stage this year, tossing bathrobes and shower caps above a folding screen.  Pretty sure it was the tightly choreographed tossing by the moms that garnered awards no matter what the dancers believe.

April: W. flunked his vision test at school this month.  He was sure it was equipment error and that he was seeing just fine.  One visit to the eye doctor later, although he’s still in denial about his blindness, he is now sporting glasses, which probably helped his tennis game just a bit.  In a moment of weakness, K. agreed to chaperone T.’s field trip to Linville Caverns.  She didn’t make anyone cry and all children emerged unscathed from the cavern.  Aside from the massive migraine she developed, clearly a raging success.

May: After 3 years of being a model middle-schooler, apparently R. thought that she should get in on the school calling parents act.  At least hers was simply a dress code infraction.  Guess what it looks like if the last time you put on that skirt in the fall you were several inches shorter?  Never mind that mom didn’t even notice how short the skirt was as the kid flew out the door.  Oops!  Best yet was that K. hopped over to school to take R. some shorts while wearing a tennis skirt that was far, far, far shorter than what R. was wearing.

June: W. got his driver’s permit this month.  He seems to be channeling a little old man when he drives as his preferred top speed is about 10 mph.  Even so, K. has gotten really good at clutching the armrest and hitting the imaginary passenger-side brake.  She also fears for her side view mirror and all the neighborhood mailboxes.  D. just plain refuses to drive with him and that might be best for both of them!  Also this month, K. had a benign cyst on her head removed leaving her with a hole in her head (which might be why she continues to encourage W. to practice his driving).

July: Once again we headed to Michigan as soon as R.’s dance Nationals finished.  Amazingly we had 5 whole weeks up there this summer.  And by “we,” I don’t mean D.  But if you’ve been getting this letter for years, you already know that.  He did get to join us for a week this year though.  T. took a boating safety class and got his boat license.  Too bad it’s not valid for another four years.  He’s already called getting to drive the boat first once he’s officially legal at 14.

August:  As of this month, we have two kids in high school!  W. as a sophomore had a lot of words of advice and warning for freshman R.  Luckily her momma didn’t raise no dummy and she didn’t believe a word he said.  Also, once home from Michigan, the kid activities ramped up again rather quickly. Tennis for W., dance for R., soccer for T., and gassing up the minivan for K. (Yes, that last bit is lifted verbatim from last year’s letter but I see no reason to reinvent the wheel, especially since it’s still true.)  D. and K. went on a scuba trip over Labor Day weekend.  Unfortunately, K. perforated her eardrum again on the first dive and spent the rest of the trip completely high on pain killers and hideously jealous of D. getting to dive.

September: D. took a new job at EMC this month.  His new fancy pants title is Director, Client Solutions for the Virginias and the Carolinas.  The job requires more travel for him, often three days a week, but the dogs really appreciate the extra space in the bed those three nights.

October: Some people have dry ice smoking on their porches at Halloween; K. chose to shun illusion and had real smoke, lighting the oven on fire this month.  Aside from blackening the oven light so it no longer lights anything with the oven door closed, nothing else untoward occurred as a result.  Of course, you may want to think twice about eating at our house given such mad cooking skills.

 November: D.’s tennis team made states this month.  Oddly enough, no stories have made it home from this weekend away.

As 2012 comes to a close, we hope that all of you are surrounded by family, peace, love, and happiness now and throughout the coming year.