Category Archives: I heart books

I Should Have Been a French Parent

We’ve all heard how American kids are spoiled, whiny, co-dependent little zealots who are permitted to survive on boxed mac and cheese while their mothers drift off to Zanax-land because their demanding darlings still won’t sleep through the night at age four. Whether or not you agree with this is immaterial. This is how much of the world sees us.

We give into our kids food cravings because we are afraid they will starve themselves to death.

We permit them to wake as often as they want at night, always rushing in to sooth them at their first call.

We spend our lives shuttling them from Gymboree to gymnastics from toddlerhood on, intent on giving them structured play time so they never feel bored.

We play with them on demand so they never feel ignored or unloved, and push off our chores until they have finally drifted to dreamland, sacrificing our chance for some leisure time to catch up on laundry.

We turn ourselves inside out trying to appease our little major generals. They rule our world. And they know it.

The French, simply don’t.

We all knew those French were different. But, zut alors, perhaps we didn’t know how different. First we discover French women don’t get fat, and now they are better parents as well?

 According to all the buzz, Bringing up Bebe: One American Mother Discovers the Wisdom of French Parenting celebrates les Français strict, yet hands-off approach to parenting.  Pamela Druckerman, an American journalist raising her children in France, dispels the myths of typical American parenting vs. the traditional French approach in her new book. 

For example:

  • French kids eat real food. Sitting at a table, with adults, using silverware and napkins and manners. Their plates are more likely to be filled with broccoli and brie than chicken nuggets.
  • French babies sleep through the night at a very young age. It is the typical French  practice to start teaching  infants how to sleep through the night as early as two or three months, supposedly not through a strict Feberization, but more of an “attentive listening” process.
  • French children throw far fewer temper tantrums than their American counterparts. They are taught to delay gratification,  that they can’t always get what they want (sing it, Mick), and they are allowed to figure out how to resolve their own spats while their parents watch and nibble on a croissant.
  • The French parenting ideal is called the cadre or frame. Children have strict, set rules for things such as school/daycare arrivals and departure times, meals, and naps. But how they spend the rest of their time is up to them. Boredom is encouraged, so children to learn how to amuse themselves. 
  •  French parenting, as described by Druckerman, is “a combination of being very strict about a few key things but also giving children lots of freedom.”  No helicopter moms in French airspace.

    Happy parents lead to happy children, non?

    Honestly, this sounds quite a bit like how I parent.  And I cannot tell you the amount of merde I get for my parenting style.

    Since I can’t afford to move to France (yes, it is a dream — lavender fields, good food, fine wine…) I will  appease myself by reading this book, so I can discover if the French really do have more of a clue about parenting.

    Vive la différence?
    Oui or non?

    Dirty Minds as Dick Has Fun With Jane

    Just before Kiddo started learning to read  I found a Storybook Treasury of Dick and Jane at our library book store. (BTW the BEST place to build a kids personal book collection on the cheap while you support your local public library branch.)

    I vividly remember sitting at my kindergarten table and reading from my paperback Dick and Jane reader.  I snatched that book up and brought it home imagining hours of bonding with my child while fondly reminiscing about my own childhood.

    Instead I learned that the Hubby and I have very dirty minds. It was the end of our innocence.

    We always read to Kiddo before bed. Dick and Jane seemed to be the perfect book to get him started reading to us.  Simple little stories about Dick and his sister Jane’s adventures with Baby Sally and Spot and the whole vintage clan.  A new word or two is introduced in each chapter and the stories slowly build word recognition and reading skills.

    Except it became too damn hard to keep a straight face and not start giggling…especially after a glass of wine.

    See, Baby.
    See, see.
    Oh, oh, oh.
    Oh, Dick.
    Look and see.
    See Baby.

    Sounds like something from the latest Top Ten sexually infused rap/pop song, right?

