Finally...?

I've spent the last several weeks diligently writing about the books I read. Most of them have brought me a great deal of joy. Truly, only one book made me unhappy. I've made friends of authors and characters, and revisited old friends, as well. Throughout the course of this exercise, I have learned a great deal about Jews in American history, about human nature, about children's literature, and most importantly, I've learned a great deal about myself.

I am an eclectic reader. The sort of book I wanted to read varied according to my mood, what I wished to learn, and the sort of characters with whom I wanted to spend my lunch hour. These people, fictional as they might be, do indeed become my friends.

I learned that I do have my limits. I had previously thought that I had a compulsive need to finish every book I began, no matter how boring or ridiculous, for fear that it would get better and I would have missed it. This is not the case, however.

What I gained most from this experiment is that I had forgotten how much I love to read and how much I love to write. I used to do both nearly every day, but had gotten away from it when I went back to school. With all of the text books and essays, I didn't make the time for fiction and writing for pleasure. This challenge has been somewhat of a renewal for me.

Professionally, it has been interesting to read books written for children and young adults. I must admit that I have a soft spot for them, anyway. I grew up reading L.M. Montgomery and Louisa May Alcott and revisit Anne Shirley and Jo March often. More recently, I have read books written by Amanda Hocking and Stephenie Meyer. I had considered these books to be guilty pleasures, but then I read The Book Whisperer by Donalyn Miller and I realized that, as a teacher, I should know something about children's and young adult's literature, and how am I going to be knowledgeable about something that I have not read?

I also found it interesting that I could make connections that I might not otherwise have noticed. This week is a prime example. This week I went to the library to find another book to read. Having just spent some time with From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, I decided to see what else I could find that was written by E.L. Konigsburg. I came across a book entitled, The View From Saturday, and without a second thought, I picked it up and took it directly to the circulation desk.

 I read my new book in the space of two days, and made many lovely new friends. The book was unique in that each chapter was introduced in the 3rd person, and then told from the point of view of a different character (in the 1st person). Coincidentally, I was working on a lesson plan to teach point of view. While I didn't use it in my lesson plan, I have it stored in the files I keep, both on my laptop and in the back of my mind.

While my little experiment is over, I am seriously considering continuing on with my blog. Even if no one else ever reads it or enjoys it, I know that I will.

A Change of Pace

This week I decided another change of pace was in order. So far, I have read fantastic historical fiction, not-so-fantastic historical fiction, some pretty great young adult fiction, and revisited some of my favorite children's fiction. Considering that I'm nearing the end of my current semester in college, I thought I'd do something daring. I wanted to do something just for fun. I wanted... non-fiction.

Now, having said that, I understand that the word fun is relative. I know people who love Stephen King novels. I can't stand them. Others were of the opinion that G.K. Chesterton was a genius, and that his book The Man Who Was Thursday was the most thrilling book ever written. If you missed my thoughts on that particular book, you can check it out here. My point is, a lot of people loved that book. (Seriously. Amazon gives it a 4.3 out of  5 stars.) I am not one of those people.

I am, however, one of those people who likes to read non-fiction. This week I picked up a book entitled American Judaism, by Jonathan D. Sarna (which incidentally has 4.8 stars on Amazon). It's an interesting account of the history of Jews in America, and Sarna does a good job of making his writing seem more like a narrative than a census record.

I've only made it as far as the American Civil War, but honestly, it has been an interesting read. It's fascinating to me that, in 1654, Jewish refugees arrived in New Amsterdam (now New York) from Brazil. Up until that point New Amsterdam was officially a Calvinist community. While there were Catholics, Lutherans, Anabaptists, and English Puritans residing in the colony, none had been granted permission to organize a congregation or have a minister. When the Jewish refugees arrived, the director-general sought permission from the Dutch West India Company to tell the Jews to leave for fear that by giving them the freedom to remain (and not practice any form of Christianity, let alone Calvinism) that the Lutherans, Anabaptists, Catholics, and Puritans must be given more freedom. What he failed to realize, however, is that not only was the Dutch West India Company more concerned with their pocketbooks than religion, but that many of the principal share holders of the company were, in fact, Jews. After several petitions, the Jewish refugees were not only allowed to stay, but they were allowed to trade, serve guard duty, own real estate, and worship in the privacy of their own homes, which seems to be more than what other religious sects were permitted. The director-general's fears seemed to be well-founded. By 1663, everyone in New Amsterdam was permitted to worship God how they saw fit, as long as they didn't cause problems. According to Sarna's history, the Jewish refugees paved the way for religious freedom, at least in one Dutch colony.

