The Zookeeper’s Wife by Diane Ackerman was my choice in the relative category of Annie’s What’s In a Name - 2 challenge. It may explain my doctorate in psychology in what seems like a past life, but I’ve always been attracted to stories everyday people who aided others in World War II Germany. Or perhaps it’s because I wonder whether, deep down, I would have the courage and resolve to act similarly in the same situation.
The zookeeper’s wife of the title was Antonina Zabinski, wife of Jan, the director of the Warsaw Zoo. The Zabinskis were Polish Christians but managed to save over three hundred people, most Jewish, during the course of the war. The zoo was closed as a result of the way (the Germans looted some of the animals when they took control of Warsaw), but the empty cages housed some of the refugees, who were code-named after animals. Other refugees hid in the zookeeper’s villa. Antonina tended to all, stretching her family’s meager rations to feed everyone, playing musical codes on the piano to send refugees into hiding places, and worrying over her young son’s increasing involvement in the family’s activities.
Just as compelling as the story of the family’s humanitarian efforts is, the story of the family’s pet animals is enchanting. A badger kiddie toilets and knocking on a door to be let into the house. Elephants filling a moat with dirt to create mud so that they could wade across. A carnivorous pet rabbit. The book had much to offer on several levels. At the same time, Ackerman explores how the Nazi interest in creating a perfect race of humans corresponded to their interest in creating pure strains of certain animals, the reason that many of the animals in the Warsaw Zoo were moved to German zoos.
I would highly recommend The Zookeeper’s Wife to anyone with an interest in the human side of World War II. Ackerman has a very nice writing style, and the book is, in between periods of gleeful marvel at the animal stories or of reflection on the human condition, quite easy to read.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
The Last Templar (book review)
I read The Last Templar by Raymond Khoury for Annie’s What’s In a Name - 2 challenge, in the profession category, “templar” being accepted to refer to a member of the Knights Templar or, interestingly enough, “a barrister or other person occupying chambers in the Temple, London.”
This book was just done as a made-for-TV movie, the reviews of which weren’t that good. While the book is no literary classic, as thrillers go, it wasn’t half bad. After a short introduction set in 1291, the present-day action opens with four masked horsemen dressed as Knights Templar riding into the Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art and stealing artifacts from a Treasures of the Vatican exhibit. The book’s heroine, archaeologist Tess Chaykin, sees the leader of the horsemen almost reverently steals only one item, a geared device, over which he says some Latin words. She decides to investigate on her own, at the same time as the official FBI investigation is headed by Sean Reilly, a terrorist specialist and, relevant to the plot, a practicing Roman Catholic. Separately at times, together at others, they discover what the stolen device was and its importance, before finding themselves in a race against the Catholic church to find the secret to which the device points.
If I had a bone to pick with The Last Templar, it would be that the characters, especially Tess Chaykin, were not too well developed. In particular, Tess is said to be an archaeologist, working at the Manoukian Archaeological Institute, yet she is always addressed as “Miss Chaykin” rather than “Dr. Chaykin.” It’s a small point, to be sure, but it would have been nice to have a bit more background on Tess and on Sean, to make them a bit more real. That aside, The Last Templar does offer a good escape into fiction for those needing a break from the everyday.
This book was just done as a made-for-TV movie, the reviews of which weren’t that good. While the book is no literary classic, as thrillers go, it wasn’t half bad. After a short introduction set in 1291, the present-day action opens with four masked horsemen dressed as Knights Templar riding into the Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art and stealing artifacts from a Treasures of the Vatican exhibit. The book’s heroine, archaeologist Tess Chaykin, sees the leader of the horsemen almost reverently steals only one item, a geared device, over which he says some Latin words. She decides to investigate on her own, at the same time as the official FBI investigation is headed by Sean Reilly, a terrorist specialist and, relevant to the plot, a practicing Roman Catholic. Separately at times, together at others, they discover what the stolen device was and its importance, before finding themselves in a race against the Catholic church to find the secret to which the device points.