    From Puff and Dick:

    Come Baby.
    Look up, Baby
    Look up and see Puff.
    Look up and see Dick.
    See Dick go up.
    See Dick go up, up, up.
    Oh, Jane.

    See Dick come down.

    See Puff come down.
    Down, down, down.
    Oh, oh, oh.
    See Puff come down.

     I swear, we were both biting our bottom lips and struggling not to bust out laughing.  Come on. 

    Jane said, “Oh, Dick.
    I cannot find the balls.
    Come, Dick, come.
    Come and find the balls.”
    Dick said, “I see it.
    I see the big ball.”
    Jane said, “Oh, Dick…”

    Or how about:

    Come, come.
    Come and see.
    See Father and Mother.
    Father is big…

    Couldn’t they change Dick’s name to Tom or Harry? Okay, maybe not Harry…and certainly not Willy. I had to have a lovely discussion with Kiddo about how some boys are named Willy and it is not because they resemble a penis. How about Floyd or Milton or Roger…no innuendos hiding in those names.

    Since we are past the days of Dick and Jane in our house, I am generously going to pass along this treasure to another family.  And I can’t wait to hear if they have dirty minds too.

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    Are all writers liberal?



     Jodi Picoult’s newest novel, Sing You Home, is a gripping and complex journey through a rainbow of controversial subjects. Gay marriage and parenting, infertility, alcoholism, divorce, adultery, and  the Christian right–topics offensive to some yet close to others’ hearts are flayed open for readers explore. 

    Her tale revolves around Zoe, a music therapist who has endured years of infertility treatments in her quest for a child.  She is left reeling after her husband, unable to cope with a recent tragic stillbirth, walks out on their marriage.  Zoe is as surprised as everyone else in her life when she suddenly falls in love…with a another woman.  After a wedding across state lines, the same-sex couple decides to have a child using Zoe’s last frozen embryo, but her ex-husband and his newfound born-again Christian compatriots turn the couple’s desire to have a family into a sensational and very public morality play. 

    In a Chicago Tribune review of Picoult’s novel Susan Salter Reynolds writes, “The fact is, literature, when pressed, is always liberal, always progressive, always democratic. The very act of trying to understand the other side (much less create sympathetic characters) is a liberal act.”

    Does that mean all fiction writers are liberal?

    lib·er·al <a href=”http://dictionary.reference.com/audio.html/lunaWAV/L02/L0226200″ target=”_blank”><img src=”http://sp.dictionary.com/dictstatic/g/d/speaker.gif” border=”0″ alt=”liberal pronunciation” /><//ˈlɪbərəl, ˈlɪbrəl/ Show Spell 

    –adjective 

    1.  favorable to progress or reform, as in political or religious affairs. 

    2. favorable to or in accord with concepts of maximum individual freedom possible, especially as guaranteed by law and secured by governmental protection of civil liberties.   

    3.  favoring or permitting freedom of action, especially with respect to matters of personal belief or expression: a liberal policy toward dissident artists and writers. 

    4. free from prejudice or bigotry; tolerant. 

    5. open-minded or tolerant, especially free of or not bound by traditional or conventional ideas, values, etc. 

    6. characterized by generosity and willingness to give in large amounts.  

    7. not strict or rigorous; free; not literal.

    All writers, in some sense or manner, share their personal values and beliefs with us as they scribble down their stories.  Picoult’s stand on the issues in her novel were crystal clear and would be considered extremely liberal in the political and social definitions.  How much of our personal beliefs are ingratiated into our characters’ thoughts and actions?

    Are we liberal because we force ourselves inside the minds of characters, whether they are serial killers or saints, in an attempt to create a well-rounded individual readers believe could exist outside the pages of the story?   Or because we so often push the established boundaries of current and familiar society, subliminally spoon-feeding ideas and dogmas to the reader while they are vulnerable in our carefully concocted realm of suspended disbelief?

    What do you think?

    The Mother’s Prayer for Its Daughter by the Brilliant Tina Fey

    When I grow up I want to be Tina Fey.