Cesar Kaskel

I don't know if Jonathan Sarna is my new friend, or if it's people like Cesar Kaskel, who rushed to Washington D.C. to appeal to Abraham Lincoln when the Jews of Paducah, Kentucky were expelled. Perhaps they're all becoming friends, and I look forward to meeting more of these truly amazing people.

I'll keep you posted.

Lunch with Old Friends...

I have recently developed a habit of reading over my lunch break at work. The way my schedule is, I am not generally able to stop and eat until nearly everyone else has left the teacher's lounge, so it's the perfect opportunity for me to spend time with my literary friends.

In the last few weeks I have met some great people. I have spent some time with a professor, English royalty, an annoyingly boring anti-anarchist, and a medieval maiden. I consider all of them to be dear friends, with the exception of Thursday. (He and I are acquaintances, certainly, but absolutely not friends.)

This week I decided to catch up with some old friends and read From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler. I have known Claudia and Jamie Kinkaid for roughly twenty-five years. I was introduced to them through author E.L. Konigsburg when I was young. Claudia was the first to become my friend. She and I both had younger brothers and we were both planners, but that was where our similarities ended. While I was introverted and content to stay home, Claudia craved adventure. While I was very analytical, Claudia was a romantic at heart. In short, I was prose and Claudia was poetry. She was everything I was not, and everything I wanted to be.


Thinking about it, though, who wouldn't want to run away from home and hide out in a museum, especially one as grand as the Metropolitan Museum of Art? (If this is a spoiler, stop immediately, put the computer away, and run - don't walk - to your nearest library.) When Claudia determined that this is what she would do, she asked her brother, Jamie, to come along because, "They complimented each other perfectly. She was cautious (about everything but money) and poor; he was adventurous (about everything but money) and rich." In the course of their adventure, they happened upon a mysterious statue of an angel which Claudia surmises was sculpted by the great Michelangelo. They go on a journey to confirm Claudia's suspicions, which leads them to Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler.

I had read this book so many times as a kid. I had my very own copy, which was well-worn and very loved. As I grew older, I passed my love for Claudia and Jamie on to my own children, who have their own well-worn and much loved copy. I had not read their story as an adult, however, and I realized this week that it was highly overdue.

I still love Claudia and Jamie. I still envy their adventure at the Met. As an adult, though, I have to empathize with Mr. and Mrs. Kincaid. While the book doesn't give the reader any insight into what they went through, I can only imagine how horrific must it have been to have two of their children disappear. I can't say that this particular worry resonated with me when I was a child the way it does now. This knowledge doesn't discount the fun and excitement that I have with Claudia and Jamie, it just gives me a different perspective. And that's what good reading does, really, isn't it? It makes you think about something new and different or makes you think about things differently.

I'll keep you posted.

Anything but Ordinary

I cannot tell you how much I adore Birdy. I adore her confidence. I adore her empathy. I adore how much she loves her mother. I just adore her.

On the "About the Author" page, Karen Cushman is quoted as saying, "I grew tired of hearing about kings, princes, generals, presidents. I wanted to know what life was like for ordinary young people in other times." Thus, Birdy was born. I could tell that Ms. Cushman loves history as much as I do, and has an interest in young people as much as I do. She created a character in Birdy that is very relatable to most adolescent girls. She isn't perfect. She is emotional. She is stubborn. She is easily provoked. But she is also kind, especially to animals. She is fiercely loyal to her friends. She is brave, and honest, and thoughtful.

Throughout the last half of the book, she tried desperately to find a way out of marrying Shaggy Beard, the man her father had arranged for her to marry. She ranted and raved at her father and considered running away to be a minstrel or a puppeteer, but nothing changed. She refused to consent and her father refused to back down. Shaggy Beard had sent her gifts of a silver toothpick, a headdress, a sewing kit, and a pouch of silver, but she would not spend it because that would mean she had promised to marry him. She refused to spend the money until she went to the fair.

Before you jump to conclusions, however, she did not spend it on fabric or necklaces. She happened upon a performing bear who was moth-eaten and scrawny. His performance was bad enough that his owner announced that he planned to set a pack of dogs against the bear to see who which would be victorious. While many of the onlookers saw this as entertainment, Birdy only saw the cruelty. She struggled within herself, but finally decided that the only course of action was to sacrifice her pouch of silver - and her own freedom and happiness - for the life of the bear.

 I enjoyed watching, in my mind's eye, her evolution and growth. Her perspective changed, particularly regarding her brother, Robert, and her father. Throughout the book, Birdy couldn't stand  her father. When her mother talked about how wonderful her father was, Birdy couldn't understand what her mother saw in him. In the end, though, Birdy is in awe of how her father behaved toward her mother when she was ill, and even looked at him as though he'd performed a miracle when her mother survived.