If I had a bone to pick with The Last Templar, it would be that the characters, especially Tess Chaykin, were not too well developed. In particular, Tess is said to be an archaeologist, working at the Manoukian Archaeological Institute, yet she is always addressed as “Miss Chaykin” rather than “Dr. Chaykin.” It’s a small point, to be sure, but it would have been nice to have a bit more background on Tess and on Sean, to make them a bit more real. That aside, The Last Templar does offer a good escape into fiction for those needing a break from the everyday.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Blood of Victory (book review)
I read Blood of Victory by Alan Furst for Annie’s What’s In a Name - 2 challenge, in the body part category. The “blood” in the title is not a body part, though, but oil, specifically the Romanian oil needed by the Nazis in World War II. The plot concerns British attempts to stop the flow of Romanian oil to Germany early in the war.
I.A. Serebin is a Russian journalist living in Paris. While in Istanbul, he is recruited by the British for their operation to stop the flow of oil to Germany. The story moves from Istanbul to Paris, Bucharest, the Black Sea, and Belgrade as Serebin tries to put together an operation to stop the oil barges from moving along the Danube River. Various characters, including Serebin’s lover, move in and out of the plot as it winds its way along.
Alan Furst has a reputation for novels written with incredible historical accuracy, and Blood of Victory appears to be no exception. The characters and action don’t appear at all contrived. At the same time, though, I found it difficult to warm up to the characters, to really feel as though I knew them, perhaps because not much background information is given. The reader sees the characters as they are in the action of the plot but doesn’t really get a feel for how they got there, or how they got to be the way. And the characters figure much more in the plot than does the action; Blood of Victory is not written in the typical spy-thriller vein. The story is told much more through the characters than though the action.
If you’re looking for a traditional spy or war thriller, with lots of action, you might want to give Blood of Victory a pass. If, however, you have a real interest in the history of World War II or the psychology behind the characters, then Blood of Victory might be just your cup of tea.
I.A. Serebin is a Russian journalist living in Paris. While in Istanbul, he is recruited by the British for their operation to stop the flow of oil to Germany. The story moves from Istanbul to Paris, Bucharest, the Black Sea, and Belgrade as Serebin tries to put together an operation to stop the oil barges from moving along the Danube River. Various characters, including Serebin’s lover, move in and out of the plot as it winds its way along.
Alan Furst has a reputation for novels written with incredible historical accuracy, and Blood of Victory appears to be no exception. The characters and action don’t appear at all contrived. At the same time, though, I found it difficult to warm up to the characters, to really feel as though I knew them, perhaps because not much background information is given. The reader sees the characters as they are in the action of the plot but doesn’t really get a feel for how they got there, or how they got to be the way. And the characters figure much more in the plot than does the action; Blood of Victory is not written in the typical spy-thriller vein. The story is told much more through the characters than though the action.
If you’re looking for a traditional spy or war thriller, with lots of action, you might want to give Blood of Victory a pass. If, however, you have a real interest in the history of World War II or the psychology behind the characters, then Blood of Victory might be just your cup of tea.
Grace After Midnight (book review)
This is my second book for Annie’s What’s In a Name - 2 challenge, in the time of day category. While purists might argue that the “dead” I put forward as a medical condition is a stretch, I don’t think anyone can quibble with “midnight” as a time of day.
Grace After Midnight is the memoir of Felicia “Snoop” Pearson, and will likely appeal only to those who, like me, became hooked on the HBO series The Wire. For those who may not otherwise know, The Wire is Homicide: Life on the Streets on steroids and/or without the NBC censors. Felicia “Snoop” Pearson first appeared in the third season of The Wire playing, who else, Felicia “Snoop” Pearson. On one level, ya gotta love a character named not only after the actor portraying her but very much patterned after her.