    This excerpt from her new book, Bossypants, shines and speaks for all Mothers in this brave new world…even if we happen to have a son…

    First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches. 
    May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the the Beauty. 
    When the Crystal Meth is offered, 
    May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half 
    And stick with Beer. 
    Guide her, protect her 
    When crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the nearby subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock N’ Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age. 
    Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. 
    Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes 
    And not have to wear high heels. 
    What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit. 
    May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers. 
    Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. 
    Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, 
    For Childhood is short — a Tiger Flower blooming 
    Magenta for one day — 
    And Adulthood is long and Dry-Humping in Cars will wait. 
    O Lord, break the Internet forever, 
    That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers 
    And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed. 
    And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, 
    Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, 
    For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it. 
    And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, 
    That I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 a.m., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back. 
    “My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. 
    “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental note to call me. And she will forget. 
    But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes. 
    Amen.

    Utter and Pure Brilliance from Tina Fey’s new book Bossypants.  Read it.

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    The (In)Significance of Signs

    I always say I don’t believe in signs, just as I don’t believe in streaks of bad luck, miracles, or divine intervention.   Yet despite my doubts, I discover strange little omens sneaking up on me, curious coincidences, often startling and even a bit creepy on occasion.

    We headed to the beach last Sunday for a day of relaxation and reading, in no way influenced by the fortune which fell out of my Hubby’s cookie earlier in the week (see above).  The day was gorgeous with cloudless blue skies, cool breezes, and plenty of kids scampering along the shore for Kiddo to befriend.  I sat back in my lounge chair to catch some rays and read.

    A few pages into my selected reading I started shifting nervously, clenching my teeth, and sweating as if it was the middle of July.

    The novel felt a bit too familiar, and I could hear faint echos of my own work in progress  (a.k.a. the novel I have been driving myself slightly crazy over for the last year or so writing).   A wave of panic rushed over me.  But I had never heard of this book until a few months ago…I certainly couldn’t have taken any of the ideas from it…

    The protagonist was in a situation similar to mine.  Her children were the same ages.  Her marital situation, her escape to a new life, so many of the emotions she was rolling through were so similar to my main character.

    The sea breeze and sunshine could not halt the alarm bells echoing in my head.

    My story wasn’t original.  It was trite and tired.  I should just give up now, erase my work with a few simple key strokes and be done with it.

    I looked over to where Kiddo was building an enormous sand bunker with a  friend he had picked up on the beach.  The girl, perhaps six or seven, was a spitting image of my heroine at that age–the same coppery long hair, skinny legs, button nose.  My young Eve appeared before me, an apparition of what could be if only I kept going. 

    A few minutes later she was joined by her slightly older brother, and yes, he was a dead ringer for my young hero/love interest as a boy.    The book pressed to my chest, I sat staring at the pair imaging them as my characters twenty-five years older and meeting for the first time on the beach as in my story.

    A cherubic toddler ran past on a quest to reach the gently rolling waves.  “Come back Evie G. Wait for me!” her harried father laughed as he chased after her.   I felt as if someone had smacked me upside the head with an six-inch-thick dictionary.   The ghosts of writing were coming after me full force, shouting my heroine’s nickname for all to hear.  Honestly, I was getting a bit creeped out.

    Maybe it wasn’t time to give up.   There are only so many themes in literature, but each tale of love, hero(ine)’s epic  journey, or fall from grace is told in it’s own way.   I sat back and focused on the differences and discovered the stories were not even nearly the same.  My story is as unique as each freckle on MY Evie’s nose.

     Perhaps there is some significance to those signs after all…

    She Writer Blogger Ball Redux

    I’d like to welcome any She Writes members dropping by from the Blogger Ball Redux.   I had a such wonderful time discovering fellow member’s blogs last go round and can’t wait to connect with some more talented writers this weekend.