As for Robert, it was he who rode to an abbey, where the abbess kept a menagerie, to find a home for Birdy's bear. Birdy was shocked and confused and I can imagine that, while she had mixed feelings,  she had some measure of gratitude toward the brother for whom she had so little regard.

In her very last journal entry, Birdy chronicles her salvation. On the day that Shaggy Beard's representatives were set to arrive to take her to him, they instead arrive to tell her father that Shaggy Beard has died. Instead, Birdy is to marry Shaggy Beard's son, Stephen. Stephen is closer to Birdy's age, and although she only met him once, she remembers him as being "young and clean, loves to learn, and is not Shaggy Beard." She decides that she is prepared to learn to love him. Rather than feeling doomed to a future she cannot control, she feels as though the world is full of possibilities and anticipates a future that promises happiness.

While Karen Cushman said that she wanted to know what life was like for ordinary people, I would suggest that Birdy is anything but ordinary. She is beautifully, wonderfully extraordinary.

Who will I meet next?
I'll keep you posted.

"If I Were a Boy"

Ah, Birdy. She is girl after my own heart. She is another kindred spirit. Since I last spoke of my friend, Birdy, she has cursed the love of her Uncle George and her friend, Aelis, set the privy on fire while a suitor was inside, mourned the death of a young man who died and worried for another who had gone missing in a snow storm.

Birdy is the kind of girl that I would love to call my friend. She is courageous, she is thoughtful, and she is funny. She doesn't do what is expected, just because it's expected. Rather, she wants to try new things, even if they turn out to be different than what she imagined. One day, for instance, she was excited to go to a public hanging of two thieves. She envisioned two rough and cruel men who glared and frightened the crowd and virtually dared the executioner to hang them. Instead, she found two boys, barely twelve years old, who were frightened themselves. She couldn't watch, but ran away and wondered how their mothers must feel.

I also admire her curiosity. Fancying herself a songwriter, she wonders,

     Why aren't fingers equal lengths?
     What makes cold?
     Why do men get old and bald
     And women only old?
     When does night turn into day?
     How deep is the sea?
     How can rivers run uphill?
     What will become of me?

The last line is quite telling, actually, for she has no more control over her own life than the woman has control over getting old or the river has control over whether it goes uphill or down. Birdy's frustration with being born a girl is also evident in a list she made of everything boys can do and girls cannot:

     go on crusade
     be horse trainers
     be monks
     laugh very loud
     wear breeches
     drink in ale houses

     cut their hair
     piss on the fire to make it hiss
     wear nothing
     be alone
     get sunburned
     run
     marry whom they will
     glide on the ice

What is truly heartbreaking about this list is that many of these things are activities we take for granted today. None of us would think to refuse to allow our daughters to have a haircut or run. The image of a girl gliding on the ice invokes a sense of pure freedom, and it's sad to think Birdy couldn't experience that. Just as thought provoking, however, is the idea that she couldn't marry whom she chose. It was the standard of the day, but it's still so shocking to think that men chose husbands for their daughters based on who would offer the most money or bring them the most prestige and power.


I have often said that I am glad I was born where I was born and in the time I was born because I absolutely love having running water and an indoor bathroom. What Birdy has reminded me, though, is that I am also grateful that my daughters are not "in danger of being sold like pigs at autumn fair."

I'll keep you posted.

Little Birdy

Ahh... I feel so much better now that I've made a new friend.

I am actually amazed that I never met Catherine, Called Birdy when I was young. It's the story of an adolescent girl living in medieval England. It's written in the form of the girl's diary, offering a more personal glimpse into her life. I would have loved this book when I was a kid! I loved books that featured girls my age, regardless of their situation. I loved Anne Shirley and Emily Starr, orphans living on Prince Edward Island, Canada in the 1800s. I loved Jo March, who was strong, and balanced her ambition with her love for her family, and Polly Milton, who exhibited the ideals of

 

charity and humility even among her friends, who were more interested in material, superficial things than they were the quality of their character. I loved Claudia Kincaid (and her brother Jamie) and envied her adventures in Metropolitan Museum of Art. I considered Susan and Lucy Pevensie (and their brothers Peter and Edmund) to be my dear friends and enjoyed their journeys to Narnia as though I had been there myself. Somehow, though, Catherine, Called Birdy escaped my attention.

How I discovered her wasn't really typical. Usually I get suggestions from my mother, a friend, or pouring over reviews on Amazon or Goodreads.  Karen Cushman's novel, though, I found because I liked the name Birdy and I wanted to know what formal name could be given on a birth certificate if a parent wanted to call their child Birdy.

