Friday Book Review: Carry Yourself Back to Me

Look: It's a baby! Added for the cuteness factor, I won't lie.

I scored myself an advanced reader's copy of Portland author Deborah Reed's debut novel Carry Yourself Back to Me. A perk of book blogging and having friends in high places!

I'm always hesitant to review a book that comes to me recommended by someone whose opinion I value; high-stakes book blogging -- sounds riveting, right? I lost a few readers along the way last year during my Around the World challenge because of negative reviews. People would tell me a book to read, I'd read it, hate it, and write about it, and somehow people take this personally. I understand that general feeling -- my first book review on this blog was in response to someone who hated my favorite book.

At any rate, I read the first few pages of  Carry Yourself Back to Me and tried to reserve all judgement. I wasn't really prepared to like it (for no good reason, I should add) and so my brain kept trying to pull out of the story and assess the craft. "Anyone can write a compelling beginning," I erroneously thought, "but can you keep my attention Deborah Reed? I dare you!"

The short answer: Yes.

She did.

And my "want to dislike this" attitude was humbled. Sometimes I dislike a book because I genuinely believe it's crap (see Water for Elephants). Sometimes I dislike something because I wish I would have written it and I'm insanely jealous. Carry Yourself Back to Me falls more into that category.

The book opens with country/folk singer-songwriter Annie Walsh mourning the loss of her long-term relationship; a partnership that ended due to infidelity. When she learns her brother Calder is accused of murdering his lover's husband, a series of events unfold in Annie's life that demonstrate to her that life has a unique way of folding in on us -- especially in the throes of a crisis.

I couldn't bring myself to find much fault with Reed's rich prose, her believable characters, and her crisp dialogue. Also, I found the tangelo groves of Florida -- the setting for this book -- vivid and beautiful. (Even if I have never actually been to that particular state in the union.)

The dual themes -- running like two parallel strings from the first page to the last -- resonated with me. And I noticed the complexity of crafting this nuanced story without the hit-you-over-the-head method favored by most writer's today. The story isn't a riveting fast-paced adventure, it's a slower, steadier journey that explores what the heart wants and what it means to love and lose what matters most to you. The book is expertly plotted, which is evident by the fact that you aren't always aware of the plot. In a publishing world where books either have break-neck pacing screaming blockbuster movie or meandering literary books whose plots are thin, at best, I found the combination of a literary book with an engaging plot refreshing and rare.

Every writing "how-to" or workshop instructor vehemently opposes the dreaded flashback as a plot device.  Reed's book is a great example of why we should NEVER listen to these books or workshop instructors. The flashback scenes -- woven seamlessly into the story of the present -- provide great background and character development. Some of the flashbacks were my favorite parts. (And bonus to me: my current project depends on flashbacks. I've added Reed's book to a list I'm compiling of author's who utilize flashbacks successfully in case I am ever asked to defend the flashback! (Imagine me saying that in a big booming theatrical voice.))

So, Carry Yourself Back to Me is out on September 20th. It's one of those books that resonates long after you've finished the final page -- subtle and powerful.  Go and pre-order from Amazon!

I wish Deborah every ounce of success and hope that this book finds the readership it deserves.

Friday's Book Review

**Let's just pretend I hit "post" on Friday like I was supposed to...

I decided to look tough in this week's picture becuase Andre Dubus the third spends most of his book "Townie" trying to figure out how to be tough. Okay, I lied. It's because this was the only photo booth picture that didn't feature a prominent double-chin. Looking tough in pictures = tricky way to hide fat face. I need to just adopt that look for when I'm out and about too.

Or I need to stop eating petite cheesecakes.

Either one, really.

So, this week's book is "Townie" by Andre Dubus III. It was my Indiespensable  last month from Powell's Books. (A Christmas present from Matt and my mother-in-law! My second one ships this week and I'm super excited.)

Memoirs are inherently self-serving. I think Dubus knew this -- per the interview with him that came with this book, I learned that he didn't set out to write a memoir. Instead he felt compelled to capture some important moments in his life in order to understand them and ultimately realized that he might have a book.

This book is hard for me to review because I can't exactly pinpoint what was so compelling about it. On its surface it just another writer's look at his rough history -- absent father, busy mother, drugs, and violence. But the book has a magical quality to tying all these stories together to provide meaning. More than once I would finish a paragraph and just say, "Huh" out loud to myself. Not "Huh?" just "Huh." (My exclamation of contemplative thought.)  

At the core this book is about violence. It's about what happens when you realize that you have what is necessary to punch someone in the face and drop them to the ground. Dubus talks about that moment as breaking the membrane. 

I have never punched anyone. I've hit and slapped a few people (notably boys who made comments about my breasts and thank God for my parents who raised me with enough self-assurance to feel like I could slap a guy if necessary); and in my women's self-defense class in college I got to kick a guy in a padded suit in the balls. But if we're just talking about a deeply rooted bent toward violence as a first response, I don't get that.

Dubus helped me get that. And I was conflicted as I read this book. I knew ultimately that he was going to come around and realize that punching people and sending them to the hospital isn't the key. (The scene toward the end where this big realization takes place is super intense and deeply rewarding.) I married a guy who has never thrown a punch and avoids all conflict like the plague -- I asked him once if there is anything that could happen to me where he would respond by punching someone and he honestly didn't think there was. I'm the more violent person in our relationship, I think. 

This disappointed me a little bit at the time.

Then after reading "Townie", I think I can respect that there is a balance. A delicate one. And if we take the time to truly understand people and situations, violence is rarely the answer. 

I cried a couple of times while reading this. I also felt really moved on an intellectual level.