    As part of the getting to know you suggestion, I thought I’d share the first ten quirky things about me that come to mind:

    1.  I can still recite the entire To Be or Not To Be soliloquy from Hamlet at a spit-fire pace twenty years after I  memorized it for drama class.
    2.  I am distantly related to a famous pirate.
    3.  I cannot think of a dessert I do not like.  Some may be better than others, but they are all good in some way, shape, or form.
    4.  I don’t like big weddings and think everyone should just elope.  And don’t even think of asking me to be a bridesmaid.   Guess that’s why running a bridal boutique was not the right career for me.
    5.  I can’t watch television, work out, or do much of anything without a book in my hands.
    6.  I think I am the only person in America who has never had a Starbucks coffee or watched American Idol.
    7.  I’ve never really seen snow.
    8.  I used to be nicknamed “concert girl” because I adore the thrill of getting lost in live music and would travel far and wide to see my favorite bands.
    9.  I actually liked being an only child and now have an only child.  And yes, it will stay that way.
    10.   My hubby, brother-in-law, cousin and I all share the same birthday.  And yes, I was careful not to get knocked-up during a certain window to carry on that tradition.

    And now I’m off to dust off my dancing shoes to prepare for the ball…  No, wait–actually I’ll sit here in my gym/writing clothes as I waltz through the blogosphere.   I’ll save the dancing heels for my concert Sunday night…

    Dropping the Bomb on Motherhood

    Imagine it is just another rough day in the mothering hood.  Children are crying and wiping snotty noses on your shirt.  The laundry pile is multiplying exponentially as one child had an accident and another spewed chocolate milk across the room and the white dog.  You haven’t seen a television show without singing puppets, trains, or fairy princesses in years.  Your nails are chipped, your legs unshaven, and your not quite sure when you last washed your hair.   Each day is a struggle to find that precarious balance between  family, daily responsibilities, job, and an occasional moment for yourself.  Your life is full, yet you feel as if you lost a bit of yourself somewhere amidst the debris on the delivery room floor.

    You may have dreams of escape…those moments when you imagine yourself lying serenely on a beach with a hunky cabana boy bringing you luscious umbrella drinks and there are no children in sight, or perhaps even ON your island oasis.  You may even be lucky enough to enjoy weekends escapes or small vacations sans children every once in a while.

    What if an amazing  opportunity came up–your dream job–and you could reclaim some of your previous life and revive your career?  The only caveat: you would have to live on the other side of the world from your children for months at a time.  What if you did it?   And while you were living as a single, childless professional you decided you liked it better than your real life of chaos back home.    You realized maybe you never wanted this whole kids and family thing anyway.

    Could you leave them all behind?

    Author Rahna Reiko Rizzuto appeared on the Today Show this morning to promote her memoir Hiroshima in the Morning.   Given an opportunity to write about the survivors of the nuclear bomb drop in Japan,  she left her husband and two small children, ages 3 and 5, for six months to follow her career.   While she was away she discovered she had never really wanted to be a mother and didn’t want her children or her husband anymore.  When she returned home Rizzuto divorced her husband of 20 years and gave him custody of their small children.  She spoke out about her struggle with her identity and her utter ambivalence towards her children and husband.

    Ruzzuto now parents at her own leisure and sees her now teen children several times a week to play games and watch television shows together.  The “heavy lifting” and day to day dreariness of parenting  is left to their father.  She says it works better for them, because now their relationship is based on “what we want to give, rather than our obligation to give and our assumptions of what we should get.”  In a heavily debated Salon.com article she wrote, “I was afraid of being swallowed up, of being exhausted, of opening my eyes one day, 20 (or 30!) years after they were born, and realizing I had lost myself and my life was over.”

    Men say things like this every day, and society generally does not think worse of them.  Men can have a mid-life crisis and decide to leave their families because they are not fulfilled.  They abandon their children completely for a job or another woman or to rediscover themselves or just slowly drift away into until their presence becomes unexpected and inconsequential.  But they are fathers…

    Why do we judge mothers on a different scale?

