Stories from the Chaise...

Since school’s been out, I’ve read a bunch of fiction that’s definitely worth recommending, and I’m never going to get around to writing an individual entry on each book, what with all the napping and existentialism. So here’s a summary:

Best Book for Your Book Club
I live with a houseload of outdoorsy guys who are forever hiking off into the wilderness to test the superpower capabilities of testosterone, otherwise I might forget that people can and do survive happily in the sticks and dirt. Some of them live their whole lives between backpacks of Top Ramen and Belly Timber, seemingly ignorant of wonders such as the pillow-top mattress and take-out Thai.

In My Abandonment by Peter Rock, a father and his 13-year-old daughter, Caroline, live for 4 years undetected in the Portland, Oregon’s Forest Park. Completely self-sufficient, they grow their own vegetables, forage for other food and materials to use in maintaining their hidden shelter, and exist peacefully until a chance encounter reveals their situation to the public and their lives are irreversibly altered.

As the story progresses, you’ll become slightly, almost imperceptibly suspicious of Caroline and her father, of their past and the how and why of their isolation and partnership. And that's why you'll want to read it with a friend--there are profound questions about the story, the characters, and it what it means to have a home. Based on a true story, this fascinating account of survival and escape will appeal to anyone who liked Cormac McCarthy’s The Road.

Best Book for Anyone Who Likes House, Grey’s Anatomy, or Any Other of the Billion Medical Dramas on TV
A writer for Salon once called Grey’s Anatomy “soft-core porn for women,” an apt description of the show that doesn’t really fit Oxygen by Carol Cassella, but I’m sitting in a bar writing book reviews and I needed a segue, so there you have it. Like Grey’s, Oxygen takes place in a Seattle hospital, but without nearly as much sex. The story revolves around a compelling ethical dilemma that’s far more serious than anything that whiny Meredith Grey has ever had to deal with.

Marie Heaton is an anesthesiologist whose career is in turmoil after a child dies in her care. Accused of malpractice, Marie finds herself questioning all that she has come to believe about her abilities and role as a doctor. Legal drama, medical mysteries, and a series of unpredictable twists make this novel the perfect excuse to turn off the TV.

A Missing Person Novel That’s Not Really About a Missing Person
Really! It’s not! But I wasn’t disappointed. Precious by Sandra Novack begins with the disappearance of 10-year-old Vicki Anderson in the summer of 1978. Vicki is the daughter of single mother, Ginny, an alcoholic widow, and the classmate and of Sissy Kisch, and it's the impact of the disappearance on Sissy that forms the core of the story. Sissy's mother, Natalia, has also disappeared, although under less mysterious circumstances--she's left her husband to be with another man, and has left Sissy and her sadistic older sister, Eva, in the care of their father Frank. Eva responds to her mother's abandonment by throwing herself into an affair with a married teacher, and Sissy copes by immersing herself in a fantasy world...or is it? An absorbing story about families, couples, and being present...or not.

Best Book for People Who Like Books about Books
I pick what to read based on reviews I read in Booklist (the ALA's official book review journal), the Indie Next list, which is distributed at independent booksellers and available online; People magazine (gotta keep up with the pop!), and Entertainment Weekly (ditto). I rarely read the list of New York Times Bestsellers because I'm not interested in what's selling well--I want to know what's written well.

The Indie Next list is my favorite source, because the recommendations come directly from other booklovers and are often reviews of books that are from smaller presses or new writers--work I might not hear about otherwise. Such is the case with How I Became a Famous Novelist, by Steve Hely, a completely original and hilarious skewering of the American book publishing world and the financial engine that drives it. Hely's character, Pete, studies the trends in best-sellers and then writes his own--a book that he himself recognizes as crap, but nevertheless one likely to appeal to readers who like everything else that becomes popular. Hely's voice is unique, funny, and memorable.

It may seem as though I've spent the summer (so far) lounging on my front porch, reading and sipping cool beverages. And that's pretty much exactly right. But it's work, people, work I do for you, so you won't have to pluck a crappy paperback from the grocery store check out line in a moment of panic before you board your next flight. It's a sacrifice, and you can thank me later. Hi-ho, hi-ho.

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Just Pretend It's a Swimsuit!

