Currently Reading: The Wilder Life by Wendy McClure, Farmer Boy by Laura Ingalls Wilder, and Isle of the Saints by Lisa Bitel (or Vilette by Charlotte Bronte- depends on the mood I'm in this afternoon).
Today, I'm in that ambiguous position where I desperately want to write but the words won't form themselves properly in my mind. This happens more often than I would like to admit. Part of the reason I could never have a writing career is because I enjoy the romance of writing far too much. Punching out a sentence here, erasing half a paragraph there, plodding and sashaying my way across the keyboard, just for the pure pleasure of hearing the keys click and watching the string of words grow. It may take me half an hour to write a paragraph, purely because I am enjoying crafting each sentence way too much. Add a mug of tea by my side, and throw in a lot of long sighs and head-on-chin, gazing-in-distance postures, and this is a typical picture of me fulfilling my romantic writing ideal. If I had to write for a living, I would most likely starve, since I never like writing when I have to and most of the time, I write slowly, savoring the act of writing just as much as I savor the end product.
But enough about that. I finished my second re-read of People of the Book today but will save my gut reactions to it for a post tomorrow. Instead, I feel like discussing briefly my new thoughts on The Wilder Life, since I am now about halfway through. If you remember my last post about this book, I was not terribly impressed. As I look back, I realize this was an instinctual reaction, rather than a logical one, but now that I have had more time to think it through, I have come to the conclusion that while I still don't really like the book, I can now better express why that is.
Namely, I think it comes down to perspective. As I see it, The Wilder Life is not really about one woman's interest in Little House- it's McClure's attempts and struggles to reconcile her childhood perspective of the book with the actual history behind it. At least, that's how I interpret it. (Another resonating theme is about people's search for a world that is no longer there, only coming up with tacky souvenirs and look-alike contests... but more on that another time). It is an interesting journey, believe me, but one that I am unfamiliar with. I find myself irritated with McClure when she looks at Laura's world with a 21st century eye and judges it accordingly. Don't get me wrong: I am in no way a "simple life" enthusiast. I am not one of those people who wistfully yearn for the "good ole' days" or imagine the past with big old rose-tinted glasses on. While the romantic, Anne Shirley side of me imagines what life was like for those who came before us- whether I'm looking at my 4th great-grandfather's land deeds or standing in a monastery in Ireland- the historical side of me not only colors the picture but keeps it from becoming too air-brushed. As a kid, I too loved reading the Little House books, and I made molasses candy and dragged my little red wagon all over my backyard. But I also loved finding out about the real Laura, the truth behind the stories. Unlike McClure, I never felt that Laura the author betrayed or deceived me, for the Little House books are, at their core, fictional children's books based on one family's experience, not an autobiography. Perhaps the main difference between McClure and I are in what we are searching for: she finds comfort in the details (she even states this in the first chapter) and follows those to find the real Laura in the book Laura. On the other hand, I find comfort in the atmosphere and spirit of the books, which isn't something you can recreate at a festival or with a replica. There's nothing wrong with either perspective.... it just means I don't always see eye to eye with McClure.
The narrator's sarcastic tone still doesn't sit well with me; in addition, McClure's tendency to mock the way in which other people interpret the Little House books continues to bother me as the book progresses (be prepared for her mini diatribe on the readers who like the books for their Christian values). Perhaps this is because one of the things I have always loved about literature is that every book is different to each of its readers. A quote by Edmund Wilson that Shelf Actualization posted recently says it all: "No two people ever read the same book." Think about that for a second. That means that each time you read a new book, it is born anew, as if it was published for the first time, for only you will ever read and interpret that book in the way you do. There is something magical in that thought.Yet I think McClure forgot that, somewhere down the line, and it makes her sound bitter and slightly caustic.
That being said, there are parts I enjoyed: all of the new biographical information about Laura and her family, and the historical details McClure shares (including a fantastic bit from a biography detailing how a historian found the plot of land the Ingalls cabin stood on in Kansas.... the researcher/history major/library geek that I am ate that one up!), her descriptions of the home sites she visited (especially when she comes across something appalling- like soft dolls of the Ingalls family at the Iowa homesite), and the humor that sneaks in when she is attempting to churn butter or analyzing the Little House TV series.