Perhaps I should have prefaced this post with a small fact about myself. You see, I love names. It's an extension of my love for words, and began in my personal Bible study when I was a teenager. Knowing that Benoni (what Rachel named her youngest son just before she died) means "son of my sorrow," but that Benjamin (what Jacob re-named Benoni) means "son of my right hand" is somewhat telling. The names of all of Jacob's twelve sons are significant, in fact. When I realized that Nabal (1 Samuel 25) means "fool," however, I became fascinated. It wasn't as though Nabal wasn't foolish. "Fool" perfectly describes Abigail's first husband. I just couldn't fathom a mother naming her son "Fool." This sent me on a journey, where I met Henri Daniel-Rops through his book, Daily Life in the Time of Jesus, and became familiar with books written by Pamela Redmond Satran and Linda Rosenkrantz, and later with their website, Nameberry. It is on this site that I came across references to my new friend, Catherine, otherwise known as Birdy. So I suppose, in a round about way, I did meet Birdy through friends, albeit author-friends.

But I digress...

As I said, Catherine is the daughter of a minor knight in 13th century England. She is the youngest child, and the only girl, having three older brothers. Her best friends are a young goat hearder with one leg longer than the other and a girl who takes a shining to Birdy's beloved Uncle George, who has been away fighting in the Crusades.

Birdy is somewhat resentful of the expectations placed upon her. While her mother insists that she spend time learning to sew and embroider, her father attempts to find her a husband so that he might add to his own wealth. Birdy does her best to escape her family's plans for her, attempting to run away with the Jews who have been banished from England, and contemplating disguising herself as a boy so she can join a monastery like her brother, Edward.

It is this part of Birdy's life with which I can identify, and with which I would have identified as a teenager. Having grown up with the expectations of my family and with those of my church, I can understand her frustration. Although I wanted nothing more than to travel the world and to go to college and study history, art, and  literature, my family and my church expected me to marry young and be a stay-at-home mother to my many, many children. I succumbed to my predestined life, at least for a time. In hindsight I wonder how my life might have turned out differently if I had been brave enough to follow my own path, but I wouldn't change the path that I took for anything. (My children are far too wonderful!) I am enjoying spending time with the less submissive Birdy, though, and I am looking forward to seeing how her life turns out.

I'll keep you posted.

Moving On...

I don't think I was ambiguous when I discussed The Man Who Was Thursday last week. I readily admitted that it was slow and laborious reading. I marched on, however, hoping that the story would carry me through the antiquated language and the dry wit (I was never quite sure as to whether it was supposed to be funny or not).

I cannot tell you how many Amazon reviews I read, claiming this book was among the greatest ever written. Perhaps it is. Perhaps I am among the minority who just doesn't get it. After all, it is a terrific story in theory. It is the story of Gabriel Syme, the average joe, who stumbles into a position with the police to stop the dreaded anarchists in their plot to destroy government, and humanity along with it. Over the course of the book, he discovers that more than half of the counsel that he infiltrates is also among the police. As they remove their disguises, the reader can't help but be less and less surprised with each false nose or pretended limp.

I truly gave it my best shot. I read it faithfully over lunch breaks at work, before bed, and spent two hours reading it today as my children played Monopoly with my parents. At the end of the two hours, I realized that for the first time in my life I didn't care how it ended. I only wanted it to be over. I believe that this realization might have shocked me much more than it does you.

I have never in my life given up on either a book or a film for fear that it will get better and I will have missed it. (Full disclosure: part of my reasoning is also the slightly obsessive compulsive need to see a situation resolved.) I have muddled through John Bunyan's allegorical Pilgrim's Progress and sat through the entirety of The American staring George Clooney. I may have complained a lot, both during and afterward, but I never, ever quit.

Until today.

Mr. Syme and his cohorts will have to foil the anarchists without me. I must, for my own sanity, find another friend with whom to spend my time. Having said this, I have to say that I have, indeed, made a friend in the last few weeks. I haven't talked about her because I met her through a book I was required to read in a class I am presently taking. I only mention her now because I plan to take some of her advice, and I thought I might share it with you.


Donalyn Miller, teacher and author of The Book Whisperer, recommends that adults, and teachers in particular, should read children's books. I am going to take my children to the library with me tomorrow, and I plan to spend my time with them in the children's and young adult sections, rather than in looking for the usual mystery or historical novel to which I usually gravitate.