Snoop grew up on the streets of Baltimore, raised by foster parents who were more like grandparents to her. She only saw her real mother a couple of times, and never alone after the visit on which her mother had Felicia (she wasn’t called “Snoop” yet) take off her party dress then locked her in a closet so she could go sell the dress for drug money. Even before her teenage years, she learned the ins and outs of the corner drug trade. She also realized and accepted that she was gay. Several adults tried to keep her on the straight and narrow including, interestingly enough, two men themselves involved in the drug trade. She called these men Uncle and Father though there was no blood relation.
At the age of 14, Snoop was attacked by another girl in a street melee. When the other girl swung at her with a metal baseball bat, Snoop shot her, trading one form of lead for another. When no witnesses were willing to label Snoop’s act pure self defense, and one witness was ready to testify that Snoop acted first, Snoop asked her lawyer to plea bargain. She ended up sentenced to eight years in the Maryland Women’s Correctional Facility, though she was paroled after five years, when she was 20.
During her time in prison, Snoop experienced a number of ups and downs. Some of her stories of the other inmates are quite shocking. She also had the spiritual or religious experience from which the title is derived. One night, in the middle of a very low period after Uncle’s death and Father’s having been sentenced to life in prison, she looked up in the middle of the night and felt a presence. After that, she became determined to complete her GED and make it to the end of her sentence.
Snoop was 20 when she was released. She was determined to go straight, and followed the advice she had been given about getting a job: If they don’t ask about a prison record, don’t volunteer that you have one. After being fired from two jobs at which she was doing well because her employers found out about her prison record, she fell into dealing drugs. In a bar one night, she met Michael K. Williams who was playing Omar Little on The Wire. He invited her to the set, introduced her to the writers and producers, and she was offered a role essentially playing herself. She kept her drug corner running for some time after she was a regular on the series, but eventually closed it down.
In Grace After Midnight, Pearson writes about continuing to act and not getting back into the drug business. Searching google.com and the Internet Movie Database indicates that she hasn’t really done any acting since The Wire ended, but that she is active in a nonprofit working with Baltimore youth. She was also arrested last summer for possession of marijuana.
As I said at the outset, this book will probably only appeal to fans of The Wire. I’m not sure that Pearson’s story will resonate with someone not familiar with her role on the series. But if you miss The Wire and still think of it as one of the best things ever to air on TV, er, excuse me, it’s not TV, it’s HBO, then you might want to give this book a whirl.
Grace After Midnight is the memoir of Felicia “Snoop” Pearson, and will likely appeal only to those who, like me, became hooked on the HBO series The Wire. For those who may not otherwise know, The Wire is Homicide: Life on the Streets on steroids and/or without the NBC censors. Felicia “Snoop” Pearson first appeared in the third season of The Wire playing, who else, Felicia “Snoop” Pearson. On one level, ya gotta love a character named not only after the actor portraying her but very much patterned after her.
Snoop grew up on the streets of Baltimore, raised by foster parents who were more like grandparents to her. She only saw her real mother a couple of times, and never alone after the visit on which her mother had Felicia (she wasn’t called “Snoop” yet) take off her party dress then locked her in a closet so she could go sell the dress for drug money. Even before her teenage years, she learned the ins and outs of the corner drug trade. She also realized and accepted that she was gay. Several adults tried to keep her on the straight and narrow including, interestingly enough, two men themselves involved in the drug trade. She called these men Uncle and Father though there was no blood relation.
At the age of 14, Snoop was attacked by another girl in a street melee. When the other girl swung at her with a metal baseball bat, Snoop shot her, trading one form of lead for another. When no witnesses were willing to label Snoop’s act pure self defense, and one witness was ready to testify that Snoop acted first, Snoop asked her lawyer to plea bargain. She ended up sentenced to eight years in the Maryland Women’s Correctional Facility, though she was paroled after five years, when she was 20.
During her time in prison, Snoop experienced a number of ups and downs. Some of her stories of the other inmates are quite shocking. She also had the spiritual or religious experience from which the title is derived. One night, in the middle of a very low period after Uncle’s death and Father’s having been sentenced to life in prison, she looked up in the middle of the night and felt a presence. After that, she became determined to complete her GED and make it to the end of her sentence.
