We Need to Talk about Kevin

We Need to Talk about Kevin by Lionel Shriver
hardcover, 400 pages
Counterpoint Press, 2003
ISBN-13: 9781582432670
contemporary literature

re-read, very highly recommended

Synopsis from the publisher:

The gripping international bestseller about motherhood gone awry
Eva never really wanted to be a mother—and certainly not the mother of the unlovable boy who murdered seven of his fellow high school students, a cafeteria worker, and a much-adored teacher who tried to befriend him, all two days before his sixteenth birthday. Now, two years later, it is time for her to come to terms with marriage, career, family, parenthood, and Kevin's horrific rampage in a series of startlingly direct correspondences with her estranged husband, Franklin. Uneasy with the sacrifices and social demotion of motherhood from the start, Eva fears that her alarming dislike for her own son may be responsible for driving him so nihilistically off the rails.

My thoughts:

I previously reviewed We Need to Talk About Kevin on 9/3/07 and quite possibly found it even more brilliant and horrendous the second time through, even when I knew what was coming. Eva's introspective, searching, brutally honest letters to her husband, Franklin, slowly and painfully tell the story of their son, Kevin, and restlessly search for the answer to the nature versus nurture question. The foreshadowing of what is to come seems more evident and darker reading it for the second time; the information and insight into Eva, Franklin, and Kevin more insistent. Shriver is a gifted writer and that is clearly evident with this reread. Every sentence is carefully crafted, every word deliberately selected. reread, Very Highly Recommended - one of the very best

Read for the Summer Lovin' Challenge

Quotes:

November 8, 2000
Dear Franklin,
I'm unsure why one trifling incident this afternoon has moved me to write to you. But since we've been separated, I may most miss coming home to deliver the narrative curiosities of my day, the way a cat might lay mice at your feet: the small, humble offerings that couples proffer after foraging in separate backyards. opening

I seem finally to be learning what you were always trying to teach me, that my own country is as exotic and even as perilous as Algeria. I was in the dairy aisle and didn't need much; I wouldn't. I never eat pasta these days, without you to dispatch most of the bowl. I do miss your gusto. pg. 1

This is the one place in the world where the ramifications of my life are full felt, and it's far less important for me to be liked these days than to be understood. pg. 4

"What possessed us? We were so happy! Why, then, did we take the stake of all we had and place it all on this outrageous gamble of having a child? Of course you consider putting that very question profane. Although the infertile are entitled to sour grapes, it's against the rules, isn't it, to actually have a baby and spend any time at all on that banished parallel life in which you didn't. But a Pandoran perversity draws me to prize open what is forbidden." pg. 12

I never, ever took you for granted. We met too late for that; I was nearly thirty-three by then, and my past without you was too stark and insistent for me to find the miracle of companionship ordinary. pg. 21

Much less could I foresee the aching O. Henry irony that in lighting upon my consuming new topic of conversation, I would lose the man that I most wanted to talk to. pg. 24

That was one of your favorite themes: that profusion, replication, popularity wasn't necessarily devaluing, and that time itself made things rare. You loved to savor the present tense and were more conscious than anyone I have ever met that its every constituent is fleeting. pg. 37

Funny how you dig yourself into a hole by the teaspoon - the smallest of compromises, the little roundings off or slight recastings of one emotion as another that is a tad nicer or more flattering. I did not care so much about being deprived of a glass of wine per se. But like that legendary journey that begins with a single step, I had already embarked upon my first resentment. pg. 53

"But any woman who passes a clump of testosterone-drunk punks without picking up the pace, without avoiding the eye contact that might connote challenge or invitation, without sighing inwardly with relief by the following block, is a zoological fool. A boy is a dangerous animal." pg. 62

What Little Girls Are Made Of...

Sugar and spice and everything nice, right? Ed would disagree. I think Ed would have liked to be an only child, or the youngest in the family. He didn’t particularly enjoy being the oldest brother of three younger sisters, or at least the older brother of Hipee and me. ED is almost 15 years older than our youngest brother, Pretty Boy, so by the time he came along, ED was ready to go.

ED normally kept his room very clean and organized. While I am now considered to be a very neat and clean adult, I wasn’t as a child. Hipee wasn’t either. Our shared room was usually a mess until we were forced to clean it up. ED’s room was a paragon of organization. He had a place for everything and everything in its place. This meant that we always knew where ED would keep his stuff, like the chocolate bars he hide in the bottom drawer on the right-hand side of his desk.

Yes, we stole chocolate from ED. I stole chocolate from ED. Shamelessly. I was the worst. He would buy chocolate, and put it in the bottom right-hand drawer of his desk, without any security concerns or stealth involved. What was ED thinking? This would be another clue that although ED wasn’t dumb, he wasn’t an Einstein either. I mean, come on… Chocolate candy bars left in the same drawer every time with two younger sisters in the house who were known chocolate thieves. Everyone knows that stashes of chocolate need a hiding place.

Today I still “hide” the chocolate but everyone in my family knows where it is hidden. I’m good with that now. Sometimes they can help me find it if I've forgotten the hiding place. Actually the best hiding place is in plain sight. I had a large bag of peanut MM’s sitting right out in the center of the pantry and no one touched them for months. I finally had to set them out on the kitchen counter in order to get people to see them and eat them. This was done when we were loading a moving truck with help from friends and I needed to either clean up what was left in the pantry or pack it.

But poor ED just never quite got the idea that you might need to hide your chocolate, or switch around where you put it, especially with sisters in the house. A youngest child could get away with this behavior, but the status of the oldest in the family is much more of a dog eat dog position and ED needed a reality check. I tried to help give him a clue that he should hide his candy bars, but, alas, he just never got it. He could yell all he wanted about sister’s invading his room and violating his stuff, but at the end of the day his chocolate was still gone and his sisters had no money to replace it.

Never fear though, ED was eventually compensated for his loss. Several years ago Hipee and I bought enough candy bars to fill up a medium-sized box and gave them to ED for Christmas. He was very pleased. We don’t know if ED hid the candy bars from his wife. We do know that after he opened the gift, he kept that box in sight at all times, didn’t offer anyone anything in it, and whisked it out and into his locked truck ASAP. ED may have learned a lesson after all.

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The 19th Wife

The 19th Wife by David Ebershoff

trade paperback, 525 pages

Random House, June 2009

ISBN-13: 9780812974157

historical fiction/mystery

Very Highly Recommended

Synopsis:

It is 1875, and Ann Eliza Young has recently separated from her powerful husband, Brigham Young, prophet and leader of the Mormon Church. Expelled and an outcast, Ann Eliza embarks on a crusade to end polygamy in the United States. A rich account of a family’s polygamous history is revealed, including how a young woman became a plural wife. Soon after Ann Eliza’s story begins, a second exquisite narrative unfolds–a tale of murder involving a polygamist family in present-day Utah. Jordan Scott, a young man who was thrown out of his fundamentalist sect years earlier, must reenter the world that cast him aside in order to discover the truth behind his father’s death. And as Ann Eliza’s narrative intertwines with that of Jordan’s search, readers are pulled deeper into the mysteries of love and faith.

My Thoughts:

The 19th Wife follows two parallel stories that deal with polygamy. One involves one of Brigham Young's wives, Ann Eliza, while the other is a modern day murder mystery set in a polygamous community in Utah. Ebershoff does a commendable job switching voices between a nineteenth-century Mormon wife (and others) and a contemporary gay young man who has been excommunicated from the church. He also includes an impressive bibliography in his notes, which I always appreciate. You can tell that he has done his research and is writing his novel from a place of knowledge. Normally I'm not a great fan of historical fiction because you can often tell the author has not done any research, but this was not the case with Ebershoff at all. At first I thought the modern mystery would be the more interesting story, but soon I was actually more interested in the historical storyline. There is a tie in concerning faith and that every religion claims it is the only way. "Faith....is a mystery, elusive to many, and never easy to explain."

The contemporary mystery does have some strong language and adult situations, so be forewarned if that bothers you then this isn't the novel for you. I really appreciated the Random House readers circle questions and answers in my trade paperback copy. If you enjoyed Jon Krakauer's Under the Banner of Heaven, a nonfiction book concerning modern polygamy, then you will likely appreciate The 19th Wife. Be sure to check out David Ebershoff's website.
Very Highly Recommended

I won this book in a give away that I entered because I wanted to read the book.