It's a good book, but not what I expected. I still have some more to go on it, so there will most likely be another post on this topic! It has definitely given me a lot to ponder: about our reactions to what we read; how the books we read as a child affect our "growing-up"; how those books change for us when we have already grown. Much to muse over, as always. Have a great Wednesday!
Showing posts with label Laura Ingalls Wilder. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Laura Ingalls Wilder. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Thursday, August 9, 2012
What Little House Is All About
Currently Reading: Little House on the Prairie by Laura Ingalls Wilder and The Wilder Life by Wendy McClure
Summer has been good to us this year. Check out the balcony garden:
Which so far has yielded several delicious tomatoes:
This being the first year I have attempted to grow anything, I am pretty pleased. I daydream about the day when I have a large yard, complete with clothesline and extensive garden. But until then, at least I can still practice honing my greenish thumb.
This week, as I mentioned in my last post, I have accidentally become saturated with the world of Little House. I say "accidentally" because while I did want to read Wendy McClure's memoir on her forays into Laura's real-life world, it was purely coincidence that Nathan and I started reading through the Little House series together at about the same time. I love introducing Nathan to these books, knowing that someday we will both be sharing them with our own children.
As a kid, my sister and I loved the Little House books. Actually, loved is probably not an accurate word. Exchange the "o" for an "i". We lived the Little House books. Making molasses candy on snow? Did it. Playing with our own corncob dolls? Check! Tying on sunbonnets and putting on prairie dresses to drag our little red wagon through our yard and woods? Every summer. So we were Little House girls, plain and simple.
When I was 14, my family and I went on a "Laura trip," hitting many of the sites where Laura lived in the books. We did not make it down to Kansas or Missouri, but we started the journey in Pepin, WI and drove over the Mississippi (while I imagined how on earth the Ingalls' managed to make it across.... on the ice.... in a WAGON). We explored the banks of Plum Creek near the town of Walnut Grove, MN and from there, drove on into DeSmet, South Dakota where we stayed in a cabin right on the shores of one of the lakes Laura and Almanzo drove by during their buggy courting outings. It was really the epitome of a book coming to life. Wendy McClure makes an observation that most of the worlds children love cannot be reached in real life- we don't have the option of visiting Narnia or Hogwarts or many other literary locations. But Little House is different, because it existed. It was real. It may not be a 100% accurate portrayal of Laura's childhood, but the places and the people are not very separated from us at all. Even at a young age, I was completely fascinated by how the history and the story in the books intertwined and separated to create a reality just as compelling as the stories in the books. Walking through Dakota prairie grass, under the trees that Pa planted, I realized that the books would always be different now, enhanced somewhat, since I could now see them through a clearer, sharper lens.
Which brings me to why I'm slightly upset with Ms. McClure. I loved the first chapter, which explained McClure's fascination with Laura as a child. I could identify with this chapter, for I too had imagined what it would be like to be Laura and to live where she did. As an adult, McClure rediscovers the books and becomes obsessed with finding out more. She decides to immerse herself in the Little House world, trying recipes (I can relate to this), going on a road trip to the Little House sights (a girl after my own heart), and discovering more about the facts of Laura's life. Up until now, I was mentally doing cartwheels as she makes these plans. But when she starts learning more about Laura's real life, and begins telling her readers the differences between reality and the world Laura created in her books, my patience began to wear thin. Perhaps it's the narrator's voice. Audiobooks can ruin a good book based on the narrator alone. But I have a feeling the negative, sarcastic tone would jump off of the page as well.