Snoop was 20 when she was released. She was determined to go straight, and followed the advice she had been given about getting a job: If they don’t ask about a prison record, don’t volunteer that you have one. After being fired from two jobs at which she was doing well because her employers found out about her prison record, she fell into dealing drugs. In a bar one night, she met Michael K. Williams who was playing Omar Little on The Wire. He invited her to the set, introduced her to the writers and producers, and she was offered a role essentially playing herself. She kept her drug corner running for some time after she was a regular on the series, but eventually closed it down.
In Grace After Midnight, Pearson writes about continuing to act and not getting back into the drug business. Searching google.com and the Internet Movie Database indicates that she hasn’t really done any acting since The Wire ended, but that she is active in a nonprofit working with Baltimore youth. She was also arrested last summer for possession of marijuana.
As I said at the outset, this book will probably only appeal to fans of The Wire. I’m not sure that Pearson’s story will resonate with someone not familiar with her role on the series. But if you miss The Wire and still think of it as one of the best things ever to air on TV, er, excuse me, it’s not TV, it’s HBO, then you might want to give this book a whirl.
Friday, January 23, 2009
The Thing About Life Is That One Day You'll Be Dead (book review)
The "rules" for Annie's What's in a name-2 challenge specify that one book have a "medical condition" in its title. I'd say that "dead" qualifies. The book's author, David Shields, is sandwiched between a 14-year-old daughter and a 97-year-old father. In The Thing About Life Is That One Day You'll Be Dead, Shields considers human life in terms of our physical condition, with medical facts discussed and interspersed with stories of his daughter and, mainly, his father. The book is written in four sections: Infancy and Childhood, Adolescence, Adulthood and Middle Age, and Old Age and Death. Several chapters appear in more than one section, including those on "Decline and Fall," "Boys vs. Girls," "Sex and Death," and "Hoop Dreams." (That's "hoop" as in basketball not needlework.)
I found the book very easy to read, though at times it was downright disheartening. As a 52-year-old trying to increase her explosive speed in a martial art, I really hated to read things such as "When you're 60, you're 20 percent less strong than you were in middle age; at 70, you're 40 percent less strong. You lose more strength in the muscles of your legs than in your hands and arms. You also tend to lost your fast-twitch abilities--a sprinter's contractions--much more rapidly than your slow-twitch abilities--a walker's contractions."
At other times, though, it was downright funny. I think my hands down favorite passage in this regard was a somewhat Freudian take on the movie Spider-Man, specifically, "Peter's change from dweeb to spider is explicitly analogous to his transformation from boy to man." And the current winner in the "Damn! I wish I'd thought of that phrase!" contest is the bold part of this paragraph (and I hope this isn't too risque for some readers, since it could be interpreted as for mature audiences only):
"The first time Spider-Man rescues M.J., she says to her boyfriend, Harry, that it was 'incredible.' 'What do you mean "incredible"?' he keeps asking her. The second time Spider-Man rescues M.J., she asks him, 'Do I get to say thank you this time?' and, pulling up his mask past his lips, passionately kisses him, sending both of them into rain-drenched ecstasy. The script makes painfully clear that Peter's newfound prowess is procreation or, more precisely, onanism: 'He wiggles his wrist, tries to get the goop to spray out, but it doesn't come.' All three times Spider-Man rescues M.J., they're wrapped in a pose that looks very much like missionary sex: Spider-Man on a mission. As Peter Parker, his peter is parked; as Spider-Man, he gets to have the mythic carnival ride of sex-flight without any of the messy emotional cleanup afterward."
Some of the medical information was so wonderful I can't wait to work it into conversation someday: "Your taste buds regenerate; cells within the taste buds die every ten days and are completely replaced. Even if a nerve that forms taste buds is destroyed, other buds will form around the new nerve that replaces it. However, it takes more molecules of a certain substance on your tongue for you to recognize the flavor later in adulthood. As you get older, you enjoy food less."