My son has recommended the Deltora Quest series, by Emily Rodda. He is currently reading Dragon's Nest, the first in Rodda's second Deltora series, Dragons of Deltora. My eldest daughter recommends anything by John Green, which I immediately reject. I rethink my position, though, knowing that this isn't what I would want for her to do. I want my children to keep an open mind about authors and genre. My younger daughter wants me to read a series by Nick Bruel entitled Bad Kitty. She says they're hilarious. I am put off by the title. My other son swears by a series called Bone, by Jeff Smith. They are graphic novels, to which I am not opposed, having read V for Vendetta my freshman year in college.  I suspect I will check out several different types of books by several different authors. I am excited to read books that have been recommended by my children, and that I in turn may one day recommend to my students.

I'll keep you posted.

My Pal Thursday

Okay, so it's a little early to determine if Thursday and I will be pals, but I couldn't resist the title. It hearkens back to the film His Girl Friday, staring the incomparable Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell, and  My Gal Sunday a book by Mary Higgins Clark that was made into a television movie of which we will not speak. While His Girl Friday is a romantic comedy (one of the rare films that is both romantic and comedic), and My Gal Sunday is a collection of four mysteries solved by an ex-president and his congresswoman bride, The Man Who Was Thursday, by G.K. Chesterton is not at all romantic, and while it is comedic, it is a witty humor rather than a silly humor. I'll be honest and say that it is a more difficult read than the other books I've blogged about. It was written in 1907 and has a style that reminds me of Kate Chopin or Robert Louis Stevenson.

      "Then may I ask you to swear by whatever gods or saints your religion involves that you will not reveal what I am now going to tell you to any son of Adam, and especially not to the police? Will you swear that! If you will take upon yourself this awful abnegation, if you will consent to burden your soul with a vow that you should never make and a knowledge you should never dream about, I will promise you in return... "

     "You will promise me in return?" inquired Syme, as the other had paused.

     "I will promise you a very entertaining evening." Syme suddenly took off his hat.

     "Your offer," he said, "is far too idiotic to be declined."

 Like Chopin and Stevenson, Chesterton's novel is one with both entertainment value and social commentary, although the message is not quite the same. While Chopin spoke eloquently of the humanity of women and the black population, and Stevenson spoke about the duality of mankind and respect for differences, Chesterton's novel comments on the battle between good and evil and the failure of mankind to truly understand the universe.

The story surrounds Gabriel Syme, a man recruited by Scotland Yard's secret unit to undo the anarchists headquartered in London. Through a series of coincidences (or are they?), he manages to get himself elected as one of the seven member High Counsel of Anarchists who are known as the seven days of the week. As you may have guessed, Syme is referred to as Thursday.

When I first began my journey with Thursday, his story felt old-fashioned and irrelevant, even though it was well-written and entertaining. The deeper I get into the plot, however, the more relevant it seems. It is perhaps more relevant now than it was when it was written more than a hundred years ago. Instead of fighting anarchists, now our police force (and our military, CIA, FBI, Homeland Security, etc.) are fighting terrorists. While the philosophies of the rebels may have changed, their methods have not. Both anarchists and terrorists use death and mass destruction to make their point, and there are many brave men and women who work every day to bring the plots of the destructors to naught.

I hope I will be able to count Syme as a friend. He may talk a little funny, and may even look a little strange with his pointed beard, but he seems like a really great character. He manages to be intelligent, funny, and wants to make the world a better place. That sounds like a good friend to have.

I'll keep you posted.

The Dreaded Unhappy Ending

I hate to admit it, but I am only somewhat satisfied with the end of Boleyn Reckoning. I wanted to love it as I loved the first two books in the series. I wanted to hold on to the memories I had of my friends and believe that they, at least, lived happily ever after. Isn't that one of the main reasons for reading fiction such as this: to experience the happy ending that too often alludes us in the real world? I had gotten to know William, Elizabeth, Dominic, and Minuette fairly well throughout Boleyn King and Boleyn Deceit, the first two books of the trilogy by Laura Andersen, and I am sorely disappointed in how their stories ended.

From the beginning of the story there is an element of the love triangle between Dominic, Minuette, and William. It reminded me a great deal of the film Sweet Home Alabama, in which Melanie (Reese Witherspoon) is torn between her very handsome and successful fiancé, Andrew (Patrick Dempsey), and her laid back ex Jake (Josh Lucas). Since both Andrew and Jake are likeable, handsome men who seem to really love her, Melanie is faced with an impossible choice. In the Boleyn King series, Minuette is faced with a similar conundrum. Like Andrew, William is by far the more successful, and frankly the more obvious, choice. William is the king of England, after all. Dominic is the one she loves, however, and ultimately the one she chooses.