Quotes:

In the one year since I renounced my Mormon faith, and set out to tell the nation the truth about American polygamy, many people have wondered why I ever agreed to become a plural wife. Everyone I meet, whether farmer, miner, railman, professor, cleric, or the long-faced Senator, and most especially the wives of these-everyone wants to know why I would submit to a marital practice so filled with subjugation and sorrow. When I tell them my father has five wives, and I was raised to believe plural marriage is the will of God, these sincere people often ask, But Mrs. Young - how could you believe such a claim?
Faith, I tell them, is a mystery, elusive to many, and never easy to explain. opening

I write not for sensation, but for Truth. I leave judgment to the hearts of my good Readers everywhere. I am but one, yet to this day countless others lead lives even more destitute and enslaved than mine ever was. Perhaps my story is the exception because I escaped, at great risk, polygamy's conjugal chains; and that my husband is the Mormon Church's Prophet and Leader, Brigham Young, and I am his 19th, and final, wife.
Sincerely Yours,
Ann Eliza Young
Summer 1874 pg. 6

According to the St. George Register, on a clear night last June, at some time between eleven and half-past, my mom-who isn't anything like this-tiptoed down to the basement of the house I grew up in with a Golden Boy .22 in her hands. At the foot of the stairs she knocked on the door to my dad's den. From inside he called who is it? She answered me, BeckyLyn. He said-or must've said-come in. What happened next? Nearly everyone in southwest Utah can tell you. She nailed an ace shot and blew his heart clean from his chest. pg. 7

He was a religious con man, a higher-up in a church of lies, the kind of schemer who goes around saying God meant for man to have many women and children and they shall be judged on how they obey. pg. 8

The paper says she didn't resist. Tell me about it. She didn't resist when her husband married her fifteen-year-old niece. She didn't resist when the Prophet told her to throw me out. "No point in making a fuss"-she used to say that all the time. For years she was obedient, believing it part of her salvation. pg.9

I'm just a guy who got totally screwed when he was fourteen and by all odds should be in jail or dead or both but actually is managing just fine. pg. 14

After I was kicked out (they call it excommunicated, but whatever), I honestly thought I'd never see her again, and I have to say I didn't really care. I was amd, starting with God, then the Prophet, but my mom was next on the list. I'm still mad at him - God I mean - because my mom tossed me on the highway at tom a.m. in his name.. Trust me: that can mess you up. pg. 18

I should probably make it clear why the Firsts aren't Mormon.... they hate the Prophet almost as much as I do. They call him a heretic, a blasphemer, and a whole bunch of other things like rapist, pedophile, and tax cheat. The point of contention between the Firsts and the Mormons - you probably already figured this out - is polygamy. pg. 33

She concludes her long assessment by writing, "In the end, I suppose my greatest disappointment has been in realizing my father, like Joseph and Bringham before him, tried to shroud his passions in the mantle of religion. He used God to defend his adultery. I have yet to hear him acknowledge his lies." pg. 213

The Man Who Knew Too Much

The Man Who Knew Too Much

1956

Director: Alfred Hitchcock

Cast: James Stewart, Doris Day, Brenda de Banzie, Bernard Miles

My Friend Amy's The Summer of Hitchcock

After having watched the 1956 version of The Man Who Knew Too Much numerous times, I didn't realize until yesterday that Hitchcock made two versions of this movie. The 1934 version just happened to be on TV yesterday while we were planning to watch this, the 1956 version, last night. While I am also a fan of many movies with Jimmy Stewart, readers of She Treads Softly will know that I am a major fan of Doris Day movies. Her acting range and versatility is shown exceptionally well in The Man Who Knew Too Much. The tension slowly builds through the whole movie. The Albert Hall sequence is incredible. It lasts 12 minutes without a single word of dialogue and yet the tension and emotion is palatable. You can just feel her agony. Doris Day's "Que Sera, Sera" won Jay Livingston and Ray Evans the Best Song Oscar. Bernard Herrmann, the composer of the score, can be seen conducting the orchestra during the Albert Hall sequence.

Hearts and Minds

Hearts and Minds by Rosy Thornton

Headline Publishing, June 2008

trade paperback, 437 pages

ISBN-13: 9780755333899

highly recommended

Synopsis from cover:

St Radegund's College, Cambridge, which admits only women students, breaks with one hundred and sixty years of tradition by appointing a man, former BBC executive James Rycarte, as its new Head of House. As Rycarte fights to win over the feminist dons, the Senior Tutor, Dr. Martha Pearce, faces her own battles: an academic career in stagnation, a depressed teenage daughter and a marriage which may be foundering.

Meanwhile, the college library is subsiding into the fen mud and the students are holding a competition to see who can 'get a snog off the Dean'. The question on everyone's lips is: how long will Rycarte survive at St. Radegund's without someone's help?

My thoughts:

I really enjoyed this novel. It is a well executed, clever satire of a fictional women's college in Cambridge. Anyone who has ever worked in the education field or been on a board for any organization, or, really, anyone who has ever worked with a number of co-workers is going to appreciate the characters Thornton has carefully developed because they were all very true to life. I know these people. (While reading Hearts and Minds I even dreamed I was teaching again.) A great part of what made Hearts and Minds so enjoyable is this realism. You can understand how stressful it is for Martha Pearce to juggle the demands of her career and home. Along with James Rycarte, you've met those contrary people who, it seems, are always looking for a fight or who always want to be right. As a mark of a good book, I even found myself losing sleep, staying up to read one more chapter. (What were those students planning?) Although I'm not going to give a spoiler here, I do want to thank Thornton for the ending. It could have headed off in a different direction, which would have caused me to lessen my rating, but instead the ending was pitch-perfect for the book.

Hearts and Minds is also quite funny. I found myself chuckling out loud several times. For example, see the quotes for the description of the "Mistress's Lodging". Living by a large university, I also completely understood the description of the arrival of the students (see quotes) and am preparing for the onslaught soon here.

In fact, I really only have one complaint about Hearts and Minds and that quibble has nothing to do with the book at all. It's the cover. While Hearts and Minds is going to appeal more to women than men, it's not really chick lit or a romance, but the cover would have you thinking otherwise. Perhaps it's the inner artist/designer in me, but the cover would have been much better if it were, perhaps, a black and white photo of a bicycle, with it's basket full of various items leaning against a building. The current cover is too cute. Highly Recommended

Hearts and Minds was sent to me by the author.

Quotes:

The accommodation required to refocus her eyes from computer screen to watch face took more effort that it would once have done - more effort than it should. That was one further unwanted thing she would have to contrive to jiggle into her complicated diary over the next week or two: a visit to Dollond & Aitchison. Martha removed her reading glasses and laid them on top of the scatter of papers on her desk. pg. 1

In two minutes the students would be at the door, and in five days he would be arriving at St Rad's. She had just eight days to update the term's lectures, as well as to finish writing the sixteen new ones she had to give because of Jane Billington's sabbatical leave. Eight days before the new intake of freshers would arrive, requiring the annual round of introductions and greetings, and bringing with them a whole new set of tutorial headaches as yet unguessed. pg. 3

James Rycarte hoped very much that it was not a portent when he missed the college the first time. The signboard announcing St Radegund's College to the passing motorist in reassuringly unfeminine black capitals was all but obscured by foliage, which seemed to have been allowed to burgeon unpruned since his last visit in February. pg. 7

The public reception rooms downstairs were not so bad: in the dining room there was in fact a very fine oak refectory table and a set of twelve dining chairs with understated sepia upholstery. But the curtains were richly sprigged with rosebuds, and elsewhere in the house the rosebuds had been allowed to ramble and blossom wholly unchecked. Worst of all was what Rycarte enjoyed the irony of thinking to himself as the master bedroom. Here the frills and flounces so garlanded that the room could have served as the set for a school production of A Midsummer Night's Dream. pg. 10

The Student Union had made no secret of their opposition, last year, to the election of a male Head of House. Room rents merely gave them an excuse to stir things up, to make life difficult for James Rycarte even before his formal investiture. pg. 15

Only towards the end of that first afternoon, after a day of briefing meetings with all the people who pulled the strings in his new workplace, and several others who wished they did, did Rycarte finally persuade the University's central computing service to divulge to him the details of his e-mail account. pg. 30

Cycling through the city, nobody familiar with Cambridge could have failed to notice the unaccustomed density of traffic in the semi-pedestrianised streets immediately surrounding the central colleges, or the proliferation of people carriers and family estate cars, driven slowly by parents unfamiliar with the town and laden high with boxes, blocking rear-view mirrors. pg. 33

Lucia seemed never to be far from the edge of tears. If one of Martha's tutorial students had been in this state, with what ease would she have voiced her suspicion of depression and advised seeing a doctor; why was it then so hard in her daughter's case? pg. 35

Six days in post and he recognised that already Martha Pearce had become his barometer for gauging what mattered in the college; if St Rad's had a beating heart she was it, or close to it. pg. 42

space

Remember the feeling of space and freedom you had when you got rid of a old huge bulky monitor and switched to a sleek, new LCD monitor?

I have that same feeling of freedom.