It's not a fast read and it meanders a bit; also, the early teenage year stuff can be a bit plodding. But even in those thick chapters, Dubus gives enough meaning and insight that I think it's worth slogging through. While I didn't find myself wanting to stay up all night to finish, I did find myself contemplating this man's life long after I read the last page.

This is my first Dubus book and his portrayal of himself is honest and raw. Which makes me super curious about his fiction. I'll add "House of Sand and Fog" to my to-read list -- I want to now see what a man like this can accomplish when he sits down to create art. 

Friday's Book Review

Before we begin our book review for today...somebody went to the playoff Blazers/Mavericks game last night.

Isn't that just the cutest Trail Blazer fan you've ever seen? He was a champ too -- I only had to nurse him in the bathroom once! (I'm the queen of nursing in public bathrooms -- not that this is something to be proud of. When Elliott was a baby, I nursed him in the bathroom at my brother's high school graduation and my skirt fell in the toilet.)

Of course, I didn't even take into account that the Rose Garden's playoff noise would be eardrum shattering; so, I felt like parent of the year trying to cheer for a basketball game while holding my hands over his little ears...and someone behind us spilled beer all over the Baby Bjorn...but whatever -- barring permanent hearing loss, I think it was totally worth it.

It's Friday and that means it's random book review time. Here's our book for this week!

The book is "Out" by Natsuo Kirino. (PS. The above picture is for my colleague Stacy who said I was looking uncommonly primped and ready to go for pictures seeming as how I have a newborn and a toddler in my house. I didn't primp for this. It's three-days-unshowered Shelbi. And seconds after I took this picture, I was drinking wine from the bottle (Earth Day = saving water not washing wine glasses) and spilled it down my white shirt and on to my child. Parenting fail.)

I read "Out" in 2007. But the book has stuck with me and I think it's a necessary read for fans of Japanese literature and gruesome crime dramas. (Be forewarned: There is a particularly graphic scene of mutilation ala the "Saw" movies!) It's gritty. But it's not just a make-you-uncomfortable thriller -- this book is also a social commentary on Japan's working class and it's view of women's roles in a post bubble economy. It's got the Yakuza too! And powerful things to say about love and abuse. What I loved the most was the marriage between the banal and the extraordinary.

Each of the women are fully fleshed-out characters and the themes are genre-bending...which makes this book more literary than pulp. 

Here's the blurb if you're interested in the plot basics:

Facing the daily burdens of slavish work conditions, stale marriages, and a society refusing to show them proper respect, the women on the nightshift at a suburban Tokyo factory are all looking for one thing -- a way out. When pretty young Yayoi takes a beating from her deadbeat husband, her coworkers do little more than help their friend keep pace with the line. But a new kind of sisterhood emerges when Yayoi requires assistance in disposing of her husband's dead body. 

My passion for books written by Japanese authors, set in Japan, or about Japan is a pretty big part of who I am. I think Kirino's work is great. I have her next book "Grotesque" on my to-read list. 

Friday's Book Review

My newspaper kids are doing a feature on the English department for the next issue. They asked each of us about our favorite book and then took a picture of each teacher with his/her favorite book.

Because I'm on maternity leave, I had to submit my own picture.

Here it is!

And here is the one I took that caught Elliott jumping from the table to couch in the background. He made it, by the way. 

The book I am holding is "The Sparrow" by Mary Doria Russell. And it is one of my favorite books...but it may currently hold the position for my favorite book of this exact moment. (BOLD statement, I know.)

Taking this picture prompted me to start a weekly book review on this blog. Every Friday I'll write about a book. Maybe it will be a book I read and loved. Maybe it will be a book I HATED. I know I slowed down blogging on the book blog, but I can't abandon blogging about books entirely. 

We're going to start with "The Sparrow" for two reasons. 1) I do love this book. Love. 2) I recently recommended this book to a friend and she abandoned it stating that she couldn't get into it and didn't care for the characters and doesn't like aliens. Since I did get into it, loved the characters, and am totally into aliens, I feel compelled to defend my choice for this book landing on my favorite list. 

Let's start with the blurb:

"In 2019, humanity finally finds proof of extraterrestrial life when a listening post in Puerto Rico picks up exquisite singing from a planet which will come to be known as Rakhat. While United Nations diplomats endlessly debate a possible first contact mission, the Society of Jesus quietly organizes an eight-person scientific expedition of its own. What the Jesuits find is a world so beyond comprehension that it will lead them to question the meaning of being "human." When the lone survivor of the expedition, Emilio Sandoz, returns to Earth in 2059, he will try to explain what went wrong."

This book made me week. Not cry -- not choke up. Weep. Break down and tug my legs up into my body and sob uncontrollably. You have to finish the story to put all the pieces of this book together -- which is why I don't recommend abandoning it. It's slow going for the first half, but the second half is so rewarding.

As I wrote before when I named this book my favorite book of 2009: This book is about God -- it's about faith -- it's about children -- it's about the ethics of invading unknown lans (socially, ecologically, spiritually); it's about the marriage of science and religion. And it's about love.

There is more humanity in this book than almost all of the other books I own. It's also one of those rare books that delivers for the reader a full experience. This book is nearly perfect. I said nearly. It's suspenseful, it's thoughtful, it's well balanced between flashbacks and the present (a technique I like, and use in my own writing, despite the fact that every writing book tells you not to do it...and to those people I say: Read this book and then try to tell me it's not an effective narrative tool), the characters are real and engaging -- especially Emilio. 

Don't read this book unless you're wiling to invest yourself into it emotionally. And hopefully you'll be open to the religious and scientific implications of a "first contact" book. (Sagan's "Contact" might be similar only because they both deal with science, contact with extraterrestrial life, and religion. But "The Sparrow" is so much better and bigger than Sagan's story.) Along the way, I hope the book captivates you and makes you think. I'm pretty sure it will make you cry.