Joseph Campbell has written that we "must be willing to give up the life we had planned, in order to have the life that is waiting for us," and it seems as though many days of my life have required that I reconcile with this bit of wisdom. Thirty years ago, Amy and I maneuvered our little plastic cars (she swallowed the white one, long story) around the board game of LIFE, landing happily on the squares that announced IT'S A BOY or IT'S TWINS. We assigned our favorite names to these tiny plastic children and somehow never even considered that having three or four children, no matter how well-considered their names, would be a crapload of work and really interefere with who we really were.

Don't get me wrong--I think both Amy and I would be fabulous moms (albeit a bit bizarre--heavy on the costuming and themed parties) but for myriad reasons, that life isn't the one that we've ended up living. And while there are days that I wonder what it would be like to escort little William Benjamin Belben (Bill Ben Belben) up the street to kindergarten at Larrabee Elementary, mostly I live a satisfying life without Pull-Ups and Pirate-themed birthday parties. The arrangement here at the Nap Castle is not one I imagined even a year ago, but it's turning out to be a happy one, even if it doesn't match the plan I concocted for myself when I was eleven. There are no children here named Laurie Louise (my favorite name in 1979) or husbands, or weird floorplans involving indoor pools and grand pianos suspended from chains, a la the home designs I drew in 4th grade.

Here's what I have instead: a houseful of people whose lives have taken untraditional directions and who, through Craigslist or the Food Pavilion parking lot (long story) have ended up sharing space with me. Chris, Mark (pictured), Ethan, Phil, Amy, and Cynthia (and their accompanying friends and partners: Chris, Ashley, Julia, Joanna, Jay & Laurie, Gabe, etc.), have become, over the last 8 months, my erstwhile family. And despite the temporary nature of having people living in my extra bedrooms, on my sofa, and in my garage, I wouldn't trade their companionship, intelligence, and humor for the Other Life I might have had if I had driven my little plastic car on the road more traveled. Also, I don't have to cook dinner every night, thanks to our casually organized Community Meals, and I'd frankly rather attend a Guac-Off any night than go to Open House with a school full of intense parents.

In Waveland, Frederick Barthelme's latest novel, characters are involved in a similarly unconventional living arrangement. Following Hurricane Katrina, professor Vaughn Williams' marriage ends, and he becomes involved with his new landlady, Greta, whose own marriage ended under mysterious circumstances. Vaughn's world changes even more dramatically when his ex-wife, Gail, is abused by her boyfriend, and asks Vaughn and Greta to move into her house as protection. As absurd as the arrangement sounds, the three somehow make it work for a time, and all gain perspective into the complex nature of relationships of friends and lovers.

Like life at the Nap Castle, things at Gail's house aren't always ideal: Vaughn must confront his animosity towards his brother, Newton, who reappears and plays a pivotal role in Gail's life, and he must contend with Greta's complicated past, as well. But they make it work, somehow, which is the best we can all do, whatever our situation. Whether we have a traditional, nuclear family, or a family we've cobbled together through less conventional means, ultimately, our goal is the same: to connect, to find community, to be less alone in a huge and often scary world.

"If you were lucky in the world," according to Barthelme's protagonist, "you built yourself a new life as an adult, complete with friends, lovers, partners, rivals, enemies. You replaced the old people with new people, and your party moved along effortlessly." It might not be, as this character notes, the pleasures you'd dreamed of, or the life you'd dreamed of, nor sought, nor even imagined...but facing it, finally, you might find it is a life for which you are now well prepared.

Roadtrip Reads

Of the many things I am thankful for, possibly the highest on my list is my ability to read in a moving car without puking, a gift that has saved me countless hours of boredom on long family trips and other adventures that might otherwise be mind-numbingly dull. This past weekend, I had the opportunity exercise my skill again on a 3-day journey from Bellingham to San Diego with pal Amy and her brother Steve. Once I finally convinced Amy that no, she did not need to bring a giant bag of hangers, a Chinese lantern, and a milk crate full of incense, there was actually room in the car for me to tote along a backpack of clean clothes and, of course, a few books.