    I cannot speak for all mothers.  We are a diverse sisterhood, each with our own circumstances and  backstory.   But I can confidently say that having a child, whether by giving birth, adoption, or other means intrinsically changes you.

    I know I would rather cut off my right arm than give up my child.    I could be offered a million dollar multi-book deal and a villa in Tuscany and I would turn it down flat if it meant leaving my child permanently.  There is nothing wrong with wanting more in your life than carpools and crappy diapers, but once you have made that decision to be a parent it IS your obligation to give unconditionally to that child and provide them with what they need.   And yes, sometimes it’s inconvenient and hard and excruciatingly exhausting.  It’s a part of the job.  Get over it.

    Motherhood isn’t always what we signed on for.  It takes far more time, effort, compassion, and strength than I ever imagined I had to give.  It means sacrifice and change.  It also takes courage…and yes, some days that may mean the courage to keep giving when you feel as if you have drained yourself dry.  It means having the courage to stay. 


    As my child grow more independent I struggle with my identity each and every day.  But I know no matter how my life grows and I choose to define myself, I will always be a  mother.  It is a primal concept that Ruzzoto is to selfish to grasp.

    Snooki Writes a Booki–Not A Shore Thing

    The degradation of society is complete. Snooki wrote a book: A Shore Thing.  Excuse me–a mind-numbing “novel” providing a few hours of oversexed and undereducated entertainment for the masses.  Someone please bring me some tequila–as long as it’s not a body shot off a juicehead gorilla.  (Huh?)

    Apparently she is a little confused about which way the words go…

    It is my habit to race for the remote when realty show celebrities are mentioned. This morning, however,  I nearly snarfed coffee through my nose  as Matt Lauer interviewed the Jersey Shore guidette on the Today Show.  I just couldn’t look away as this Nicole “Snooki” Polizzi described how we can tell she really did write the book (using crayons? dictating into her cell phone?) “’cause like it’s all my language…”   Supposedly it took her three months to write along with her co-writer,Valerie Frankel, who helped her through all the hard work.  Writing a book is hard?  Um, like, no way?  I hope Ms. Frankel received an extremely  lucrative paycheck to compensate for dumbing herself down enough to write this trash.

    Below are some of the *novel’s* finer quotes (courtesy of the New York Post)

    * “He had an okay body. Not fat at all. And naturally toned abs. She could pour a shot of tequila down his belly and slurp it out of his navel without getting splashed in the face.”

    * “Yum. Johnny Hulk tasted like fresh gorilla.”

    * “Any juicehead will get some nut shrinkage. And bacne. They fly into a ‘roid rage, it is a ‘road’ ‘roid rage.”

    * “Gia danced around a little, shaking her peaches for show. She shook it hard. Too hard. In the middle of a shimmy, her stomach cramped. A fart slipped out. A loud one. And stinky.”

    * “Gia had never before been in jail. It wasn’t nearly as gritty and disgusting as she’d seen on TV prison shows. The Seaside Heights drunk tank — on a weekday afternoon — was as clean and quiet as a church.”

    * “I love food. I love drinking, boys, dancing until my feet swell. I love my family, my friends, my job, my boss. And I love my body, especially the badonk.

    I’m not sure if I was overwhelmed with curiosity or nausea when I heard that Simon and Schuster agreed to pay this skank an ungodly sum of real money (would she have noticed if they used Monopoly cash?) to write this tale of guidettes with “one goal in mind: hooking up with a sexy gorilla.”  I think I’m gonna hurl.

    I don’t watch the train wreck some consider a show. I would have been thrilled if I never knew any of these cretins were sharing my oxygen.    But one night I flipped to the Jersey Shore (while the Hubby was out of town so there were NO witnesses) to see what the big deal was.  After five minutes I could count the brain cells being sucked through my glazed-over eyes.
    It was painful.  It was depressing.  It was…reality?  Whose? 