Unlike me, McClure is not a historian. Historical facts do not give her the same thrill. This is apparent within the first twelve seconds of sharing her new-found "discoveries." While I was excited to find out the truth about Laura's life, reading biographies and gazing at pictures, she seems to be appalled by the fact that the children's books were different than real life. Cue sarcastic tone. How could Laura not have mentioned that she had a baby brother? The Ingalls family actually had to live with their in-laws for a short time? What do you mean they had to work at a hotel in Iowa? These facts cause McClure to make erroneous and sarcastic statements, like stating that Pa obviously wasn't able to provide for his family all of the time, or it seems the Ingalls family weren't the Western-moving people they seem, or criticizing Laura's family tree because Pa's brother married Ma's sister. She is critical about the family's photographs too, as if she cannot believe these people were not made for the covers of magazines. The truth disillusions her, which is something I cannot understand or sympathize with at all. In addition, as an adult, she starts reading the books with a very anachronistic eye. She dubs Pa a racist and calls Ma a jerk because of their attitude toward the Indians in Little House on the Prairie. Instead of thinking about why Pa and Ma had the reactions they did based on the context of that era, McClure judges them by present-day standards. A big no-no in the historical world.
What it comes down to is that she has missed the point of Laura's books. They are not about whether every intricate detail is truth or fiction; they capture an essence, rather than act as a memoir. They focus on the love and commitment of family, on one girl's adventurous spirit, and on a way of life that was slowly becoming nothing but a memory. They are comforting and they are special for the simple reason that they engage our imagination and cause us to notice the life around us. One of my favorite quotes from Little House in the Big Woods sums up the poignancy of this series:
"She thought to herself, 'This is now.' She was glad that the cosy house, and Pa and Ma and the fire-light and the music, were now. They could not be forgotten, she thought, because now is now. It can never be a long time ago."
I still have a ways to go in the book, and I'm hoping McClure's trips to the Little House sites will change her attitude. Perhaps she, like Charlie Brown discovering the meaning of Christmas, will figure out what the Little House books are all about.
Summer has been good to us this year. Check out the balcony garden:
Which so far has yielded several delicious tomatoes:
This being the first year I have attempted to grow anything, I am pretty pleased. I daydream about the day when I have a large yard, complete with clothesline and extensive garden. But until then, at least I can still practice honing my greenish thumb.
This week, as I mentioned in my last post, I have accidentally become saturated with the world of Little House. I say "accidentally" because while I did want to read Wendy McClure's memoir on her forays into Laura's real-life world, it was purely coincidence that Nathan and I started reading through the Little House series together at about the same time. I love introducing Nathan to these books, knowing that someday we will both be sharing them with our own children.
As a kid, my sister and I loved the Little House books. Actually, loved is probably not an accurate word. Exchange the "o" for an "i". We lived the Little House books. Making molasses candy on snow? Did it. Playing with our own corncob dolls? Check! Tying on sunbonnets and putting on prairie dresses to drag our little red wagon through our yard and woods? Every summer. So we were Little House girls, plain and simple.
When I was 14, my family and I went on a "Laura trip," hitting many of the sites where Laura lived in the books. We did not make it down to Kansas or Missouri, but we started the journey in Pepin, WI and drove over the Mississippi (while I imagined how on earth the Ingalls' managed to make it across.... on the ice.... in a WAGON). We explored the banks of Plum Creek near the town of Walnut Grove, MN and from there, drove on into DeSmet, South Dakota where we stayed in a cabin right on the shores of one of the lakes Laura and Almanzo drove by during their buggy courting outings. It was really the epitome of a book coming to life. Wendy McClure makes an observation that most of the worlds children love cannot be reached in real life- we don't have the option of visiting Narnia or Hogwarts or many other literary locations. But Little House is different, because it existed. It was real. It may not be a 100% accurate portrayal of Laura's childhood, but the places and the people are not very separated from us at all. Even at a young age, I was completely fascinated by how the history and the story in the books intertwined and separated to create a reality just as compelling as the stories in the books. Walking through Dakota prairie grass, under the trees that Pa planted, I realized that the books would always be different now, enhanced somewhat, since I could now see them through a clearer, sharper lens.