Between my naps in the backseat and my management of the sing-along playlist (if I never hear "C'Mon Get Happy" again it'll be too soon), I read three books, all of which are recommendable. Let's start with The Vast Fields of Ordinary by Nick Burd, which focuses on the last summer Dade Hamilton spends at home before going to college. During these three months, he contends with his parents' crumbling marriage, his abusive boyfriend, and the local mystery of a missing eight-year-old girl. He also falls in love, and that element of the story is what makes this a particularly sweet summer read. Marketed to teens, but the elegant, witty writing and intelligent insights make it a great read for anyone.

I also read Elinor Lipman's latest novel, The Family Man. Lipman is known for her humorous portrayals of family life, couplehood, and friendship. In The Family Man, Henry Archer finds his life complicated by a phone call from his distraught ex-wife, Denise, as well as the re-appearance of her grown daughter, Thalia. Henry and Thalia were close when he was married to her mother, but lost contact after the divorce. Now that she's back, she and Henry refresh their bonds and help each other navigate the odd, humorous details of their professional lives, their personal lives, and their ever-unpredictable relationship with Denise. Like all of Lipman's novels, the dialogue is phenomenal--fresh, witty, and fast--and the plot, while pretty goofy and even a tad unbelievable, nevertheless transport readers through some amusing and unique territory. A beach read with smarts.

And because a backseat isn't a backseat without a little, umm, spice, I also read essays from Behind the Bedroom Door:Getting It, Giving, Loving It, Missing It, which while about sex, was more smart than salacious, satsifying my intellectual curiosity about what other people think/feel/do/hope for/regret without being a pornographic journey into other people's lives. Which was a good thing, cuz porn+best friend+backseat of best friend's car+best friend's brother=ewww.

Finally, on the plane ride home, I mostly dozed off listening to my iPod, but during conscious moments, concentrated on trying to balance my in-flight snack pack, my Bloody Mary, and my book on the teeny-tiny table tray. The book in question was A Concise Chinese-English Dictionary for Lovers by Xiaolu Guo (if anyone knows how to pronounce that name, let me know and I will take care of your dog for free on weekends). In the novel, a young Chinese woman (she goes by the name Z) spends a year abroad in London, where she learns the language (sort of) and has a complicated relationship with a lover who is at first charmed, and later exasperated by, her naivete, innocence, and struggles to speak English.

I felt a little bit like Z in San Diego amidst the skinny surfers and tanned beach bodies. At least I had the books to distract me, not only from the perpetually youthful culture of Sunshine, but from saying good-bye to Amy. I look forward to seeing her soon. I'll be saving up some great books for the next trip south.

HAIR!

Thirty-one years ago, on the squareball court at Roosevelt Elementary, Amy Baklund called me (the new kid at the school) "little girl," and shortly thereafter, became not my tormentor, but my closest friend. Over three-quarters of my life are comprised of memories of her: the summers we spent at Camp Don Bosco, the time I put her underpants in her flute case before school, the "classes" we conducted we conducted as teachers with a roomful of stuffed animals (little Ralphie the beat-up black and white teddy bear was especially badly behaved), the time she spilled her Bunsen Burner in 8^th grade science, the billion notes we wrote under our assumed identities, Wanda Teetlebound (Amy) and Elouise Latink (me), the summer days we conducted Camp Kiddie Joy in my back yard, and the many, many times we costumed ourselves, laughed uncontrollably, and seized, together, the joy and the journey of life in Bellingham and on this planet.
In January of 2005, Amy was diagnosed with Stage 1 Breast Cancer, and for a horrible, terrifying time, there was a chance that these stories, these memories, this life that we had shared, would become anecdotes that I told at gatherings with our amazing group of friends: "Remember that time when Amy...." "Remember how Amy used to...." "I wish Amy were here to..." But Amy received excellent treatment at Seattle Cancer Care Alliance (in her words, "the juice bar") survived her cancer, and continues to be one of the most charismatic, vibrant, life-affirming people I am honored to know.

Amy says that one of the worst days of her cancer diagnosis was when her doctor gave her a prescription for a wig. Fortunately, she never had to fill it, because she didn't lose her hair, but lots of people with cancer aren't so lucky. And if you read, Hair: Public, Political, Extremely Personal by Diane Simon, you'll appreciate even more how our tresses not only frame our faces, but define who we are. As someone who has spent the past twenty years growing, caring for, wrestling with, and cleaning up after long, curly, hair, I know exactly what it means to be defined, at least in part, by the dead stuff hanging from my head.