As I said in my previous post, I was prepared for it to not end well for everyone involved. Since the story was obviously geared toward a Dominic-Minuette match, I supposed that either William would die or (as I hoped) would end up with someone else altogether. I was even prepared for him to lash out at Dominic and Minuette initially before coming to his senses, but I wasn't prepared for the absolute and unapologetic ruthlessness he exhibited.

I am walking a fine line here, trying to explain my reaction to the end of this series without giving it all away. If William had simply died, I think I could have been okay with it. He had become a monster and wasn't the same Will that I had gotten to know over the last month, so it wouldn't have been as painful as what actually happened. Elizabeth had the most happy ending of the four, but even she was touched with sorrow at the loss of both her brother and the man she loved. Minuette seemingly had a happy ending, as she not only survived, but is reunited with the husband she thought was dead and gave birth to a healthy daughter, Lucette (named so because Minuette felt that she was the light in the midst of darkness). It is only Dominic's story that reveals the truly unhappy ending.

Andersen describes Dominic's horrific execution in detail. She gives an account of William visiting Dominic the night before he is scheduled to be executed. In my mind's eye, I watched as William beat him. I saw Dominic's eyes swell shut, I heard the crack of lost teeth, I felt Dominic's resignation as William unsheathed his sword, and then the shock when, rather than killing Dominic, William smashed his head and all went black. Even more grim was the chronicle of the execution itself: Dominic's face had been beaten beyond recognition and he'd had his tongue cut out and his bowels removed before he finally met his end.

As a side note: I have to give Andersen credit for her way with words, if not for her resolution of the story. My heart raced as I read this passage, and even after I had put the book down and held my daughter before bed, my heart beat a little too quickly. It was only as my daughter and I read one of Barbara Park's Junie B. Jones books that I finally began to relax.

All of this I could have accepted. Dominic's death was cruel, and it was unexpected, but there was a part of me that suspected that all was not what it seemed. After all, the hero is supposed to live to the end of the book, isn't he? My suspicions were confirmed when William visited his mistress and, chained in the basement, was Dominic.

Cruel hope.

I will not divulge the end. I cannot. I get frustrated with a certain friend of mine who reads the end of the book to see if she likes the ending before she commits to reading it. I will only say that what happens to Dominic changes him, and this is what I cannot abide. Minuette gets her husband back, but it is not the same husband. Andersen doesn't say much about him after his rescue, but what she says paints a picture of a bitter, angry man and I can't help but feel sorry for Minuette that she has lost the husband she loved and is now entwined with this stranger. I imagine him sitting in silence, drinking for days. I imagine him lashing out and Minuette doing her best to be patient and excuse his outbursts because of the torture that William and his mistress have unleashed upon him.

 I am angry with Laura Andersen for Minuette's sake. She has lost her friends, William and Elizabeth, for even though Elizabeth survives and becomes queen, Minuette cannot endure being at court any longer. She has lost the husband that she loved so much that she was willing to risk her life, only to have him replaced by an angry shell of the man she loved. Andersen couldn't even allow Lucette  to be a perfect comfort to her mother. It is implied by Elizabeth, and not denied by Minuette, that the baby wasn't Dominic's, but was the result of William's cruelty.

I shall be more careful in choosing my next book. While the fact that I am this bothered by a fictional story is a testament to Andersen's skill, I cannot endure anymore unhappy endings just now. Perhaps I should just stick with Junie B.

I'll keep you posted.

Asking the Question: What if...?

As you may have noticed before, I think of the people I read about as my friends, and I am not alone. In addition to my recreational reading, I am also currently reading a book called The Book Whisperer, by Donalyn Miller for a class I'm taking. Miller even goes so far as to say that the first time she visited New York it was like visiting an old friend she had met in The Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler (by E.L. Konigsberg). As Anne Shirley would say, Donalyn is a kindred spirit.

The last book I read was an introduction to a new friend. (See my post here.) This week I am spending time with some friends I've known for a while now. Boleyn Reckoning is the final book in a trilogy by Laura Andersen. I met William, Elizabeth, Dominic, and Minuette about a month ago in Boleyn King, and continued the friendships with Boleyn Deceit. I had to wait for Boleyn Reckoning to be returned to the library, and I'm so excited to finally see how everything is resolved.