Which brings me to why I'm slightly upset with Ms. McClure. I loved the first chapter, which explained McClure's fascination with Laura as a child. I could identify with this chapter, for I too had imagined what it would be like to be Laura and to live where she did. As an adult, McClure rediscovers the books and becomes obsessed with finding out more. She decides to immerse herself in the Little House world, trying recipes (I can relate to this), going on a road trip to the Little House sights (a girl after my own heart), and discovering more about the facts of Laura's life. Up until now, I was mentally doing cartwheels as she makes these plans. But when she starts learning more about Laura's real life, and begins telling her readers the differences between reality and the world Laura created in her books, my patience began to wear thin. Perhaps it's the narrator's voice. Audiobooks can ruin a good book based on the narrator alone. But I have a feeling the negative, sarcastic tone would jump off of the page as well.
Unlike me, McClure is not a historian. Historical facts do not give her the same thrill. This is apparent within the first twelve seconds of sharing her new-found "discoveries." While I was excited to find out the truth about Laura's life, reading biographies and gazing at pictures, she seems to be appalled by the fact that the children's books were different than real life. Cue sarcastic tone. How could Laura not have mentioned that she had a baby brother? The Ingalls family actually had to live with their in-laws for a short time? What do you mean they had to work at a hotel in Iowa? These facts cause McClure to make erroneous and sarcastic statements, like stating that Pa obviously wasn't able to provide for his family all of the time, or it seems the Ingalls family weren't the Western-moving people they seem, or criticizing Laura's family tree because Pa's brother married Ma's sister. She is critical about the family's photographs too, as if she cannot believe these people were not made for the covers of magazines. The truth disillusions her, which is something I cannot understand or sympathize with at all. In addition, as an adult, she starts reading the books with a very anachronistic eye. She dubs Pa a racist and calls Ma a jerk because of their attitude toward the Indians in Little House on the Prairie. Instead of thinking about why Pa and Ma had the reactions they did based on the context of that era, McClure judges them by present-day standards. A big no-no in the historical world.
What it comes down to is that she has missed the point of Laura's books. They are not about whether every intricate detail is truth or fiction; they capture an essence, rather than act as a memoir. They focus on the love and commitment of family, on one girl's adventurous spirit, and on a way of life that was slowly becoming nothing but a memory. They are comforting and they are special for the simple reason that they engage our imagination and cause us to notice the life around us. One of my favorite quotes from Little House in the Big Woods sums up the poignancy of this series:
"She thought to herself, 'This is now.' She was glad that the cosy house, and Pa and Ma and the fire-light and the music, were now. They could not be forgotten, she thought, because now is now. It can never be a long time ago."
I still have a ways to go in the book, and I'm hoping McClure's trips to the Little House sites will change her attitude. Perhaps she, like Charlie Brown discovering the meaning of Christmas, will figure out what the Little House books are all about.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Patience
Currently Reading: Inishmurray: Island Voices by Joe McGowan, Little House in the Big Woods by Laura Ingalls Wilder and The Wilder Life by Wendy McClure
Although it is illogical, I feel such guilt when I fail to blog on a regular basis. Why that is I do not know, since I am not being graded or paid to do this but I still sigh every time I realize another day has gone by without a blog post. Of course, I am having a wonderful summer, complete with cousin sleepovers, Great River Shakespeare Fest, Seinfeld marathons, and farmer's markets. It's just that I love to write here- journaling and poems are not enough. But time and life always seem to get in the way. I think my struggle lately with this blog has been trying (and failing) to remember that even a quick post about nothing is OK. For some reason, I never want to blog unless I know I have hours ahead of me to write and re-write and hem and haw and reflect and muse. Since my life does not allow that very often, my blog posts become fewer and farther between. Maybe the lesson I must learn (and SOON, since grad school is creeping ever closer), is that writing is writing, and I must not be so hard on myself to write epic essays every time I feel the urge to write.
There is SO MUCH I want to write: about how my trip to Ireland has greatly changed the way I read my Irish history books and re-read my favorite novels; about how my life has suddenly become infused with childhood memories since I started listening to Wendy McClure discuss her love of Laura while simultaneously re-reading the Little House series with my husband, who has *gasp* never read them before but is loving them as much as I hoped he would. Coupled with updates on life (I have tomatoes!) and such, I am itching to write and write and write.
It will happen. Just not today. Bear with me, friends. Today I am practicing the art of a quick blog post and to be honest, it feels pretty darn good. I'll be back soon!
