1. The Talisman, by Stephen King and Peter Straub
2. Rosemary’s Baby, by Ira Levin
3. The Very Hungry Caterpillar, by Eric Carl
4. Cedar Toothpick: The Tomboy Dioramas, poetry by Stefan Lorenzutti and art by Laurent Le Deunff
5. The House of Mirth (audio book), by Edith Wharton
6. my name on his tongue: poems, by Laila Halaby
7. The Sweet Revenge of Celia Door, by Karen Kinneyfrock
The House of Mirth, by Edith Wharton
Since I can’t seem to find a way to some it up on my own, here’s a description from the back of one of the editions: “Lily Bart, beautiful, witty, and sophisticated, is accepted by “old money” and courted by the growing tribe of nouveaux riches. But as she nears 30, her foothold becomes precarious; a poor girl with expensive tastes, she needs a husband to preserve her social standing and to maintain her life in the luxury she has come to expect. While many have sought her, something—fastidiousness or integrity—prevents her from making a “suitable” match.”
Lily was raised to love splendor and wealth and to be an ornament in that world. She cannot help but strive for the comfort and ease (even if it is marked by falsehoods) that that world offers. And yet there is a part of her that strives for some greater, higher ideal, some deeper truth beyond the finery.
Her downfall is in part due to circumstance (being a woman in her time period and raised to desire wealth and shun shabbiness) and in part due to her own poor choices. There are many times she could have prevented a mishap, only to blindly (out of naiveté) or purposefully (out of selfishness and her desire for wealth) step right into it. And many other times she could have saved herself, only to reject it due to her own sense of morality. Witnessing her mistakes is to see all the little ways she is guilty, while simultaneously discovering the multitude of ways she is innocent. It’s all just so profoundly human.
The story was easy to follow and compelling to read. the scenes unfolding with eloquent language and open frankness. By the end of the book, i found that my commute wasn’t long enough and I sat in my car upon arriving home listening to the conclusion, unable to wait until morning.
I often cry at books and movies; I’m easily moved (sometimes even a TV commercial will illicit a few tears). But this was an experience beyond mere crying. This was me with my hands pressed to my face, snot running out of my nose, abjectly weeping in the front seat of my car. I can’t fully express why this book plucked that inner string in me, but it did.
I’m sure a part of it was the spectacular reading given by Eleanor Bron (who also, as it turns out, played Lily’s Aunt Peniston in the 2000 movie adaptation) in the audio. She strikes just the right tone of reserve and emotions, her voice soothing and adaptable to each character. I don’t know if my wrought emotional reaction would have been the same had I read it in text, but that’s not something one can speculate on, since each individual experience is based on a multitude of circumstances that can’t be recreated.
All I know, is I started this book thinking I would merely enjoy it, and ended it being madly in love.
Cross-posted to my livejournal. You are welcome to comment either here or there.
Cedar Toothpick
Recently, I received a package from Poland with one of the coolest stamps I have ever seen. I didn’t know what I could possibly be receiving from Poland, but I was all smiles as I ran my finger over the cloth, feeling the fibres of the shiny postal stamp. I almost didn’t care what was inside, because the stamp itself was just so gorgeous.
Inside, however, I found my long-awaited copy of Cedar Toothpick: The Tomboy Dioramas, a collection of “nutshell” poetry by Stefan Stefan Lorenzutti with illustrations by Laurent Le Deunff and book design by Pilar Rojo. The book was published independently as part of a kickstarter project that I had backed and forgotten about.
Like the stamp, this gorgeous little book was texturally beautiful, and I was dazzled by the quality of paper and the hard back binding, as much as I was eager to read the words on the pages. Honestly, the sheer quality of book alone without having read any of the words is amazing.
According to the poet, he was inspired to the write this collection of poetry as he was walking the trails on the border between Poland and the Czech Republic. That experience combined with the concept of individual dioramas in natural history museums. The author writes: “Each poem is a description of a diorama, such as one finds in ethnographic or natural history museums—bell-jar spaces in which wolves, frozen in time, thread soundlessly through twilit forest; and wigwam inhabitants, cross-legged and ringed round their storyteller, shiver as the wind outside rattles frame of shelter.” Through this landscape romps the playful figure of Tomboy.
These poems are small, but each one packed with imagery that evokes a deeper understanding than what’s on the surface. Each poem is full in an off itself, and deserves lingering over, as you would linger over a bit of scenery on a long walk in the woods.
The art stands alone on individual pages, complementing the poetry perfect with soft pencil drawings of stones or wood, the kind of nature imagery the poetry relates.
This is by far the highest quality book I’ve helped fund through kickstarter. It’s just so lovely on many fronts, from the concise, compact poetry that evokes so much, to the gorgeous line drawings, to the beautiful binding itself — this little book is a work of art.
Only 500 copies of the book were printed, all of which are signed by the author and numbered. I don’t know how many copies are left, but if you’re interested, you can order the book here.
[Cross-posted to my livejournal. You are welcome to comment either here or there.]
Books Completed in February
1. Solaris, by Stanislaw Lem
2. The Fairy Ring: or Elsie and Frances Fool the World, by Mary Losure
3. Light in August (audio book), by William Faulkner
4. The Replacement, by Brenna Yovanoff
5. On the Night You Were Born, by Nancy Tillman
6. The Zombie Movie Encyclopedia, Volume 2: 2000–2010, by Peter Dendle
The Replacement, by Brenna Yovanoff
Mackie is a changeling, a fairy child left as a replacement for a human one. Instead of dying as such a child is expected to do, he survived by making himself invisible and avoiding contact with iron that infuses just about everything, from steel to human blood. All he wants is to be human, to fit in with the people of Gentry, but when a little girl goes missing, he finds himself journeying into the town’s underworld to meet the creatures that once abandoned him.
I fell for this book as soon as I saw it’s uber-creepy book cover, featuring a litany of knifes, scissors, and horseshoes dangling precariously over a child’s carriage.
I loved it even more when I found out the purpose of those dangerous objects is to protect rather than harm, each of them made with iron to save the child from being taken — which is a perfect reflection of the world that lies within this books pages. What at first appears ugly and dangerous may turn out to be good and kind. What appears beautiful may be deadly. And I love that reversal of expectations.
I love that Mackie is a member of the family, even though his mom, dad, and sister know he is not the same human boy who was robbed from the crib that night. They know, and yet he is accepted and loved. They do all they can to accommodate his disabilities (removing all the iron they can from the house, building an unconsecrated part of church so he can go to Sunday school) and protect him from the potential malice of the town (which refuses to admit the existence strange creatures, even though deep down they know).
Mackie, for all this love, is lost and lonely. Though he has friends and family who care for him, he casts himself as an outsider, feeling that often come up for adopted children in general. When Tate comes after him for answers, for someone anyone to listen to her about her sister, he tries to avoid her in an effort to protect himself, but finds himself unable to pretend that he doesn’t care.
There is a general creepiness and sense of unease that fits perfectly with the book cover, and the hairs on my arms are standing up right now — partly from the creep factor, partly from delight — even as I think about it. If it’s half as good as this one, then I can’t wait to read another Brenna Yovanoff book.