    And how may people who may be  interested enough in Snooki to plonk down 25 bucks of their bar tab money actually READ books?  Maybe they should have made a comic or a picture book?

    Snooki’s Top Ten Reasons you should buy her book:

    You’re watching Snooki presents on ‘Late Show’ 1/10/11 – TV Replay. See the Web’s top videos on AOL Video

    Last April, after she was arrested for disorderly conduct, her judge asked if she was “trading her dignity for a paycheck.”  How many Shore fans are going to trade their paychecks for this 289 page tome?  (Amazon can bundle it with Here’s the Situation: A Guide to Creeping on Chicks, Avoiding Grenades, and Getting in Your GTL on the Jersey Shore by Mike “The Situation” Sorrentino and Gym, Tanning, Laundry: The Official Jersey Shore Quote Book by MTV if you really want to destroy your mind.)  You bet your badonk I’d rather save a tree or use it for toilet paper.

    Celebrating Literacy and Hilary Duff?

    Today is International Literacy Day, a day to celebrate the four billion readers worldwide (my Kiddo now making it four billion one) and bring awareness to literacy programs globally. A day near and dear to my bookworm-filled heart.

    And the day I discovered Hilary Duff has a novel coming out next month…

    One step forward, two steps back. I guess if celebutante Lauren Conrad can become a popular novelist, the ex-tween-Disney-channel-pop-queen can as well. Why not? I’m sure Hilary’s YA romantic thriller will be a classic to revere for generations. They make getting published seem so damn easy. I’ll bet their book editors had their work cut out for them though…
    The BBC Top 100 Book List has been floating around cyberspace in a few incarnations for a while now and I thought it was an appropriate topic for today. Supposedly, the BBC believes most people will have only read 6 of the 100 classic books here. I don’t necessarily agree with all of their choices, but at least Lauren Conrad did not make the cut.

    Go ahead, see how your reading habits stack up.
    I scored 52–I still have a bit of reading to do. I just hope I am ahead of Hilary…