Although it is illogical, I feel such guilt when I fail to blog on a regular basis. Why that is I do not know, since I am not being graded or paid to do this but I still sigh every time I realize another day has gone by without a blog post. Of course, I am having a wonderful summer, complete with cousin sleepovers, Great River Shakespeare Fest, Seinfeld marathons, and farmer's markets. It's just that I love to write here- journaling and poems are not enough. But time and life always seem to get in the way. I think my struggle lately with this blog has been trying (and failing) to remember that even a quick post about nothing is OK. For some reason, I never want to blog unless I know I have hours ahead of me to write and re-write and hem and haw and reflect and muse. Since my life does not allow that very often, my blog posts become fewer and farther between. Maybe the lesson I must learn (and SOON, since grad school is creeping ever closer), is that writing is writing, and I must not be so hard on myself to write epic essays every time I feel the urge to write.
There is SO MUCH I want to write: about how my trip to Ireland has greatly changed the way I read my Irish history books and re-read my favorite novels; about how my life has suddenly become infused with childhood memories since I started listening to Wendy McClure discuss her love of Laura while simultaneously re-reading the Little House series with my husband, who has *gasp* never read them before but is loving them as much as I hoped he would. Coupled with updates on life (I have tomatoes!) and such, I am itching to write and write and write.
It will happen. Just not today. Bear with me, friends. Today I am practicing the art of a quick blog post and to be honest, it feels pretty darn good. I'll be back soon!
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Potential Is a Glorious Thing
Currently Reading: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban by J.K. Rowling
Whew... long week, happy night. Autumn is almost upon us, friends. A season that, like spring, is full of anticipation and a celebration of change. One of my favorite words is "potential", which I think is a word that epitomizes fall. I love the implications of that word... that no matter who you are or at what stage of life you're in, you always have the potential to be who you want to be or do what you long to do. It may take a whole lifetime or it may never happen at all, but the potential is always there. It's inspiring, isn't it? It gives us something to work toward, something to dream about, something to motivate us and push us on. I have the potential to be a world-famous writer, a gourmet chef, an astronaut. It's all about the choice I make... do I want to realize this potential or not? Do I want to work toward this goal or should I choose a different potential? We are not automatons; God created us with the ability to have desires and to make choices. Every fall, I reflect on these things. The year is winding down, the land is ready to be harvested, and I can look at what I have accomplished, what I am still working on, and what "potential" lies ahead. The potential to make someone laugh.... the potential to make homemade apple pie.... the potential to inspire... the potential to be inspired. This life is a glorious thing.
See? There will be days when I just have to carve this blank space with the thoughts in my head, even if they're not specifically about books. However, isn't that ultimately why we read books? To foster our imagination, think for ourselves, and recognize the intricate layers of life and living?
Back to Part Two of the top ten book list:
1) Shannon by Frank Delaney
I love Frank Delaney. He seems like the kind of man who would give the best bear hugs, and if I ever meet that man, I hope I get one. What a talented writer and what an expressive voice. I often listen to audiobooks in the car as I drive and I actually first read Shannon as an audiobook. Frank Delaney narrates his own books, which is just marvelous. (Think about it... what is better than listening to an author read their entire book? Answer: Not much.) He has a voice that is completely mesmerizing. Sometimes I'd have to rewind just because I got lost in his nuances and accent, and forgot what in the world just happened. Listening to this book was a wonderful experience, and because I listened to it in the fall, every time I read it I picture orange leaves falling and the crisp fall air through the car window, or being parked in the cemetery, listening to the last chapter as the sun falls through the bright leaves and illuminates my car. A holy experience, that was. This book is about Ireland, a man struggling with the effects of war, and how Ireland heals him. And it is glorious. Read it... or listen to it. :)
2) Galway Bay by Mary Pat Kelly
Another book about Ireland (who is catching on to a theme here?) that takes place during the Great Potato Famine of the 1840s. It is absolutely heartwrenching... even more so because it is based on a true story. In a delightful "family history/genealogy" story that give genealogy nerds like me a thrill, the main character is actually the author's real great-great-grandmother, trying to raise a family and survive during one of the worst tragedies that ever hit Irish soil. Keep the Kleenex's handy, but also prepare yourself for a lot of smiles and inspiration and cheering. This book helped me remember, when I was going through a difficult time, the blessings that I do have. To make this book even better, I have recently learned that the author is working on a sequel! (Also, check out Kelly's website after you finish reading the book. You won't be disappointed.)