The Boleyn Trilogy combines two of my very favorite things: reading and history. I became particularly fond of British history during my English Literature class several years ago. The Tudors have been the topic of interest for centuries, and Laura Andersen has a new approach by offering an alternative history in which Anne Boleyn gives birth to a baby boy named William and is never beheaded. The Catholics and the Protestants are still battling for position, and young King William is trying to keep the French from invading and the Catholics from attempting to overthrow him and install his Catholic half-sister, Mary on the throne. In Boleyn Deceit, William follows in his father's footsteps and pursues a marriage based on love rather than politics with the daughter of his mother's lady-in-waiting, Minuette. Meanwhile, she has developed feelings for William's closest friend, Dominic, and at the end of the book they decide to marry without the king's consent, which could very well put their lives at risk. They determine to tell him, but return to court to find that the king has smallpox. Although he survives, he is scarred both physically and emotionally and Dominic and Minuette decide not to confess for fear of hurting him when he is so vulnerable.

As I write this, Minuette and Dominic have still not come clean about their marriage. Minuette is going through the motions of being the king's intended wife and future queen, while Dominic holds his tongue, even while watching William caress his wife's cheek and kiss her neck. Meanwhile, William is attempting to secure the support of the Spanish by arranging a marriage between King Philip and his sister, Elizabeth (for those of you who are not aware, King Philip of Spain was married to Queen Mary I in real life), and Mary is planning to take advantage of the arrival of the Catholic king of Spain to stage a coup.

Anne Boleyn

In addition to my fondness for British history, I also love the idea that one person can change the very course of history. Without Anne Boleyn's insistence that she not be another mistress, Henry VIII may never have attempted to have his marriage to Catherine of Aragon annulled, which would never have lead to the break of England with Rome and the establishment of the Church of England. While the Catholics and Protestants were at odds long before Henry VIII turned England upside down for Anne, I have often wondered how differently history would judge him and how differently the religious conflict would have gone had he never met Anne.

Wallis Simpson

Another woman that had a major influence on the course of England was a woman by the name of Wallis Simpson. An American divorcee, Simpson managed to do what no woman had done before: capture the heart and the fidelity of King Edward VIII. Faced with the decision to choose either the woman he loved or the throne of England, Edward abdicated and married the forbidden Simpson. As a result, his brother became George VI and his niece is the present Queen Elizabeth II. In addition to affecting the line of succession, England's own path was altered. While Edward and Simpson were anti-Semitic and sympathetic to the cause of Mussolini and the Nazis, under the rule of George VI England joined with the Allied Nations to defeat the Axis Powers. How might our world have been different if Edward had remained on the throne and influenced British policy?

The idea that one person - one woman - could affect the course of history fascinates me. Reading another writer's version of what could have been has been a lot of fun so far. I wish Laura Andersen had spent more time developing the character of Elizabeth. She is a fascinating person to study, and I would love to see more of her in this alternate reality. It has been interesting to watch her interactions with Robert Dudley, but the majority of Boleyn Reckoning so far has been focused on the Dominic-Minuette-William love triangle. I cannot see how this will possibly end well. Perhaps Elizabeth will play a bigger role as the story continues. Either way, I look forward to seeing how it all plays out.

 I'll keep you posted.

Well... Did I Keep Jake?

In my last post I wrote about my new friend, Jake Fisher. Since then I have gotten to know Jake a little better and have seen how his story ends. I have to say that Harlan Coben, the man responsible for introducing me to Jake, weaves an interesting story. There were several times that I thought I had it all figured out, but I turned out to be completely mistaken. As much as I like to be right in real life, I love it when the books I read aren’t predictable.

As I said in my last post, Jake lost the love of his life six years ago when Natalie married another man. The story begins when he sees the obituary of this man and decides to go to the funeral. Instead of finding a grieving Natalie, however, he finds that Todd has left behind a different widow and their two teenaged children. The search begins, and continues, despite several warnings and near brushes with death.

The way Jake describes the Todd Sanderson that he saw marry his beloved Natalie, he had shaggy hair and well-manicured stubble, yet in the pictures he sees of Todd throughout the years he had short hair and is shaven. When Jake looks into Todd’s academic history (Todd happens to be an alumni of the college at which Jake is a professor), he finds that Todd was an exemplary student until he took a personal leave of absence. When he returned he is described as being “distracted,” and “clearly bitter and not the same.” All of this lead me to believe that Todd Sanderson had some sort of evil twin or doppelganger. Strike one.

As Jake begins to look into Natalie’s disappearance, he decides to go back to where they met: an artist’s retreat in Vermont. He re-traces his steps to the retreat itself, which he finds to be a family farm that, according to police, has been there for generations. No artist’s retreat ever existed there. He then goes to the church in which Natalie and Todd were married. There was no record of the wedding in the meticulously kept files, and the minister insists that no one was married on that day. When he returns and tells all of this to his best friend, Benedict, he reminds Jake that he had been going through a difficult time that summer following his father’s death and asks him why he never met Natalie. Obviously, the assumption is that Jake is either completely nuts or is having a nervous breakdown. Strike two.