Every year at my school, a cancer-awareness week is followed by an assembly in which students buy raffle tickets to shave the head of a dozen or so teachers. Many students also volunteer to have their heads shaved to show solidarity to those fighting cancer, and the funds raised are donated to Children's Hospital. This year, I joined in, following the example set last year by my principal Beth, my friend Laural, and a half-dozen courageous students who chopped their locks. This past Friday, Amy came to the assembly at BEHS to cut my hair. I shared her story with the students and then she carefully sheared off my two 8-inch ponytails, which I sent to Pantene's Beautiful Lengths, an organization that makes and donates wigs to women who’ve lost their hair due to cancer treatment. Later that afternoon, my other buddy Jill accompanied me for a touch-up haircut, which my regular stylist, Heather, donated to the cause.

I’d tell you that I went home, looked in the mirror at the curly cupcake that is now my head, and broke into tears. But the truth is, as much as I love having long hair, I love having Amy in my life more. Every day that I spend waiting for my hair to grow out is a day that I might not have spent with her, had her treatment not been successful, and I'd rather be completely bald than imagine a single day without her humor, spunk, intelligence, and friendship. I am so thankful, every morning, when I wake up, that her zest for adventure, our shared history, and a future of fun await. No amount of hair on earth would ever be an adequate exchange for that. When you see me, and my not-so-Carrie-Bradshaw-mushroom-head, I hope you'll agree.

The Best Missing Person Novel Yet

Just when it seemed impossible to read yet another story about a missing person, I found another one. And it's excellent. In The Local News by Miriam Gershow, fifteen-year-old Lydia Pasternak deals with the disappearance of her older brother, Danny, who despite his popularity at school and many friends, wasn't the ideal brother. He teased, bullied, insulted, and ignored Lydia, making it difficult for her to miss him much.

Nevertheless, she becomes obsessed with his vanishing and with the investigation into his whereabouts. When her parents--both of whom are too overcome with misery to be much comfort to Lydia--hire a private detective to find their son, Lydia also begins looking for clues.

But the story isn't so much of a murder mystery as it is a coming-of-age story with a twist. Lydia's life is profoundly impacted by her missing brother--her parents are hazy and uninvolved, her schoolmates and teachers remember a Danny that Lydia didn't know or care for, and strangers write to them regularly with bewildering clues, ominous "visions" and false leads. Lydia encounters all of the regular teenage issues: pressure from her best friend, her changing relationship with her best guy friend, her attraction to one of Danny's friends, but all of the normal challenges of being a teenager are exacerbated by the circumstances surrounding her brother's disappearance her parents' odd withdrawal from her care and attention.

The Local News is incredibly well-written; Gershow maintains a sense of tension and suspense that while related to the mystery at hand, also permeates the relationships in her characters' lives, lending depth and insight to what might otherwise be just another ripped-from-the-headlines story. If it weren't for the effect of the disappearance on Lydia's coming-of-age, this novel would have been just as excellent without it, and I would have appreciated the author's humor, intelligence, and wordsmanship just as much.

What We Learn from Make Believe

Why read stories about tragedies--deaths, disappearances, and the assorted harms that humans can inflict on one another--when there's already so much ugliness in the world? Why replicate the pain of loss in made-up stories, package and promote it? Doesn't this just contribute to the already staggering amount of sadness that exists in reality?

I like to believe that fictional stories about crime and loss offer us some salvation from the true miseries that dominate headlines. For one, novels and stories, even (and especially, perhaps) those that tackle the most difficult topics, transform tragedy into art, somehow endowing the unexplainable with redeeming qualities. News stories rarely delve into the true depth of the players involved, focusing instead on the sorrow of survivors, the detestability of the perpetrators, and whatever au-courant commentary a given crime purportedly offers on modern society.

Talented, sensitive storytellers create worlds inhabited by three-dimensional characters who, unlike their real-life CNN doppelgangers, can offer explanations. We learn their backgrounds, their complications, their motivations, and we can understand why they acted as they did. Empathizing with villains isn't necessarily the outcome: gaining a deeper understanding of human psychology is.