3) The Little House series by Laura Ingalls Wilder
How could I not include this series on my favorites list? Little House is so famous, I don't need to give you a synopsis. Instead, I will give you an idea of how much these books are a part of my life. Little House in the Big Woods was the first "big kid" book I read when I was in first grade. The rest is history. My family and I once went on a Little House tour, stopping in Pepin, Walnut Grove, and DeSmet, visiting the sites and even staying in a cabin beside one of the lakes Laura and Almanzo used to drive by when they were courting. Growing up, my sister had a book of crafts and games that were mentioned in the Little House books. When we stayed at my Dad's farm for weekends, we would make corncob dolls, make "thimble pictures" on the windows, and molasses candy on pans of snow (with my parent's help, of course). As such a big part of our childhood, I believe the books helped foster mine and my sister's love for history as well as literature. To this day, every Christmas Eve, my sister and I (Nathan has been added to this tradition now) sit in the darkened kitchen; my sister makes cookies while I read all of the Christmas stories from each of the Little House books aloud. That half-hour is one of the most sacred parts of Christmas for me, a beautiful memory between two sisters that will be passed on to our own families someday.
4) The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger
Oh, goodness. This book. I love this book for many reasons: the relationship between Clare and Henry, the way it makes me continually stop and contemplate time and fate and inevitability and loss, the marvelous way in which Audrey Niffenegger constructed and wrote the book. But mostly I love it because it is a love story without the obvious ending, the dramatics, the ostentatious displays of affection, or Fabio on the cover. Two people who love each other... it could be a story about anybody.
5) The Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling
I will most likely do a post within the next week about this series, since Nathan and I are in the midst of re-reading it. For now, I will state that this series is another that was a huge part of my childhood and has never really lost its charm. As I get older, I read the books for the characters and the fascinating character developments, as well the broader moral and ethical questions that are raised as the series continues. There are those who would denounce these books as "evil" or "anti-Christian" but they've obviously never read them. I cannot think of a series that better examines the struggle between right and wrong, and what a fine line that can be. The books examine the power of our choices (there's that "potential" thing cropping up again) and what it means to truly live for a cause. It explores just what our souls are capable of: both the good and the bad. Not only that, but they're a heck of a lot of fun to read out loud. (Especially for someone like me, who's been reading out loud and making up voices since before I actually knew how to read.) For those who are wary, it is worth a shot. It will definitely surprise you.
Whew! I promise future blogs won't be so gosh darn long. Have a great Friday! Go find your "potentials." You never know what you are capable of. :)
Whew... long week, happy night. Autumn is almost upon us, friends. A season that, like spring, is full of anticipation and a celebration of change. One of my favorite words is "potential", which I think is a word that epitomizes fall. I love the implications of that word... that no matter who you are or at what stage of life you're in, you always have the potential to be who you want to be or do what you long to do. It may take a whole lifetime or it may never happen at all, but the potential is always there. It's inspiring, isn't it? It gives us something to work toward, something to dream about, something to motivate us and push us on. I have the potential to be a world-famous writer, a gourmet chef, an astronaut. It's all about the choice I make... do I want to realize this potential or not? Do I want to work toward this goal or should I choose a different potential? We are not automatons; God created us with the ability to have desires and to make choices. Every fall, I reflect on these things. The year is winding down, the land is ready to be harvested, and I can look at what I have accomplished, what I am still working on, and what "potential" lies ahead. The potential to make someone laugh.... the potential to make homemade apple pie.... the potential to inspire... the potential to be inspired. This life is a glorious thing.