Woven into the story of how we age physically is the story of a family, principally one son's relationship with a father who just happens to be bipolar (though Shields uses the term "manic-depressive"). Although Shields tells many a tale in which his father doesn't necessarily appear in the best light, he does the same with himself. Shields says of his father in the prologue that "I seem to have an Oedipal urge to bury him in a shower of death data. Why do I want to cover my dad in an early shroud? He's strong and he's weak and I love him and I hate him and I want him to live forever and I want him to die tomorrow."
Is this a book you will find entertaining but also thought-provoking? Yes. Is this a book that you will be less for not reading? No. I would give few books that high praise. If you want to learn a bit more about how your body (and, to an extent your mind) changes and adapts, for better or for worse, as you age, this book is certainly one way to accomplish that.
I found the book very easy to read, though at times it was downright disheartening. As a 52-year-old trying to increase her explosive speed in a martial art, I really hated to read things such as "When you're 60, you're 20 percent less strong than you were in middle age; at 70, you're 40 percent less strong. You lose more strength in the muscles of your legs than in your hands and arms. You also tend to lost your fast-twitch abilities--a sprinter's contractions--much more rapidly than your slow-twitch abilities--a walker's contractions."
At other times, though, it was downright funny. I think my hands down favorite passage in this regard was a somewhat Freudian take on the movie Spider-Man, specifically, "Peter's change from dweeb to spider is explicitly analogous to his transformation from boy to man." And the current winner in the "Damn! I wish I'd thought of that phrase!" contest is the bold part of this paragraph (and I hope this isn't too risque for some readers, since it could be interpreted as for mature audiences only):
"The first time Spider-Man rescues M.J., she says to her boyfriend, Harry, that it was 'incredible.' 'What do you mean "incredible"?' he keeps asking her. The second time Spider-Man rescues M.J., she asks him, 'Do I get to say thank you this time?' and, pulling up his mask past his lips, passionately kisses him, sending both of them into rain-drenched ecstasy. The script makes painfully clear that Peter's newfound prowess is procreation or, more precisely, onanism: 'He wiggles his wrist, tries to get the goop to spray out, but it doesn't come.' All three times Spider-Man rescues M.J., they're wrapped in a pose that looks very much like missionary sex: Spider-Man on a mission. As Peter Parker, his peter is parked; as Spider-Man, he gets to have the mythic carnival ride of sex-flight without any of the messy emotional cleanup afterward."
Some of the medical information was so wonderful I can't wait to work it into conversation someday: "Your taste buds regenerate; cells within the taste buds die every ten days and are completely replaced. Even if a nerve that forms taste buds is destroyed, other buds will form around the new nerve that replaces it. However, it takes more molecules of a certain substance on your tongue for you to recognize the flavor later in adulthood. As you get older, you enjoy food less."
Woven into the story of how we age physically is the story of a family, principally one son's relationship with a father who just happens to be bipolar (though Shields uses the term "manic-depressive"). Although Shields tells many a tale in which his father doesn't necessarily appear in the best light, he does the same with himself. Shields says of his father in the prologue that "I seem to have an Oedipal urge to bury him in a shower of death data. Why do I want to cover my dad in an early shroud? He's strong and he's weak and I love him and I hate him and I want him to live forever and I want him to die tomorrow."
Is this a book you will find entertaining but also thought-provoking? Yes. Is this a book that you will be less for not reading? No. I would give few books that high praise. If you want to learn a bit more about how your body (and, to an extent your mind) changes and adapts, for better or for worse, as you age, this book is certainly one way to accomplish that.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Christmas Catchup and Other Random Oddities
Yes, the Christmas Bitch in me gave way to the Celebratory Babe, and we did have a Christmas here as evidenced by the decorated tree standing guard o'er all the presents. If you think you're just hallucinating the monkey at the top of the tree, you're not. He's the Christmas Ape, and he sits atop the tree every year, wearing the Christmas star as a hat. 