Laura Lippman is a multi-award-winning mystery author whose novels features dynamic, complex characters whose actions are carefully dissected and whose backstories are fully explored, creating multi-dimensional novels that address the how and why of human behavior. In her new novel, Life Sentences, protagonist Cassandra Fallows aims to follow the success of her two memoirs with a true-crime book that examines the mysterious case of her childhood acquaintance, Calliope Jenkins, who spent 7 years in jail after refusing to reveal the whereabouts of her missing infant son.

In investigating Calliope's story, Cassandra is forced to confront her own past: her broken friendships with three women she wrote about in her memoirs; her philandering father, her wounded mother, and her own failed relationships and mistakes. As she unravels the mystery of Calliope's missing child and the reason for her silence, she learns as much about herself as she does the other woman. And possibly, we'll do the same as we read: understand more about ourselves and the people we are surrounded by.

If You're Not Laughing, You're Not Doing it Right

"It is a happy talent to know how to play."
-Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Yesterday concluded my week of spring vacation, and despite the incessant rain and the fact that I was trapped inside for days on end, it was nevertheless great having free time. Nine days--216 hours--which I didn't completely waste on naps.

I managed, despite being housebound, to spend some quality time playing. In my world, this meant doing craft projects, painting furniture I bought off Craigslist, reading,goofing around with Frida, and riding my bike before the rubber on the tires decays from lack of use.

The good news is that time spent playing is not squandered, according to researchers. In Play: How it Shapes the Brain, Opens the Imagination, and Invigorates the Soul, Stuart Brown, M.D. shares a plethora of anecdotal and scientific research indicating that not only is play important, it is absolutely vital for the health and development of the brain. And the data applies not just to children, but to adults as well. "Play...seems to continue the process of neural evolution...it promotes the creation of new connections that didn't exist before...play seems to be one of the most advanced methods nature has invented to allow a complex brain to create itself." Even if you're not interested in getting any smarter, you might be inclined to play for the health benefits. "People who continue to play games are less likely to get heart disease and other afflictions that seem to have nothing to do with the brain," Brown writes.
He devotes a significant portion of the book to the play we're most familiar with--the stuff kids do when their parents tell them to go outside. Unfortunately, he notes, unstructured playtime has become more rare, usurped by scheduled playdates, organized sports teams, assorted lessons, and other activities planned by adults. The quest for improved standardized test scores in schools also forces cut-backs in the arts, P.E., and music, something Brown says is "the wrong approach" for many reasons. "Play isn't the enemy of learning," Brown writes. "It's learning's partner. Play is like fertilizer for brain growth. It's crazy not to use it." In addition, today's students will face a work world required more ingenuity and creativity than ever before--thinking skills best developed in unstructured, imaginative play and exploratory music and art classes.

Adults, too, have to give themselves permission to play. We've been led to believe that playing or goofing off is a waste of time, but the opposite is true--in all arenas. Not only do studies show that adults who play stave off dementia and other health issues, they're also happier (duh) and better employees. "Employees who have engaged in play throughout their lives outside of work and bring that emotion to the office are able to do well at work-related tasks that might seem to have no connection to work at all," Brown says. "Respecting our biological need for play can bring back excitement and newness to the job. Play helps us deal with difficulties, provides a sense of expansiveness, promotes mastery of our craft, and is an essential part of the creative process...work does not work without play." So all the practical jokes we execute at work? Not just harmess pranks. They're brain builders. Remember that the next time someone covers your car windows with Post-it notes.

Despite the weather (which is beautiful, of course, now that I'm back at work), I played as much as I could last week: hung with my aging buddy Kosha, took Frida to the dog park, biked with Laural and my roommate, played Scrabbled, hot-tubbed, and watched another 47 (or so) episodes of Rescue Me; I did some yardening, read, napped, visited my nephew, family, and friends, went on the Downtown Gallery Walk, made it to the gym a few times, and basically pursued my usualness with freedom and frivolity. Yes, the weather sucks a lot of the time, chores have to be done, and therenever seems to be enough energy/money/time. But whatever you do, if If you're laughing, you're playing. And I don't know what's any better than that.