another review of a book about book lovers

So in the exhilarating hours following my completion of Anna Karenina I read 84, Charing Cross Road quickly followed by the similar The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. A book with which I fell completely in love.

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

As I mentioned in my review of 84 I heard about Guernsey when listening to the Diane Rehm show on NPR. And because of Anna I had to wait to read it. I opened the pages and found a quote from the book on this special glossy page at the beginning of the novel.

I wonder how the book got to Guernsey? Perhaps there is some sort of secret homing instinct in books that brings them to their perfect readers. How wonderful if that were true.

  I teared up more than a few times while reading this book. Mary Ann Shaffer (described by her niece as their family’s best story-teller) and her niece Annie Barrows struck quite an amazing tone in telling the stories of the men and women who lived under German occupation in the British Channel Isles during World War Two. It is a story of courage and unlikely friendships and all those “feel good” cliches they use to describe novels like this. And I loved it.

Anna is considered a “great romance” and I guess I can kind of see that when it comes to Levin and Kitty… but to me it seemed more like a dissertation on dysfunctional relationships. So, this whimsical romance set in such a distinct little place was refreshing and just so cute to me.

Like 84, Guernsey is told through correspondence. The letters written to and from Juliet unfold the story of her life and the inhabitants of this quirky little island in the English Channel. All of the characters are resiliently recovering from the horrors of World War II and attempting to piece their lives back together. And Juliet, hearing of the people and their plight during the war decides to write a story about them.

I think after the bleak, bleak pages of early 19th century Russia the hopeful love story set in the late 1940s was so completely refreshing that I just liked it without even thinking about it. It is one of the best kinds of stories: people drawing together during a dark time and creating joy in the midst of terror.

I find the title of this book sort of amusing. As with most absurdly long titles it makes perfect sense once you’ve read the novel. And the quirkiness is sure to grab attention of book browsers. I like quirky names, but I am over them a little bit. I don’t think I’ll ever like books with one word titles. But somewhere in the 2-4 words range is acceptable I think. Or maybe I’m just in a weird mood after blogging about so many books with ridiculously long titles.

I have some exciting news for you all later this week… so make sure you stop by the blog Thursday to read it!

See you then.

RVs and Mindless drones

One day I will fly one of these

 

A few years ago I learned about this group of retired Methodists called NOMADS, who are probably the coolest people I’ve ever heard of. After hearing about them my dream of one day having my own RV/Camper was born. But I want to do it in my 20s, or basically for the rest of my life. With the housing crash of the “oughts” my desire to ever own a home faded and I plan on pretty much always living in an RV, teaching my (eventual) kids that from the Keys to the tip of Oregon State and everything between is their backyard. It may be a little optimistic, but hey, I’m a dreamer.

The reality of living in a motor-home vehicle may be just a little bit trickier than I imagine. Especially considering my penchant for running out of gas, forgetting to get oil changes, and not having the best track record when it comes to basic cars. Max, who has been a friend of mine for about two years and has witnessed some of these more ridiculous vehicle issues, reminded me that even if I ran the dreamed- of-VW bus on corn diesel I would still have to make sure it had enough.He declared himself part of the “RV dream” so that I don’t wind up in backwoods Georgia without gas, talking to a person who speaks “Georgian” (a dialect of Max’s imagination which sounds something like Muttley ) who would suggest that deer eat vegetables so deer jerky is just fine for vegetarians to eat. Later in the day Max made a sort of off-handed, frustrated comment about not wanting to join the ranks of Corporate America. Sounding a bit like Muttley himself he muttered something about losing his soul in an office building.

I could chase rabbit trails in my mind forever with all the connections I make in moments like this. But I found it startling when in my 19th Century British Novel course I found this description of the Victorian working class: “If there was ever a time when the English masses approached a state of downright bestiality, it was then.”

I expect that you’re all good students of Victorian history, but just in case you’re not, here’s why Mr. Richard Altick would describe them in such a way: essentially the Industrial Revolution destabilized the centuries of unchanged cultural centers in a way that can only be described as “rapidly”. In order to find jobs men, women, and their families moved from towns to ramshackle urban tenements and lost most of their sense of individuality and worth in the 16 hour work days in dim, poorly ventilated factories.

Now, rapid change is something that we of the iPod generation are very familiar with. But for the Victorians a jump from travel at 10 mph via horse drawn coach to 35 mph by steam train caused some to declare moving at that speed dangerous to one’s health. It’s quaint to think about now, sure, and watching Pride & Prejudice (no matter the version) inspires feelings of nostalgia. Yet, these dear, “quaint” Victorians were really the first group to experience a modern age. Along with steam power came all sorts of feelings of disillusionment, purposelessness, and life expectancy of only the early-mid 20s for the average working man. (Guys, in Victorian England, I would likely already be dead, and probably leaving behind some 3 or 4 orphans.)

Granted, life expectancy, working conditions, and housing have improved some. But the feelings of disenfranchisement, disillusionment, and loss of personal identity have only increased. Modern man has developed psychosis of losing himself within the machines he created to ease his workload. We consider it slightly absurd and comical when an undergrad says their life is over because their computer has crashed along with their “entire life,” (not to mention the addictive nature of Smartphones that gets them dubbed things like “crackberry”), but it isn’t comical. It’s desperately pathetic.

And here we find Thoreau, who 156 years ago created one of my favorite melancholy quotes, “The mass of men lead quiet lives of desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.” Not much has changed in 156 years my  dear, quaint Victorian. But I will be different. And now thanks to Michael I plan on living long enough to have an airbus or blimp.