We did all the usual family things: church on Christmas Eve, driving home the back way on a dusty country road; cinnamon rolls for Christmas breakfast; turkey and tofurky for Christmas dinner. I passed on the Christmas bubble bath but did manage to curl up with a good book for a while. I undecorated on New Year's Day, only forgetting a couple of items that now sit by the door awaiting transfer to a Christmas box in the garage. I've also cut out gift tags for next year from the fronts of some of the Christmas cards we got this year, though I still need to update the address book I keep on Mr. Mac to include some updated snail mail and e-mail addresses I learned about in the cards. I participated this year in the Book Blogger Christmas Swap. I sent a parcel up to Maryland, and took great delight in reading about the recipient's glee in opening her goodies. I had my own glee opening the box I was sent. In my "registration" paragraph, I noted a desire to get back to reading science fiction after many years away (I read so much sci fi while I was in grad school that I basically overdosed on it). My Secret Santa (who turned out to be Carl) put together a fun package with something old (Glory Lane by Alan Dean Foster) and something new (The Little Book by Selden Edwards).
The Catwoman card was a nice touch as was, in true Book Blogger fashion, the return address on the package written on a card catalog card (for the subject heading GRAMMAR, COMPARATIVE AND GENERAL--SYNTAX). I haven't started either book yet; I may save the small paperback to take on the upcoming adventure halfway around the world.Yes, I did make some New Year's resolutions and so far am keeping them. In the food for thought for a new year category, I loved Neil Gaiman's New Year's wish on his blog: "...I hope you will have a wonderful year, that you'll dream dangerously and outrageously, that you'll make something that didn't exist before you made it, that you will be loved and that you will be liked, and that you will have people to love and to like in return. And, most importantly (because I think there should be more kindness and more wisdom in the world right now), that you will, when you need to be, be wise, and that you will always be kind." Definitely some words to try to live by there. In the same vein, my Zen Page-A-Day calendar had the following entry for January 1:
"Eliminate something superfluous from your life.
Break a habit.
Do something that makes you feel insecure.
Carry out an action with complete attention and intensity, as if it were your last."
~Piero Ferrucci
I'm trying to do some of these, too, as the year revs up. In particular, I'm feeling pretty darned insecure about...
...having started taking karate classes in addition to my kendo ones. Though some of the stances are the same as in kendo, there are some major differences; hence, the feelings of insecurity. At the same time, it's as challenging or more to be learning totally new material as opposed to the fine-tuning of already-learned kendo material that I'm doing as I work toward a black belt there. It also means that if I make every class, I'm now doing martial arts six days a week (every weeknight and Sunday mornings). Hey! It keeps me off the streets and may actually make me safer when I'm on them.
Finally in the surreal world in which I live, I looked up yesterday to see the sight below through the door out to the deck.
That's the younger son who, having crafted a climbing harness out of rope, was attempting to lower himself from the balcony off the master bedroom to the ground two storeys below. I don't know why this surprised me enough to grab the camera and snap a quick photo. Both sons often descend from their rooms upstairs, having gained entry by climbing up to the balcony. Or they appear at the kitchen door, having climbed down from their rooms. This was just the first aided descent, or at least the first one I've seen. Since older son was playing around with the harness last night, it probably won't be the last. They do keep my life interesting; I will say that.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
A New Meme for a New Year
I had planned on trying to post something today so as to keep with my New Year's resolution to post more, so the first will be in response to a tag from Annie for this meme.
The book that’s been on your shelves the longest:
A Child’s Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson. I don’t remember exactly when I got this book, but I think I was about five or six. Since I’m 52 now, I’ve had it for quite a while. I can still recite some of the poems in it, since I read them so many times as a child. I still pull this one off the shelf every now and then just for a comforting blast from the past.