I've dumped the huge bulky box computer and now just have the Acer hooked up to the monitor and a wireless keyboard and mouse for everyday usage.

And it's all more powerful and has more memory than the big box computer. Plus I can unplug the Acer, and take it with me. I have 6 hours of battery life.

I can't believe all the room and space I have on my desk! Heck, my desk is looking too big now!

My next step is to get my hands on a magic stick, as I like to call it. Wonder Boy insists it is a Bluetooth USB dongle. The magic stick will allow me to print on the Snack King's printer. Ain't technology grand!

Acer

I have a new little friend,

an Acer D150 Netbook

I have a feeling we are going to be very good friends. I'm saying goodbye to the big box computer. This little guy is great!

Glasshouse

Glasshouse by Charles Stross
mass market paperback, 333 pages
Penguin, 2006
ISBN-13: 9780441015085
science fiction
so-so

Publishers Weekly:

The censorship wars-during which the Curious Yellow virus devastated the network of wormhole gates connecting humanity across the cosmos-are finally over at the start of Hugo-winner Stross's brilliant new novel, set in the same far-future universe as 2005's Accelerando. Robin is one of millions who have had a mind wipe, to forget wartime memories that are too painful-or too dangerously inconvenient for someone else. To evade the enemies who don't think his mind wipe was enough, Robin volunteers to live in the experimental Glasshouse, a former prison for deranged war criminals that will recreate Earth's "dark ages" (c. 1950-2040). Entering the community as a female, Robin is initially appalled by life as a suburban housewife, then he realizes the other participants are all either retired spies or soldiers. Worse yet, fragments of old memories return-extremely dangerous in the Glasshouse, where the experimenters' intentions are as murky as Robin's grasp of his own identity. With nods to Kafka, James Tiptree and others, Stross's wry SF thriller satisfies on all levels, with memorable characters and enough brain-twisting extrapolation for five novels. (July) Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.

My Thoughts:

Glasshouse almost didn't pass the 50 page rule. While the importance of history along with an exploration of our current society could be considered themes in Glasshouse, it is also sort of cyberpunk/ Film noir/ video game novel. I'm not really a cyberpunk kinda gal. It had me feeling out of sorts and ready to set it aside more than once but then Stross would do something clever that looked promising and I would decide to stick with it. I never really cared what happened to any of the characters. The book did get less annoying as it progressed, but there were still sections where I just wanted it to end. In the end I'd have to say I just didn't care for Glasshouse. I am going to give Stross another try, though, because the parts I thought were good, were very good.
So-So rating - because some people might respond better to this novel

Quotes:

A dark-skinned human with four arms walks toward me across the floor of the club, clad only in a belt strung with human skulls. opening

I pick up my glass for the first time and take a sip of the bitingly cold blue liquid. "You've just spent an entire prehistoric human lifetime as an ice ghoul and people are needling you for having too many arms?" I shake my head. pg. 4

There's a certain type of look some postrehab cases get while they're in the psychopathetic dissociative stage, still reknitting the raveled threads of their personality and memories into a new identity. The insensate anger at the world, the existential hate - often directed at their previously whole self for putting them into this world, naked and stripped of memories - generates its own dynamic. pg. 6

"An experimental society?"

"Yes. We have limited data about many periods in our history. Dark ages have become all too frequent since the dawn of the age of emotional machines....But the cumulative result is that there are large periods of history from which very little information survives that has not been skewed by observational bias. Propaganda, entertainment, and self-image conspire to rob us of accurate depictions, and old age and the need for periodic memory excision rob us of our subjective experiences. pg. 17

"It's a closed community running in a disconnected T-gate manifold. Nobody gets to go in or comes out after it starts running, not until the whole thing terminates." pg. 29

There's no avoiding it now. I'm going to have to take a backup - and then I'm going to have to seek sanctuary inside the Yourdon experiment. As an isolated polity, disconnected from the manifold while the research project runs, it should be about as safe as anywhere can be. Just as long as none of my stalkers are signed up for it..." pg. 37

"The core element in this society is something called the nuclear family. It's a heteromorphic structure based on a male and female living in close quarters, usually with one of them engaging in semi-ritualized labor to raise currency and the other preoccupied with social and domestic chores and child rearing. " pg. 48

Random Reading Challenge

I'm going to participate in the Random Reading Challenge
August 1, 2009 – July 31, 2010

For this challenge, readers will be choosing books randomly, using a random number generator, from their TBR stacks. I'm planning on going for Level III, where I will read 12 books for the challenge

Check out all the rules at Random Reading Challenge

Antarktos Rising

Antarktos Rising by Jeremy Robinson

Variance, 2008

mass market paperback, 453 pages
ISBN-13: 9781935142003

Christian action-adventure/science fiction

very highly recommended

Synopsis:

THE WORLD RACES TO CLAIM A NEW CONTINENT...

A phenomenon known as crustal displacement shifts the Earth's crust, repositioning continents and causing countless deaths. In the wake of the global catastrophe, the world struggles to take care of its displaced billions. But Antarctica, freshly thawed and blooming, has emerged as a new hope. Rather than wage a world war no nation can endure, the leading nations devise a competition, a race to the center of Antarctica, with the three victors dividing the continent.

It is within this race that Mirabelle Whitney, one of the few surviving experts on the continent, grouped with an American special forces unit, finds herself. But the dangers awaiting the team are far worse than feared; beyond the sour history of a torn family, beyond the nefarious intentions of their human enemies, beyond the ancient creatures reborn through anhydrobiosis - there are the Nephilim.

...ONLY TO FIND IT ALREADY TAKEN.

My thoughts:

I really enjoyed Antarktos Rising. This was a perfect summer book. It was almost non-stop action and had me racing through it to see what happened next. This is a Christian apocalyptic end of the world thriller but it's not like the Left Behind series in any way. I would say that it has a Christian world view and it might help you follow the story if you are a Christian, but I also think it is a novel any action/adventure junkie will highly enjoy. There are also definite science fiction elements. It seems that most of the bad reviews of Antarktos Rising are hardly impartial at all because they seem intent to fault it for even mentioning Christianity and for some unrealistic events. Come on, can't Christians experience some action adventure science fiction and mention their faith? And I seem to recall many other novels where even more unrealistic events happened and nary a whine was heard. So, if you like action adventure science fiction and don't mind that a novel doesn't bash Christianity, then I would imagine you will also enjoy Antarktos Rising.

Very Highly Recommended

Quotes:

"Leave the fossil! Follow my voice!"

"What's that noise?"

"Ignore it! We need to find each other!"

Merrill, I -hmph!"

"Aimee? Keep talking so I can find you! Aimee? Aimee!" pg. 2

The temperature shift struck her as odd - a cold front and heat wave battling for supremacy. New England was known for its drastic weather changes, but this variation in temperature during a mid-summer day seemed downright freakish. pg. 13

The old man scanned the world around him. It was white and frozen. His eyes turned back to the whale. Its skin sparkled with frost - it was frozen solid. It was only then that he noticed the biting cold nibbling at his skin. pg. 15

When she looked back, all that was left of the coastline was a small river flowing out of the Piscataqua and a sliver of blue, far on the horizon. The ocean was gone....Whitney realized what must be happening. Tsunami. pg. 23

She saw an illusion. It had to be. A wall of blue and white churning water surged back into view, spilling from the northeast straight for shore. As the wall grew closer, she knew it was real. A tsunami, more massive than she'd ever imagined the phenomenon to be, was headed straight for her home town. pg. 27

Extending out from ten feet below her home's foundation all the way to the horizon was a sheet of ice. Thick flakes of snow fell from the sky. pg. 32

Since 1994, when the first dinosaur remains - a predator named Crylophosaurus - were found on the seventh continent amid fragments of several prey animals, the idea of life flourishing on Antarctica in millennia past was no longer debated....Some believed that a civilization had once thrived on the mainland of the southernmost continent before it froze over. pg. 36-37

He would have continued in this pattern of work, starvation, and prayer until his dying day, but again God disturbed his plans. When he knelt to pray on the night of July 21, just over a year since his return, the ground began to shake. pg. 37

But now the land was brown and gray. The landscape was barren as ever except for the occasional pool of water, but otherwise, as far as he could see, Antarctica was free of ice and there wasn't a volcano in sight.

The continent had thawed. pg. 51

Life was expanding on the thawed Antarctic continent like a sponge toy in a bowl of water. pg. 82

When the Bible says the world was corrupt, it doesn't just mean morally - it's talking genetics. pg. 318

Spellbound

Spellbound
1945

Director: Alfred Hitchcock

Cast: Ingrid Bergman, Gregory Peck, Michael Chekhov, Leo G. Carroll

My Friend Amy's Summer of Hitchcock

Has everyone else watched this wonderful film but me? Where have I been? Dreaming?