See? There will be days when I just have to carve this blank space with the thoughts in my head, even if they're not specifically about books. However, isn't that ultimately why we read books? To foster our imagination, think for ourselves, and recognize the intricate layers of life and living?
Back to Part Two of the top ten book list:
1) Shannon by Frank Delaney
I love Frank Delaney. He seems like the kind of man who would give the best bear hugs, and if I ever meet that man, I hope I get one. What a talented writer and what an expressive voice. I often listen to audiobooks in the car as I drive and I actually first read Shannon as an audiobook. Frank Delaney narrates his own books, which is just marvelous. (Think about it... what is better than listening to an author read their entire book? Answer: Not much.) He has a voice that is completely mesmerizing. Sometimes I'd have to rewind just because I got lost in his nuances and accent, and forgot what in the world just happened. Listening to this book was a wonderful experience, and because I listened to it in the fall, every time I read it I picture orange leaves falling and the crisp fall air through the car window, or being parked in the cemetery, listening to the last chapter as the sun falls through the bright leaves and illuminates my car. A holy experience, that was. This book is about Ireland, a man struggling with the effects of war, and how Ireland heals him. And it is glorious. Read it... or listen to it. :)
Another book about Ireland (who is catching on to a theme here?) that takes place during the Great Potato Famine of the 1840s. It is absolutely heartwrenching... even more so because it is based on a true story. In a delightful "family history/genealogy" story that give genealogy nerds like me a thrill, the main character is actually the author's real great-great-grandmother, trying to raise a family and survive during one of the worst tragedies that ever hit Irish soil. Keep the Kleenex's handy, but also prepare yourself for a lot of smiles and inspiration and cheering. This book helped me remember, when I was going through a difficult time, the blessings that I do have. To make this book even better, I have recently learned that the author is working on a sequel! (Also, check out Kelly's website after you finish reading the book. You won't be disappointed.)
How could I not include this series on my favorites list? Little House is so famous, I don't need to give you a synopsis. Instead, I will give you an idea of how much these books are a part of my life. Little House in the Big Woods was the first "big kid" book I read when I was in first grade. The rest is history. My family and I once went on a Little House tour, stopping in Pepin, Walnut Grove, and DeSmet, visiting the sites and even staying in a cabin beside one of the lakes Laura and Almanzo used to drive by when they were courting. Growing up, my sister had a book of crafts and games that were mentioned in the Little House books. When we stayed at my Dad's farm for weekends, we would make corncob dolls, make "thimble pictures" on the windows, and molasses candy on pans of snow (with my parent's help, of course). As such a big part of our childhood, I believe the books helped foster mine and my sister's love for history as well as literature. To this day, every Christmas Eve, my sister and I (Nathan has been added to this tradition now) sit in the darkened kitchen; my sister makes cookies while I read all of the Christmas stories from each of the Little House books aloud. That half-hour is one of the most sacred parts of Christmas for me, a beautiful memory between two sisters that will be passed on to our own families someday.
Oh, goodness. This book. I love this book for many reasons: the relationship between Clare and Henry, the way it makes me continually stop and contemplate time and fate and inevitability and loss, the marvelous way in which Audrey Niffenegger constructed and wrote the book. But mostly I love it because it is a love story without the obvious ending, the dramatics, the ostentatious displays of affection, or Fabio on the cover. Two people who love each other... it could be a story about anybody.
I will most likely do a post within the next week about this series, since Nathan and I are in the midst of re-reading it. For now, I will state that this series is another that was a huge part of my childhood and has never really lost its charm. As I get older, I read the books for the characters and the fascinating character developments, as well the broader moral and ethical questions that are raised as the series continues. There are those who would denounce these books as "evil" or "anti-Christian" but they've obviously never read them. I cannot think of a series that better examines the struggle between right and wrong, and what a fine line that can be. The books examine the power of our choices (there's that "potential" thing cropping up again) and what it means to truly live for a cause. It explores just what our souls are capable of: both the good and the bad. Not only that, but they're a heck of a lot of fun to read out loud. (Especially for someone like me, who's been reading out loud and making up voices since before I actually knew how to read.) For those who are wary, it is worth a shot. It will definitely surprise you.
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