    BBC TOP 100

    1. [x] Pride and Prejudice – Jane Austen
    2. [ ] The Lord of the Rings – JRR Tolkien
    3. [x] Jane Eyre – Charlotte Bronte
    4. [x] Harry Potter series – JK Rowling
    5. [x ] To Kill a Mockingbird – Harper Lee
    6. [% ] The Bible
    7. [x] Wuthering Heights – Emily Bronte
    8. [x] Nineteen Eighty Four – George Orwell
    9. [ ] His Dark Materials – Philip Pullman
    10. [% ] Great Expectations – Charles Dickens
    11. [x] Little Women – Louisa M Alcott
    12. [ ] Tess of the D’Urbervilles – Thomas Hardy
    13. [x-] Catch 22 – Joseph Heller
    14. [%] Complete Works of Shakespeare
    15. [x] Rebecca – Daphne Du Maurier
    16. [x] The Hobbit – JRR Tolkien
    17. [ ] Birdsong – Sebastian Faulk
    18. [x+] Catcher in the Rye – JD Salinger
    19. [ ] The Time Traveler’s Wife – Audrey Niffenegger
    20. [ ] Middlemarch – George Eliot
    21. [+x] Gone With The Wind – Margaret Mitchell
    22. [x] The Great Gatsby – F Scott Fitzgerald
    23. [ ] Bleak House – Charles Dickens
    24. [%] War and Peace – Leo Tolstoy
    25. [ ] The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy – Douglas Adams
    26. [ ] Brideshead Revisited – Evelyn Waugh
    27. [x ] Crime and Punishment – Fyodor Dostoyevsky
    28. [x ] Grapes of Wrath – John Steinbeck
    29. [x] Alice in Wonderland – Lewis Carroll
    30. [% ] The Wind in the Willows – Kenneth Grahame
    31. [x] Anna Karenina – Leo Tolstoy
    32. [ ] David Copperfield – Charles Dickens
    33. [ ] Chronicles of Narnia – CS Lewis
    34. [x] Emma – Jane Austen
    35. [*] Persuasion – Jane Austen
    36. [x] The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe – CS Lewis
    37. [x] Kite Runner – Khaled Hosseini
    38. [x ] Captain Corelli’s Mandolin – Louis De Bernieres
    39. [ x] Memoirs of a Geisha – Arthur Golden
    40. [x] Winnie the Pooh – AA Milne
    41. [x] Animal Farm – George Orwell
    42. [x] The Da Vinci Code – Dan Brown
    43. [x ] One Hundred Years of Solitude – Gabriel Garcia Marquez
    44. [ ] A Prayer for Owen Meaney – John Irving
    45. [ ] The Woman in White – Wilkie Collins
    46. [x] Anne of Green Gables – LM Montgomery
    47. [ ] Far From The Madding Crowd – Thomas Hardy
    48. [ ] The Handmaid’s Tale – Margaret Atwood
    49. [x] Lord of the Flies – William Golding
    50. [x ] Atonement – Ian McEwan
    51. [x ] Life of Pi – Yann Martel
    52. [ ] Dune – Frank Herbert
    53. [ ] Cold Comfort Farm – Stella Gibbons
    54. [x] Sense and Sensibility – Jane Austen
    55. [ ] A Suitable Boy – Vikram Seth
    56. [ ] The Shadow of the Wind – Carlos Ruiz Zafon
    57. [?% ] A Tale Of Two Cities – Charles Dickens
    58. [x] Brave New World – Aldous Huxley
    59. [ ] The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time – Mark Haddon
    60. [x ] Love In The Time Of Cholera – Gabriel Garcia Marquez
    61. [x ] Of Mice and Men – John Steinbeck
    62. [ ] Lolita – Vladimir Nabokov
    63. [ ] The Secret History – Donna Tartt
    64. [ ] The Lovely Bones – Alice Sebold
    65. [x ] Count of Monte Cristo – Alexandre Dumas
    66. [x ] On The Road – Jack Kerouac
    67. [ ] Jude the Obscure – Thomas Hardy
    68. [x+] Bridget Jones’s Diary – Helen Fielding
    69. [x ] Midnight’s Children – Salman Rushdie
    70. [x] Moby Dick – Herman Melville
    71. [x] Oliver Twist – Charles Dickens
    72. [x] Dracula – Bram Stoker
    73. [x ] The Secret Garden – Frances Hodgson Burnett
    74. [ ] Notes From A Small Island – Bill Bryson
    75. [ ] Ulysses – James Joyce
    76. [x ] The Bell Jar – Sylvia Plath
    77. [ ] Swallows and Amazons – Arthur Ransome
    78. [ ] Germinal – Emile Zola
    79. [ ] Vanity Fair – William Thackeray
    80. [x ] Possession – AS Byatt
    81. [x] A Christmas Carol – Charles Dickens
    82. [ ] Cloud Atlas – David Mitchell
    83. [x] The Color Purple – Alice Walker
    84. [ ] The Remains of the Day – Kazuo Ishiguro
    85. [x ] Madame Bovary – Gustave Flaubert
    86. [ ] A Fine Balance – Rohinton Mistry
    87. [x] Charlotte’s Web – EB White
    88. [x] The Five People You Meet In Heaven – Mitch Albom
    89. [ ] Adventures of Sherlock Holmes – Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
    90. [ ] The Faraway Tree Collection – Enid Blyton
    91. [ ] Heart of Darkness – Joseph Conrad
    92. [ ] The Little Prince – Antoine De Saint-Exupery
    93. [ ] The Wasp Factory – Iain Banks
    94. [x ] Watership Down – Richard Adams
    95. [% ] A Confederacy of Dunces – John Toole
    97. [x ] The Three Musketeers – Alexandre Dumas
    98. [x] Hamlet – William Shakespeare
    99. [x] Charlie and the Chocolate Factory – Road Dahl
    100. [x ] Les Miserables – Victor Hugo
    Go ahead, comment on your score…I’m curious…