Spellbound is a murder mystery solved through psychoanalysis. Ingrid Bergman and Gregory Peck were both simply wonderful. Even though psychoanalysis is no longer practiced as it is portrayed in the film - which makes some of the scenes humorous - Hitchcock's ability as a director to create suspense still makes Spellbound an excellent film. Although I'm not personally a great fan of artist Salvador Dali, it was incredible to see what remained of his dream sequences. Apparently the original ran for twenty minutes, but only part of it was filmed and then most of what was filmed was cut. And, although the movie is in black and white, there were two frames during the climactic scene that were hand-tinted red. Spellbound was nominated for four Academy Awards, including Best Picture, Best Director, and Best Supporting Actor (Michael Chekhov), but won for Miklos Rozsa's score.

Camouflage

Camouflage by Joe Haldeman

Penguin, 2005
ISBN-13: 9780441012527

mass market paperback, 289 pages

science fiction

recommended

Synopsis:

Unknown to anyone, two creatures have wandered the Earth for generations. The aliens have no knowledge of each other: but share a residual memory of a mysterious sunken relic - and an affinity for deep water. One, the changeling, has survived by adaptation, taking the shapes of many different organisms. The other, the chameleon, has survived soley by destroying anything or anyone that threatens it.

Now, finally brought up from the bottom of the sea by marine biologist Russell Sutton, the relic calls to them both... to come home. For all these generations there have been two invincible creatures on Earth. But the chameleon has decided there's only room for one.

My Thoughts:

Camouflage follows three storylines, that of two alien shape shifters and the mystery of a metal artifact bought up from the ocean floor. The story explores what it means to be human, although this is sometimes done in disturbing ways. It is basically a very entertaining and successful novel - until the end, at which point I found it incredulous, unbelievable, and abrupt in comparison to the rest of the story. It is a Nebula Award winner. I'm torn on the rating for this one because of the ending but I'm not going to spoil it and tell you what bothers me. Recommended

Quotes:

The monster came from a swarm of stars that humans call Messier 22, a globular cluster ten thousand light-years distant. opening

A million years before the monster's man is born and its story begins, one such vessel splashes into the Pacific Ocean. It goes deep, following an instinct to hide. the creature that it carried to Earth emerges, assesses the situation, and becomes something appropriate for survival. pg. 2

"The trench is seven miles deep there. The artifact is under another forty feet of sand."

"Earthquake?"

He nodded. "A quarter of a million years ago."

Russ stared at him for a long moment. "Didn't I read about this in an old Stephen King novel?" pg. 6

"We tried to get a sample of the metal for analysis. It broke every drill bit we tried on it."

"Diamond?"

"It's harder than diamond. And massive. We can't estimate its density, because we haven't been able to budge it, let alone lift it." pg. 7

It walked down the beach toward the lights of San Guillermo, a strapping handsome young man, duplicated down to the fingerprints, a process that had taken no thought, but an hour and a half of agony.

But it couldn't speak any human language and its bathing suit was on backward. It walked with a rolling sailor's gait: except for the one it had just killed, every man it had seen for the past century had been walking on board a ship or boat." pg. 10

...he didn't like this boy, and for some reason was afraid of him. Maybe it was his psychiatric residency in the penal system - maybe he was projecting from that unsettling time. But he always felt Jimmy was studying him intently, the way the intelligent prisoners had: what can I get out of this man?

A better psychiatrist might have noticed that the changeling treated everyone that way. pg. 20

I Feel Bad about My Neck

I Feel Bad about My Neck: And Other Thoughts on Being a Woman by Nora Ephron

Random House, 2006

hardcover, 137 pages
ISBN-13: 9780307264558
personal essays

highly recommended

Synopsis

With her disarming, intimate, completely accessible voice, and dry sense of humor, Nora Ephron shares with us her ups and downs in I Feel Bad About My Neck, a candid, hilarious look at women who are getting older and dealing with the tribulations of maintenance, menopause, empty nests, and life itself.

My Thoughts:

I enjoyed I Feel Bad about My Neck, Ephron's short collection of essays. In order to appreciate many of her essays, I think it helps being a bit older and understanding all too well about the neck thing. There are essays that younger readers will enjoy too, particularly "I hate My Purse." When my children were young my purse closely resembled hers and I never had a purse I liked. I will admit that there were parts of her essays that I couldn't relate to at all. She's lived a privileged life, mainly in NYC. She doesn't even blow dry her own hair. She gets her hair done twice a week. And our political views are very different. The last chapter about the death of her good friend was very touching. Highly Recommended - especially for "older" women

Quotes:

I feel bad about my neck. Truly, I do. If you saw my neck, you might feel bad about it too, but you'd probably be too polite to let on. opening

Sometimes I go out to lunch with my girlfriends - I got that far into the sentence and caught myself. I suppose I mean women friends. We are no longer girls and have not been girls for forty years. pg. 4

Oh, the necks. There are chicken necks. there are turkey gobbler necks. There are elephant necks. There are necks with wattles and necks with creases that are on the verge of becoming wattles. There are scrawny necks and fat necks, loose necks, crepey necks, banded necks, wrinkled necks, stringy necks, saggy necks, flabby necks, mottled necks. There are necks that are an amazing combination of all of the above. According to my dermatologist, the neck starts to go at forty-three, and that's that...short of surgery, there's not a damn thing you can do about a neck. The neck is a dead give-away. Our faces are lies and our necks are the truth. pg. 5

His recipes were precise and I followed them to the letter; I was young, and I believed that if you changed even a hair on a recipe's head, it wouldn't turn out right. pg. 21

The point wasn't about the recipes. The point (I was starting to realize) was about putting it together. The point was about making people feel at home, about finding your own style, whatever that was, and committing to it. The point was about giving up neurosis where food was concerned. The point was about finding a way that food fit into your life. pg. 29

Why do people always say you forget the pain of labor? I haven't forgotten the pain of labor. Labor hurt. It hurt a lot. The fact that I am not currently in pain and cannot simulate the pain of labor doesn't mean I don't remember it. pg. 43

I hate that I need reading glasses. I hate that I can't read a word on the map, in the telephone book, on the menu, in the book, or anywhere else without them. pg. 53

I can't believe how real life never lets you down. I can't understand why anyone would write fiction when what actually happens is so amazing. pg. 105

I've just surfaced from spending several days in a state of rapture - with a book. I loved this book. I loved every second of it. I was transported into it's world. I was reminded of all sorts of things in my own life. I was in anguish over the fate of its characters. I felt alive, and engaged, and positively brilliant, bursting with ideas, brimming with memories of other books I've loved. pg. 117

When your children are teenagers, it’s important to have a dog so that someone in the house is happy to see you. pg. 125

Threshold

Threshold by Ben Mezrich

Grand Central Publishing, 1996

massmarket paperback, 336 pages
ISBN-13: 9780446605212

medical thriller

recommended - great summer reading

Synopsis from back cover:

For a lifetime, he has channeled the fear and guilt of a childhood trauma into an impassioned mission to save others. Now, inside seventy-two hours, Jeremy Ross will have to defuse an audacious plot to genetically rewire the human race. And in a heartbeat, allied with an ex-lover on a desperate quest of her own, he'll experience the greatest terror man or woman ever faced - while confronting a threat more devastating than any living creature can imagine.

My thoughts:

I saw Ben Mezrich in an interview where he gave a little shudder over his writing Threshold. I don't know why because, really, it wasn't that bad. It's a good medical thriller, full of action and adventure. Sure, you have to suspend disbelief because many parts aren't realistic, for example the medical student always getting the best of highly trained special agents or managing to clandestinely get a copy of high public officials autopsy report, but it was fast paced and entertaining. No, he's no Crichton, but I thought Mezrich successfully did what he intended.
Recommended - great summer reading fun

Quotes:

Secretary of Defense Warren T. Walker grunted approvingly as thunderous applause swirled through the sea of black gowns and tasseled hats. opening

The medics didn't know - he could see it in their silence. They'd never seen anything like this before: a grown man tearing at his own face, trying to mutilate himself, conscious of his actions but unable to control them. pg. 4-5

In some places the stretchers were seven thick, queued up for a chrome parade. Already the room was bursting at the seams, and it still seemed like the entire city was waiting outside.

A bystander might have assumed that this was the aftermath of some sort of catastrophe - perhaps an earthquake, or a hurricane. But at New York City Hospital's emergency room, this was just another Friday night. pg. 6

The EKG screen looked like Colorado in the summer, filled edge to edge with bright green mountains. pg. 12

He was immediately on guard. Was she in some kind of trouble? What kind of favor couldn't wait until morning? pg. 19

"I was hoping that you could get a look at my father's autopsy report," she said, leaning forward and lowering her voice. "I want to get your opinion on the cause of his death. A lot of what I've read in the newspapers has been confusing and I need to know the truth." pg. 25

Second Genesis

Second Genesis by Jeffrey Anderson

Penguin, July 2006
massmarket paperback, 371 pages

ISBN-13: 9780515141986

recommended

Synopsis from backcover:

Survival is instinct. So is fear.