A book that reminds you of something specific in your life (a person, a place, a time, etc.):
This would have to be Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card. My older son asked me to read this when he was in middle school. I did, and it helped me understand him a lot better. Card says in the foreword that he has been told this is the book most often stolen from (or not returned to) middle school libraries, and I can see why. I keep hearing that this book is being made into a movie; if that's true, it may be one I can't bring myself to see since I just know it would disappoint me.
A book you acquired in some interesting way (gift, serendipity in a used bookstore, prize, etc.):
I’ll pick the one I bought before it was available in stores. I went to the National Book Festival in September 2008, and was able to purchase Neil Gaiman’s The Graveyard Book three days before it appeared on bookstore shelves. I then read a good bit of it while waiting in line for four hours to ask Mr. Gaiman to sign a copy of Coraline for Annie.
The most recent addition to your shelves:
Several mysteries by Karin Fossum, set in Norway. I may take these along on an upcoming trip halfway around the world, on which my return will be from Norway. It might be interesting to read them right before visiting the country.
A book that’s been with you to the most places:
Whatever notebook I’m using as a journal at the time. If I have to name a published book, it would be the Child's Garden of Verses mentioned above. I don't take it on trips, but it's been with me in every residence I've had for the last 46 or 47 years.
A bonus book that you want to talk about but doesn’t fit into the other questions:
One of my favorite poetry books is Hailstones and Halibut Bones (Adventures in Color) by Mary O’Neill (author) and John Wallner (Illustrator). The poems really do convey colors in words; in fact, O’Neill says that she has had people blind from birth tell her that the poems helped them understand the concept of “color.”
As for tagging people, I figure that the only reason Annie didn't tag her mom, Debi, is that Debi has either already done this or already been tagged to do it. Otherwise, anyone who wants to can join in the fun and consider themselves to be the next "It."
The book that’s been on your shelves the longest:
A Child’s Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson. I don’t remember exactly when I got this book, but I think I was about five or six. Since I’m 52 now, I’ve had it for quite a while. I can still recite some of the poems in it, since I read them so many times as a child. I still pull this one off the shelf every now and then just for a comforting blast from the past.
A book that reminds you of something specific in your life (a person, a place, a time, etc.):
This would have to be Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card. My older son asked me to read this when he was in middle school. I did, and it helped me understand him a lot better. Card says in the foreword that he has been told this is the book most often stolen from (or not returned to) middle school libraries, and I can see why. I keep hearing that this book is being made into a movie; if that's true, it may be one I can't bring myself to see since I just know it would disappoint me.
A book you acquired in some interesting way (gift, serendipity in a used bookstore, prize, etc.):
I’ll pick the one I bought before it was available in stores. I went to the National Book Festival in September 2008, and was able to purchase Neil Gaiman’s The Graveyard Book three days before it appeared on bookstore shelves. I then read a good bit of it while waiting in line for four hours to ask Mr. Gaiman to sign a copy of Coraline for Annie.
The most recent addition to your shelves:
Several mysteries by Karin Fossum, set in Norway. I may take these along on an upcoming trip halfway around the world, on which my return will be from Norway. It might be interesting to read them right before visiting the country.
A book that’s been with you to the most places:
Whatever notebook I’m using as a journal at the time. If I have to name a published book, it would be the Child's Garden of Verses mentioned above. I don't take it on trips, but it's been with me in every residence I've had for the last 46 or 47 years.
A bonus book that you want to talk about but doesn’t fit into the other questions:
One of my favorite poetry books is Hailstones and Halibut Bones (Adventures in Color) by Mary O’Neill (author) and John Wallner (Illustrator). The poems really do convey colors in words; in fact, O’Neill says that she has had people blind from birth tell her that the poems helped them understand the concept of “color.”
As for tagging people, I figure that the only reason Annie didn't tag her mom, Debi, is that Debi has either already done this or already been tagged to do it. Otherwise, anyone who wants to can join in the fun and consider themselves to be the next "It."
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