Ian McKellen as Leigh Teabing

Throughout the book Jake mentions his mentor, Malcom Hume, and he is constantly connected to the mystery that surrounds Natalie. He is revealed to have been instrumental in defending Todd when he was brought before the College Board for expulsion following a violent incident. He was present when Natalie’s father disappeared twenty years ago. Yet, in spite of Jake’s phone calls to Professor Hume, he doesn't actually appear in the book. This makes me wonder if it is a case of Hume being the man behind the disappearances and behind the attacks. It reminds me a little of Leigh Teabing in The Da Vinci Code, by Dan Brown. Strike Three. I’m out.

As the story progresses, Jake discovers that Todd’s charity, Fresh Start, was not an organization that provides cosmetic surgery to burn victims and children born with cleft palates as it is made out to be. Instead, it is a secret organization that is like Witness Protection on steroids. The people involved carry cyanide pills. They mean business. The mob is involved, and everything from Natalie’s father to Benedict is tied in to Fresh Start.

Hugh Jackman

I won’t reveal the end, but I will say that I was satisfied with the ending and that Jake will remain a friend of mine. I have read that there is talk of making a movie based on Six Years, and Hugh Jackman is rumored to be attached to star as Jake. I can understand why. It has the action that men seem to like in a film, and the romance that women enjoy, all surrounded by a really great mystery. My one complaint about Six Years is that I never really got a chance to get to know Natalie. Jake is great, don’t get me wrong. He is relatable and reminds me a lot of myself, but I would have really liked to have been able to know the woman he loves. She seems to be a really interesting character that deserves to have her voice heard. I can’t help but wonder what she was up to for the six years that she and Jake were apart. I guess I’ll leave that to my own imagination.

I'll keep you posted.

Meet My New Friend, Jake

If the title of my blog and the little blurb about me didn't give it away, I will come right out and tell you that I love to read. I love to solve a murder mystery without fear of being hunted by the killer, I love reading about Tudor England without having to empty a chamber pot, and I love to read about characters who don't exist in our world such as romantic vampires or teenaged wizards. Reading takes me to places and to times which I will never have the opportunity to go and allows me to imagine doing things I could never really do.

 Sometimes I finish a book and I can't get to the library quickly enough. Maybe it's too late and the library is closed, or maybe I've got too many other things to do and I don't have time to go out. And although I'm ashamed to admit it, sometimes I have a bit of a fine and I've got to wait a few days before I can pay it. Does that ever happen to you? No? I'm the only one? Hmm...

When this happens, I get desperate and I look through the books that seem to come out of nowhere. Maybe they belong to my husband, who likes to read different books than I do. (His type of book is more likely to be turned in to a Hollywood film starring Bruce Willis or an over-confident Tom Cruise.) Perhaps it is a book that my father-in-law left behind when he visited last summer. It might be a book my mother lent me that I forgot about because of the stack of library books and text books I’ve got sitting on my side table. Often times, I pick up one of these books and begin to read, simply because I have a void to fill. Occasionally, the book surprises me and it becomes a favorite.

Monday I picked up a book that has the potential to become one of these surprises. I had been searching for a book to read, dismissing the many books on the shelves that I had already read. As much as I might love Anne Shirley and Magdalena Yoder, I needed to make a new friend. Finally, I picked up a book called SixYears, by Harlan Coben. The summary on the back cover tells about Jake Fisher, who still feels the loss of Natalie, the love of his life, who married another man six years ago. Upon reading of her husband’s death, he decides to go to the funeral and discovers that the widow isn’t Natalie at all. It then goes on to suggest that his search for the woman he loves puts his life in danger. I didn’t know if Jake and I would become friends, but he certainly sounded like someone I’d like to meet.


I’ve spent the last three days getting to know Jake. His intelligence is unquestionable; his position as a Political Science professor is evidence of this. His interactions with students suggest that he is understanding, self-aware, and analytical. His friendship and position as wingman to a fellow professor suggests that he has had the life of the average man. He confesses, however, that his relationships with women never last three months, and postulates that it is because his relationship with Natalie only lasted three months.

I relate to Jake. Like him, I am academic. I am self-aware, analyzing my thoughts and behaviors, not only recognizing my faults but also the motivations behind these thoughts and behaviors. I am also like Jake in that I am curious and want answers, I still feel unsure about the loss of my dad because I didn’t get closure, and I have felt the pain of betrayal and heartbreak.

As I write this, Jake has found more questions than answers. I don’t know yet how it ends, and frankly, that is going to be the deciding factor when I determine whether or not I like this book and whether or not Jake Fisher joins my inner circle.

I'll keep you posted.