In a private compound deep in the jungles of the Amazon rain forest, a team of scientists, expert in stem cell engineering, is playing God. With unnerving success. Among them, young biologist Jamie Kendrick is grappling with the implications of the lab's creation - a genetically altered chimpanzee, as intelligent, as soulful, and as sentient as man. It reads. It writes. It reasons. And like man, it hunts.

My thoughts:

Second Genesis was entertaining escapism. It would be a great airplane book. I'll be the first to say that the writing is uneven and illogical jumps seem to take place in the story. The ending is rather abrupt and inconclusive. I thought Anderson did a nice job trying to show the Dr. Frankenstein-like recklessness and arrogance in the scientists secretive genetic modifications of the chimps and addressing the morality and ethics involved in the existence of a human-created sentient creature. While parts of the book are quite intriguing, other parts are lacking.
Recommended - for summer reading fun

Quotes:
Jamie left the commons, kicking a tree root with her boot, and walked toward her research station, built a half mile deeper into the forest.... She had built the entire structure herself 120 feet up on an emergent evergreen tree. It was a fifteen-foot platform lashed in the crook of three sturdy branches. The structure gave her excellent visibility over the lower canopy of the rain forest, including a view of the banks of the Rio Vicioso as it infiltrated the rain forest to join with the Amazon River ten miles downstream. pg. 11

A fence? She looked again. What was a fence doing in the middle of the amazon Jungle?

She picked herself up and limped toward the structure. It wasn't just a fence, but a massive barrier thirty feet high with five feet of barbs at the top that looked as thought they had been lifted out of San Quentin." pg. 13

Slowly, gingerly, the creature emerged from the tree. She completely lost her breath. It was definitely an ape. Anything that big was an Old World Primate.... There was nothing that large in the New World. pg. 16

On the ground, in large block letters facing her, upside down to the chimp, was written, WHO AM I pg. 19

He finally looked her in the eyes, resolutely. "I might consider a limited partnership. I could bring you on as a consulting scientist, and if I see evidence that you can be a team player, have something to offer, your role will expand. I can offer you a small stipend, an office. But this has to be with one condition: this experiment is strictly confidential." pg. 35

And from the acknowledgments:

My editor, Natalee Rosenstein, deserves all credit for turning the manuscript into a beautiful finished project. For all my readers who love a great story but do not spend pleasant nights recapitulating the mathematics of perturbation theory in population strategy spaces for zero-sum games, Natalee is your champion."

Knowing

Knowing

2009; PG-13

Director: Alex Proyas

Cast: Nicolas Cage, Rose Byrne, Chandler Canterbury, Ben Mendelsohn

All Movie Guide: A time capsule containing a cryptic message about the coming apocalypse sends a concerned father on a race to prevent the horrific events from unfolding as predicted in this sci-fi thriller...

We enjoyed Knowing. No spoilers here if you haven't seen the film.

The Children's Blizzard

The Children's Blizzard by David Laskin

HarperCollins, November 2004

hardcover, 307 pages
ISBN-13: 9780060520755
nonfiction

very highly recommended, reread

Synopsis from cover:

January 12, 1888, began as an unseasonably warm morning across Nebraska, the Dakotas, and Minnesota, the weather so mild that children walked to school without coats and gloves. But that afternoon, without warning, the atmosphere suddenly, violently changed. One moment the air was calm; the next the sky exploded in a raging chaos of horizontal snow and hurricane-force winds. Temperatures plunged as an unprecedented cold front ripped through the center of the continent.

By Friday morning, January 13, some five hundred people lay dead on the drifted prairie, many of them children who had perished on their way home from country schools. In a few terrifying hours, the hopes of the pioneers had been blasted by the bitter realities of their harsh environment. Recent immigrants from Germany, Norway, Denmark, and the Ukraine learned that their free homestead was not a paradise but a hard, unforgiving place governed by natural forces they neither understood nor controlled.

With the storm as its dramatic, heartbreaking focal point, The Children's Blizzard captures this pivotal moment in American history by tracing the stories of five families who were forever changed that day. Drawing on family interviews and memoirs, as well as hundreds of contemporary accounts, David Laskin creates an intimate picture of the men, women, and children who made choices they would regret as long as they lived. Here too is a meticulous account of the evolution of the storm and the vain struggle of government forecasters to track its progress.

The blizzard of January 12, 1888, is still remembered on the prairie. Children fled that day while their teachers screamed into the relentless roar. Husbands staggered into the blinding wind in search of wives. Fathers collapsed while trying to drag their children to safety. In telling the story of this meteorological catastrophe, the deadliest blizzard ever to hit the prairie states, David Laskin has produced a masterful portrait of a tragic crucible in the settlement of the American heartland.

My thoughts:

The Children's Blizzard is another one of my favorite non-fiction books. Like Isaac's Storm, it's also another book for weather geeks. This time the weather disaster is the January 12, 1888 blizzard that hit the Great Plains. Since this occurred just 12 years before the Galveston Hurricane, there was present in the national Weather Service infighting, jealousy, and control of information, and another disaster happened without any clear warning sent to the public. Arguably, in this case, even if the storm had been correctly predicted and the information passed on, very few of the people in the vast region the storm hit would have received any notification or warning. Laskin includes information about the immigrants in the region and history on the government's weather service. I thought Laskin, another good writer, did a commendable job in setting the tone and the historical context while leading up to the blizzard and its aftermath.

One of the reasons The Children's Blizzard is a favorite of mine is that I basically know the area of the country in which the blizzard occurred. I recognize the names of towns and can place them not only on a map but can "see" the land surrounding them. My paternal grandparents were Swedish settlers in Nebraska. I also know how quickly the weather can change in the area. I went to college in the Great Plains and vividly recall one day in early Spring where we woke up to warm, short sleeved shirt and shorts weather. Early in the afternoon the weather suddenly began to change, temperatures quickly dropped and we had a huge blizzard that night. Even today you hear stories about motorists thoughtlessly driving into a blizzard and getting stranded in their vehicles. With all our advances in weather forecasting and weather radar, people still need to understand that a natural disaster can occur. They need to take warnings seriously and have a healthy respect for how quickly weather can change rather than assigning blame every where but at themselves. Reread, Very Highly Recommended - one of the best

Summer Lovin' challenge

Quotes:

On January 12, 1888, a blizzard broke over the center of the North American continent. Out of nowhere, a soot gray cloud appeared over the northwest horizon. The air grew still for a long, eerie measure, then the sky began to roar and a wall of ice dust blasted the prairie. opening

Chance is always a silent partner in disaster. Bad luck, bad timing, the wrong choice at a crucial moment, and the door is inexorably shut and barred. The tragedy of the January 12 blizzard was that the bad timing extended across a region and cut through the shared experiences of an entire population. The storm hit the most thickly settled sections of Nebraska and Dakota Territory at the worst possible moment-late in the morning or early in the afternoon on the first mild day in several weeks, a day when children had raced to school with no coats or gloves and farmers were far from home doing chores they had put off during the long siege of cold. pg. 2

One of the many tragedies of that day was the failure of the weather forecasters, a failure compounded of faulty science, primitive technology, human error, narrow-mindedness, and sheer ignorance. America in 1888 had the benefit of an established, well-funded, nationwide weather service attached to the Army and headed by a charismatic general-yet the top priority on any given day was not weather, but political infighting. Forecasters-"indications officers," as they were styled then-insisted their forecasts were correct 83.7 percent of the time for the next twenty-four hours, but they were forbidden to use the word tornado in any prediction; they believed that America's major coastal cities were immune to hurricanes; they relied more on geometry and cartography than on physics in tracking storms; they lacked the means and, for the most part, the desire to pursue meteorological research. pg. 4

Many of the "great storms and waves of intense heat or intense cold" escaped them altogether-or were mentioned in their daily "indications" too late, too vaguely, too timidly to do anyone any good. When it came to "great disasters," they knew far less than they thought knew. pg. 5

The blizzard of January 12, 1888, known as "the Schoolchildren's Blizzard" because so many of the victims were children caught out on their way home from school, became a marker in the lives of the settlers, the watershed event that separated before and after. The number of deaths-estimated at between 250 and 500 -was small compared to that of the Johnstown Flood that wiped out an entire industrial town in western Pennsylvania the following year or the Galveston hurricane of 1900 that left more than eight thousand dead. But it was traumatic enough that it left an indelible bruise on the consciousness of the region. The pioneers were by and large a taciturn lot, reserved and sober Germans and Scandinavians who rarely put their thoughts or feelings down on paper, and when they did avoided hyperbole at all costs. Yet their accounts of the blizzard of 1888 are shot through with amazement, awe, disbelief. pg. 6-7