    

    Unwinding on Star Island

    I am lounging on my porch, cooling my heels after this evening’s inane drama with a chilly glass (or two) of chardonnay to help speed up the process. A thunderstorm has been teasing my scorched grass, lingering around the outskirts of my yard for hours. I’m thrilled the thermometer arm has finally slid under the 80 degree mark, but the humidity is still hovering around 100% and I can see the moisture (and mosquitoes) hanging in the over-saturated air.

    And I swear it is raining on my next-door neighbor’s lawn.

    Ah, the joys of Florida.

    Thankfully I am being thoroughly entertained by the most recent Carl Hiaasen novel, Star Island.

    Thank you, Carl. Your new novel is exactly what I’ve been needing.

    This new Florida fairy tale lampoons the glut of vaporous pop culture superstars taking over South Beach. The story revolves around Cherry Pye, a rather randy disaster of a lip-syncing pop star–essentially a Brittany Lohan. The cast of characters includes her spunky “stunt double” Ann DeLusia; Bang Abbot, an obsessed and odorous paparazzo turned inept kidnapper; and Chemo, a weed whacker wielding bodyguard charged with keeping her from going on a permanent bender. Throw in the requisite corrupt developer and the endearingly off-kilter crusader Skink and I am in for an entertaining ride.

    I may have been dedicating most of my book related blog posts to Chick Lit and romances, but a special place in my book-loving soul is saved for smart and snarky satires.

    And the King of that genre is Carl.

    I read his first novel, Tourist Season when I was a young and impressionable reader around the age of 14.

    And I friggin loved it.

    The blatant sarcasm. The witty repartee. Murder, mayhem, and outrageous characters that seemed to push the envelope of parody…yet if you ever lived in South Florida, you were surrounded by them everyday.

    Hiaasen tells of the dregs of society who somehow end up flowing (or fleeing) South and end up in the bizarre Wonderland called Florida. Who else can spin tales involving a crusading one-eyed ex-Governor turned Everglades hermit who dines primarily on road kill? Or a deranged red-neck with a decaying pit bull head attached to his arm? And why not dump a spiny sea urchin into the diaper of a greedy developer who paid crackheads to cut down acres of endangered mangroves in the Florida Keys? It’s absolutely brilliant and rather appropriate. I have secretly always wanted drop shopping bags full of snakes on a cruise ship and feed annoying tourists to a crocodile named Pavlov.

    His books always have an unlikely hero, a gorgeous and gutsy young woman, corrupt bad guys to foil (usually developers, crooked politicians, and someone trashing the environment), a whacked-out ally who may be the voice of reason, and tons of examples of why most Floridians should be chased back out of the state or used for bait at Gatorland.

    Perhaps I am biased because I am South Florida Native who has always been outraged over the “knock it down and pave it over” mentality of Florida transplants, developers, and politicians. I actually prefer swampland to strip shopping centers.



    A little Florida before and after…

    And it doesn’t hurt that my Mom went to high school with the guy, which is why we always referred to him just as “Carl” in my house. And he’s a Gator. I remember reading his savvy Miami Herald columns from the time I was old enough to pick up a newspaper (although sadly those should be on the endangered species list now as well).

    I honestly can’t think of another author who can have me laughing out loud so frequently. I have to be careful about reading his books in public places. I could easily get kicked out of a library or off an airplane for sudden raucous outbursts. Drinking hot beverages while reading his novels can also be dangerous (coffee out the nose has been know to occur).

    Carl’s black humor is usually laced with scathing truths regarding the callousness and immortality of our Sunshine State’s motley population. But sometimes I just need one of his clever capers to remind me how I tolerate living in this screwed up paradise we call home.