What follows is the story of this storm and some of the individuals whose lives were forever changed by it. Parents who lost children. Children who lost parents. Fathers who died with their coats and their arms wrapped around their sons. Sisters who lay side by side with their faces frozen to the ground. Teachers who locked the schoolhouse doors to keep their students safe inside or led them to shelter-or to death-when the roofs blew off their one-room schoolhouses. Here, too, is the story of the Army officer paid by his government to predict the evolution of the storm and warn people of its approach. In a sense it is a book about multiple and often fatal collisions - collisions between ordinary people going about their daily lives and the immense unfathomable disturbances of weather. pg. 7

Today a "surprise" storm that killed over two hundred people would instigate a fierce outcry in the press, vigorous official hand-wringing, and a flood of reports by every government agency remotely involved, starting with the National Weather Service. But in the Gilded Age, blame for the suffering attendant on an act of God was left unassigned. Hardly anyone believed that government agencies had either the expertise or the obligation to forestall disaster... pg. 254

Isaac's Storm

Isaac's Storm: A Man, a Time, and the Deadliest Hurricane in History

by Erik Larson
Random House, August 1999
hardcover, 324 pages, including notes, sources, index
ISBN-13: 9780609602331
nonfiction

reread, very highly recommended - one of the best

Synopsis from the publisher:

September 8, 1900, began innocently in the seaside town of Galveston, Texas. Even Isaac Cline, resident meteorologist for the U.S. Weather Bureau failed to grasp the true meaning of the strange deep-sea swells and peculiar winds that greeted the city that morning. Mere hours later, Galveston found itself submerged in a monster hurricane that completely destroyed the town and killed over six thousand people in what remains the greatest natural disaster in American history-and Isaac Cline found himself the victim of a devastating personal tragedy.

Using Cline's own telegrams, letters, and reports, the testimony of scores of survivors, and our latest understanding of the science of hurricanes, Erik Larson builds a chronicle of one man's heroic struggle and fatal miscalculation in the face of a storm of unimaginable magnitude. Riveting, powerful, and unbearably suspenseful, Isaac's Storm is the story of what can happen when human arrogance meets the great uncontrollable force of nature.

My thoughts

Both Wonder Boy (my adult son) and I would put Erik Larson's Isaac's Storm on our lists of top nonfiction books that everyone should read. We often refer to it in conversations. Not only is it about the devastating hurricane that hit Galveston in 1900, but all of the mistakes made that prevented any prediction of a hurricane. It's a brief history of weather forecasting. It's about how hubris and ambition can sometimes prevent accurate gathering of data. It's about how the combination of personalities in the right place allowed the existence of an hurricane to be basically ignored until it made landfall and wiped out an entire city. It's about the deception and misinformation some people perpetrated in order to cover up their errors in the aftermath. It is a nonfiction book with a story so compelling that it reads like fiction. It's a book any weather geek or disaster freak will love.

Now that I've established that I love this book, let me also add that Erik Larson is a good writer. Often in nonfiction books a case can be made that there are "boring" parts, sections of the book that move too slowly, especially when compared to a fiction book. It's a difficult balance to pass along accurate information, historically or technically, while keeping the book itself satisfying and interesting. In Isaac's Storm Erik Larsen was pitch-perfect. Isaac's Storm is Very Highly Recommended - one of the best

(Summer Lovin' Challenge)

Quotes:

September 8, 1900
Throughout the night of Friday, September 7, 1900, Isaac Monroe Cline found himself waking to a persistent sense of something gone wrong. opening

Upon first meeting Isaac, men found him to be modest and self-effacing, but those who came to know him well saw a hardness and confidence that verged on conceit. pg. 4

...Isaac was aware of himself and how he moved through the day, and saw himself as something bigger than a mere recorder of rainfall and temperature. He was a scientist, not some farmer who gauged the weather by aches in a rheumatoid knee. Isaac personally had encountered and explained some of the strangest atmospheric phenomena a weatherman could ever hope to experience, but also had read the works of the most celebrated meteorologists and physical geographers of the nineteenth century, men like Henry Piddington, Matthew Fontaine Maury, William Redfield, and James Espy, and he had followed their celebrated hunt for the Law of Storms. He believed deeply that he understood it all. pg. 4-5

They talked about the weather. A familiar dynamic emerged. Joseph, as the younger brother and junior employee eager to prove himself, made the case too strongly that something peculiar was happening and that Washington must be informed. Isaac, ever confident, told Joseph to get some sleep, that he would take over and assess the situation and if necessary telegraph his findings to headquarters. pg. 10

Where critics most faulted Galveston was for its lack of geophysical presence. The city occupied a long, narrow island....Its highest point, on Broadway, was 8.7 feet above sealevel; its average altitude was half that, so low that with each one-foot increase in tide, the city lost a thousand feet of beach. pg. 12

Many years later he [Isaac] would write, "If we had known then what we know now of these swells, and the tides they create, we would have known earlier the terrors of the storm which these swells...told us in unerring language was coming." pg. 14

He had stumbled into the deadliest storm ever to target America. Within the next twenty-four hours, eight thousand men, women, and children in the city of Galveston would lose their lives. The city itself would lose its future> Isaac would suffer an unbearable loss. And he would wonder always if some of the blame did not belong to him.

This is the story of Isaac and his time in America, the last turning of the centuries, when the hubris of men led them to believe they could disregard even nature itself." pg. 16

Moore and officials of the bureau's West Indies hurricane service had long been openly disdainful of the Cubans. It was an attitude, however, that seemed to mask a deeper fear that Cuba's own meteorologists might in fact be better at predicting hurricanes than the bureau...

Through Dunwoody, Moore persuaded the War Department to ban from Cuba's government owned telegraph lines all cables about the weather....

It was an absurd action. Cuba's meteorologists had pioneered the art of hurricane prediction... pg. 102

[Clara] Barton was accused of withholding clothing....and of squandering money...The Palmetto Post.... called her a vulture. None of it fazed her. The same thing occurred at every disaster she attended. "It is," she wrote, "an unfortunate trait in the human character to assail or asperse others engaged in the performance of humanitarian acts." pg. 256

The Birds

The Birds
1963
Director: Alfred Hitchcock
Cast: Rod Taylor, Tippi Hedren, Jessica Tandy, Suzanne Pleshette



My Friend Amy's The Summer of Hitchcock




The first time I saw The Birds it terrified me much more than Psycho.

What are the chances I'd ever be checking into a run down motel off the beaten path where I'd meet a disturbed mamma's boy? Not good.

What are the chances I'd ever see birds all flocking together in great numbers on telephone wires or a school jungle gym, for example? Almost every blessed day.

That is what is so terrifying. You see birds "innocently" hanging out in a flock daily. By the time I watched Psycho for the first time, I knew there was a terrifying shower scene, but even knowing the birds are going to attack doesn't really prepare you for the reality. It's the flocking, the grouping. We expect to see flocks of birds and we normally ignore them. We know birds hang around in gangs, but how can we tell if or when these gangs might decide to turn to the dark side? I think The Birds, although it does have some blood and gore, is another good example of the story also helping to create the suspense and horror more than the actual blood.

My nephew, Movie Dude, often talks about remaking old classic movies (or even not so old or classic movies). Looking at the movie today and knowing about the many advances made in special effects, I'll admit that the bird attacks don't always look very real. What I'm afraid of in any remake, however, is that the blood, gore, and special effects will be the main emphasis, thus losing all that delicious suspense. Suspense, like in the scene where Tippi is sitting outside the school and every time the camera angle includes the jungle gym behind her... more birds. I feel the terror when the kids are running down the street. I'm not sure if more blood or realistic bird attacks would be an improvement. I've always found the birds terrifying enough just as Hitchcock filmed it.

Germs

Germs: Biological Weapons and America's Secret War

by Judith Miller, William Broad, Stephen Engelberg

Simon & Schuster, September 2001

hardcover, 384 pages (including notes, bibliography, index)

ISBN-13: 9780684871585

nonfiction

very highly recommended

Synopsis

In this groundbreaking work of investigative journalism, Judith Miller, Stephen Engelberg, and William Broad of The New York Times uncover the truth about biological weapons and show why bio-warfare and bio-terrorism are fast becoming our worst national nightmare.

Among the startling revelations in Germs:

* How the CIA secretly built and tested a model of a Soviet-designed germ bomb, alarming some officials who felt the work pushed to the limits of what is permitted by the global treaty banning germ arms.
* How the Pentagon embarked on a secret effort to make a superbug.
* Details about the Soviet Union's massive hidden program to produce biological weapons, including new charges that germs were tested on humans.
* How Moscow's scientists made an untraceable germ that instructs the body to destroy itself.
* The Pentagon's chaotic efforts to improvise defenses against Iraq's biological weapons during the 1991 Persian Gulf War.
* How a religious cult in Oregon in the 1980s sickened hundreds of Americans in a bio-terrorism attack that the government played down to avoid panic and copycat strikes.
* Plans by the U.S. military in the 1960s to attack Cuba with germ weapons.

My Thoughts:

Germs relates frightening information about biological weapons not only today but in recent historical context and clearly shows why this threat continues to justify attention today. Since this book was released in Sept. 2001, we know we are, or were, taking terrorist attacks seriously, but perhaps we are failing to continue to stress the mass chaos biological weapons would cause. Much of the information found in this book is available in other books too so it's easily documented. There has been some discrediting of author Miller since the publication, but none of that deals with the biological weapons programs the Soviets were working on which are covered extensively here. The bottom line is really that we need to be vigilant in seriously considering the threat of biological weapons today. very highly recommended

Quotes:

In December 1997, six years after the Persian Gulf War, the Pentagon announced that it had decided to vaccinate its 2.4 million soldiers and reservists against anthrax. opening

We quickly learned that the anthrax decision was part of a much larger government effort to combat what officials believed was a growing danger from germ weapons. pg. 13

By the end of the outbreak, almost a thousand people had reported symptoms to their doctors or the hospital; 751 were confirmed to have salmonella, making it the largest outbreak in Oregon's history. pg. 19-20

More than a year would pass after the outbreak before Oregonians learned that Rajneeshees had poisoned the town. pg. 23

Such progress had a price, of course. Painstakingly, the germ-development program at Fort Detrick had tested prospective germ weapons on nearly a thousand American soldiers, in sealed chambers and the wilds of the Utah desert. Reaching beyond the military, it had exposed prisoners at the Ohio State Penitentiary, where volunteers were carefully monitored. Clandestinely, it also sprayed American cities with mild germs to investigate the likely impact of deadly pathogens. pg. 35

Germs and warfare are old allies. More than two millennia ago, Scythian archers dipped arrowheads in manure and rotting corpses to increase the deadliness of their weapons. Tatars in the fourteenth century hurled dead bodies foul with plague over the walls of enemy cities. British soldiers during the French and Indian War gave unfriendly tribes blankets sown with smallpox. The Germans in World War I spread glanders, a disease of horses, among the mounts of rival cavalries. The Japanese in World War II dropped fleas infected with plague on Chinese cities, killing hundreds and perhaps thousands of people.

Despite occasional grim successes, germ weapons have never played decisive roles in warfare or terrorism. Unintended infection is another matter. pg. 37-38

"We used to think about the Chinese and the Russians. And if we had known what they were really doing, we would have worked harder." pg. 65

Douglas J. Feith, a senior Pentagon official, told the House Intelligence Committee in August 1986 that Soviet scientists had begun rearranging germs to develop "new means of biological warfare." pg. 82

Graveyard

In the different areas of the country I have lived in as a child and adult, children have always played special games of tag under various names. The children always think that everyone knows their game of tag by the name they have given it. For us, for a time while living in Omaha, Nebraska, that game of tag was called Graveyard.

Graveyard was always played at night during the summer. It required running around our house, starting and ending in the light at the front of the house. The person who was “it” would be in the unlit, dark backyard, lurking, waiting to tag the kids running around the house. This would be the graveyard part of our game. Once tagged you would have to sit on the back step, under the swing set, or whatever area we had designated as the graveyard.

This was a noisy game. Knowing from walking my dogs how deadly quiet my current neighborhood is at night, I wonder why the neighbors put up with Graveyard. Of course, many of them would have had kids participating, but this was a late night game that could not start before 9:30 and normally closer to 10. It “had” to be played during the summer and in the dark. We would have been allowed to play it for at least half an hour. Running around in the dark almost guarantees screaming will be involved. I have a feeling that if my husband, the Snack King, and I decided to whoop it up now and make as much noise as we did back then, we’d get the police called on us for disturbing the peace.

Graveyard was also a game that was ripe for participants to incur injuries. Honestly, a game that requires children to run around a house in the dark almost screams “Be prepared for pain. You will trip and fall, or crash into someone else.” Even now my sister, Hipee (high powered executive) recalls it as being a fun game, as do I. But then I also remember crashing into people and tripping.

Now my brother, ED (El Dictator), was often “it”. I think ED enjoyed running up tagging people and scaring them in the dark. Much like Killer Tricycles, being it during Graveyard put ED in a position of power and control, only this time it was over many neighborhood kids. I seem to recall ED enjoyed doing some pretty vigorous tagging too – more of a smack-down time. Perhaps this is what made Graveyard a fun, daring game because we were really afraid of ED catching and painfully tagging us.

I don’t know if our younger siblings, sister Whiy (whiny) and later PB (pretty boy) ever really experienced a vigorous, serious game of tag played with many people. Of course, by the time they would have been ready to learn Graveyard, we were older. Additionally, in the neighborhood we were living in at that time there definitely would have been complaints over the late night noise.

I guess we could still try to introduce Graveyard to them at some family reunion, but I don’t know how that would work out. For the game to be fun we’d need a lot of participants. Everyone would have to play. I know the much younger PB, along with all our children, could run circles around the rest of us. And although Hipee and I might give it a go and do our best, Whiy would likely try to beg out of the game. Of course, ED’s getting old now and we could probably all relatively easily escape his clutches. Unless someone yells, “Coffee!” or “Peanut butter balls!” I don’t think he even runs anymore. It sort of makes playing Graveyard pointless, once the thrill of victory and agony of defeat have been eliminated…. Unless, of course, we were holding the coffee or peanut butter balls and ED had to chase us to get them. Hmmmm… thinking, thinking….

Roots

Roots by Alex Haley

Dell, 1976

massmarket paperback, 729 pages

ISBN-10: 0440174643

family saga

very highly recommended

From the Publisher

One of the most important books and television series ever to appear, Roots, galvanized the nation, and created an extraordinary political, racial, social and cultural dialogue that hadn't been seen since the publication of Uncle Tom's Cabin. The book sold over one million copies in the first year, and the miniseries was watched by an astonishing 130 million people. It also won both the Pulitzer Prize and the National Book Award. Roots opened up the minds of Americans of all colors and faiths to one of the darkest and most painful parts of America's past.

Over the years, both Roots and Alex Haley have attracted controversy, which comes with the territory for trailblazing, iconic books, particularly on the topic of race. Some of the criticism results from whether Roots is fact or fiction and whether Alex Haley confused these two issues, a subject he addresses directly in the book. There is also the fact that Haley was sued for plagiarism when it was discovered that several dozen paragraphs in Roots were taken directly from a novel, The African, by Harold Courlander, who ultimately received a substantial financial settlement at the end of the case.

My thoughts:

Roots is very highly recommended. I really should have read it sooner .

I'm not going to address the plagiarism and all the other controversies surrounding Roots and Alex Haley's genealogy research, other than to say that it reinforces the absolute necessity for writers to credit any and all sources they use for their books, even fiction, and there would have been no shame in admitting parts of his lineage were true and parts were unknown speculation. I read Roots knowing about the issues surrounding it and still would say that it is a book well worth reading.

Quotes:

Early in the spring of 1750, in the village of Juffure, four days upriver from the coast of The Gambia, West Africa, a manchild was born to Omoro and Binta Kinte. opening

While Binta planted her onions, yams, gourds, cassava, and bitter tomatoes, little Kunta spent his days romping under the watchful eyes of the several old grandmothers who took care of all the children of Juffure who belonged to the first kafo, which included those under five rains of age. pg. 18

No matter how bad anything was, Nyo Boto would always remember a time when it was worse. pg. 21

Kunta's home-training had been so strict that, it seemed to him, his every move drew Binta's irritated finger-snapping - if, indeed, he wasn't grabbed and soundly whipped. pg. 31

That afternoon the harmattan wind began. It wasn't a hard wind, nor even a gusty wind, either of which would have helped. Instead it blew softly and steadily, dusty and dry, day and night, for nearly half a moon. As it did each time it came, the constant blowing of the harmattan wore away slowly at the nerves of the people of Juffure. And soon Parents were yelling more often than usual at their children, and whipping them for no good reason. pg. 57

So frightened was Lamin by his father's talk of slave-taking and white cannibals that he awakened Kunta several times that night with his bad dreams. pg. 73

"When you return home," said the kintango, "you will begin to serve Juffure as its eyes and ears. You will be expected to stand guard over the village - beyond the gates as lookouts for toubob [white man] and other savages, and in the fields as sentries to keep the crops safe from scavengers. You will also be charged with the responsibility of inspecting the woman's cooking pots - including those of your own mothers - to make sure they are kept clean, and you will be expected to reprimand them most severely if any dirt or insects are found inside." The boys could hardly wait to begin their duties. Pg. 123

Kunta wondered if he had gone mad. Naked, chained, shackled, he awoke on his back between two other men in a pitch darkness full of steamy heat and sickening stink and a nightmarish bedlam of shrieking, weeping, and vomiting. pg. 166

To the best of my knowledge and of my effort, every lineage statement within Roots is from either my African or American families' carefully preserved oral history, much of which I have been able conventionally to corroborate with documents. Those documents along with the myriad textural details....have come from years of intensive research.....Since I wasn't around....by far most of the dialogue and most of the incidents are of necessity a novelized amalgam of what I know took place together with what my researching led me to plausibly feel took place. pg. 726-727

Nest building

It was a giant work of art, a true thing of beauty that was intricately constructed out of natural materials. There were really only two problems with it. First, it was a giant bird’s nest of the likes you’ve only imagined, and second it was built on a neighbor’s patio - a neighbor who had moved out and was trying to sell their house.

I don’t know who first thought of it, but one summer my best friend, Scott, and I decided to build a bird’s nest. It was going to be a giant bird’s nest constructed out of mud, grass, clay, sticks, leaves, and any other natural materials we could find. When trying to find the perfect spot to construct our bird’s nest, we decided the best place, the most private, secluded site would be the patio of the house next door. It had a nice thick hedge all around the back yard for privacy. The house was empty, for sale, and quiet. In short, it was an ideal location.

This was before Sesame Street, so it’s not like we were thinking about Big Bird. If anything we would have been thinking a robin, at first, and then maybe an eagle, just because, or perhaps, eventually some prehistoric bird. I know the size of the nest to begin with was quite modest, the size of a normal bird's nest, only much sturdier and heavier because of all the mud and clay we used. Then Scott and I got busy and that nest building project took on a life of it’s own. It sort of helped us see how other big construction projects may have started with just an idea to build something nice, like a pyramid shaped marker for example, and then suddenly became a huge undertaking that required slave labor.

There were no slaves around, unless we talked younger siblings into helping, and we really only trusted each other with our top-secret bird’s nest project. This meant that we had to rely on each other for the construction. The thing is that we were both hard workers and very diligent and industrious. While we kept tirelessly working on it, that bird’s nest kept growing and growing. Eventually it was large enough that we could sit in it, if we wanted to. It was magnificent. It was a superb feat of construction and imagination. We were very proud of our accomplishment.

Just like many things that are truly so good and great that you can’t keep them a secret, our top-secret bird’s nest project was discovered. I wish I could tell you that it was found by a naturalist, or art gallery owner, or Marlin Perkins and the Mutual of Omaha Wild Kingdom film crew, but, alas, we had to get discovered by a realtor, a realtor who was not amused or in awe of our great summer art project. No, this was a realtor who wanted the mess cleaned up right away. This was a realtor with a hose and a shovel and an attitude.

Before we could even confess that we had made the huge, gigantic bird’s nest, it was no more. I wish someone had tried to find out whose nest it was and asked if we wanted pictures taken of it before it’s demise, but I don’t think that thought crossed anyone’s mind. Great artists are often misunderstood. The cursed realtor cleaned it up, and at least a month’s worth of work was gone, hauled away in several large garbage cans, I would imagine, depriving the world of something that was truly unique and grand.

Psycho

Psycho

1960
Director: Alfred Hitchcock

Starring: Anthony Perkins, Janet Leigh

My friend Amy's the Summer of Hitchcock.

Alfred Hitchcock in the transcript for the documentary "The Making of Psycho":

Good evening. I have some news that will delight you. Murder is not dead. I do not refer to the ones splashed all over the front pages. Those are in such bad taste. I refer to those exquisite murders that have a touch of the bizarre and which take fiendish ingenuity to solve. Those are alive and well. One will be presented for your shivering delight immediately.

I was surprised to learn that Hitchcock wanted to film Psycho in black and white because he wanted to make a low budget movie for under a million dollars (it only cost $800,000 to make). Additionally, he felt it would be too bloody in color. It's still impressive how he made the shower scene horrific and memorable without resulting to the gory scenes you would likely see in most other horror movies. Psycho still proves that in a good horror movie the gore and violence should always be secondary to the real terror found in the telling of the story.
Since I have seen Psycho several times before, I was also quite aware of how the musical score by Bernard Herrman really influences you when you watch the action in the whole movie. At the beginning, when Marion is running, the music makes you feel hurried, nervous, tense that something is about to happen, for example with the police officer following her. Compared to the tension created by the cop, Norman seems socially awkward, but safe.

Psycho still has the power to terrify you even when you know what's going to happen.

All those who still get a chill every time they step into a hotel shower, say aye. That, you see, is the power of Psycho. - Salon.com

Watership Down

Watership Down by Richard Adams

Scribner Classics 1996, originally published in 1972

Hardcover, 448 pages
ISBN-13: 978-0684836058

modern classic/fantasy

very highly recommended / reread

From the Cover:

Set in the once idyllic rural landscape of the south of England, Watership Down follows a band of very special creatures on their flight from the intrusion of man and the certain destruction of their home. Led by the doughty Hazel and his oracular brother Fiver, they journey forth from their native Sandleford Warren through the harrowing trials posed by predators, hostile warrens, and worse, to a mysterious promised land known only to them as Watership Down. From their travails, they forge a more perfect society, made stronger by the vision that drives them.

A stirring tale of adventure and an imaginative tour de force that conjours up a world and its folklore with the force of myth, Watership Down is a modern classic. Through its masterful storytelling, it stands for all time as a powerful parable about society and its relation to the natural world.

My Thoughts:

Watership Down is truly a classic epic adventure that is also an allegory. If you have never read it don't let the fact that it is a story "about rabbits" stop you. It's so much more than that. Having read the book originally in paperback back in the 70's and several times since then, I am surprised to see it now being categorized as children's literature. I would certainly never say that about Watership Down. It is a book for adults that children may also enjoy. Certainly an adult with the literary background in folk stories and cultural mythology is going to gain a great deal more from the story than the younger reader. Perhaps this is one of those books that you can encourage children to read and then hopefully they will go back and read it again as an adult. I've reread Watership Down (again) for the Summer Lovin' Challenge.

Very Highly Recommended - one of the very best

Quotes:

The primroses were over. Toward the edge of the wood, where the ground became open and sloped down to an old fence and a brambly ditch beyond, only a few fading patches of pale yellow still showed among the dog's mercury and the oak-tree roots. On the other side of the fence, the upper part of the field was full of rabbit holes. In places the grass was gone altogether and everywhere there were clusters of dry droppings, through which nothing but the ragwort would grow. A hundred yards away, at the bottom of the slope, ran the brook, no more than three feet wide, half choked with kingcups, watercress and blue brooklime. The cart track crossed by a brick culvert and climbed the opposite slope to a five-barred gate in the thorn hedge. The gate led into the lane. pg. 3

"Fiver?" said the other rabbit. "Why's he called that?"

"Five in the litter, you know: he was the last -- and the smallest. You'd wonder nothing had got him by now. I always say a man couldn't see him and a fox wouldn't want him. Still, I admit he seems to be able to keep out of harm's way."The small rabbit came closer to his companion, lolloping on long hind legs.

"Let's go a bit further, Hazel," he said. "You know, there's something queer about the warren this evening, although I can't tell exactly what it is. Shall we go down to the brook?" pg. 4-5

"Oh, Hazel! This is where it comes from! I know now - something very bad! Some terrible thing - coming closer and closer."

He began to whimper with fear. pg. 6

It was Hazel who replied. "Fiver and I will be leaving the warren tonight," he said deliberately. "I don't know exactly where we shall go, but we'll take anyone who's ready to come with us."

"Right," said Bigwig, "then you can take me."

The last thing Hazel had expected was the immediate support of a member of the Owsla. pg. 13

To rabbits, everything unknown is dangerous. The first reaction is to startle, the second to bolt. Again and again they startle, until they were close to exhaustion. But what did these sounds mean and where, in this wilderness, could they bolt to? pg. 21

"No, we need to cross the river, Hazel, so that we can get into those fields - and on beyond them too. I know what we ought to be looking for - a high, lonely place with dry soil, where rabbits can see and hear all round and men hardly ever come. Wouldn't that be worth a journey?" pg. 30

One watch succeeded another through the day, though how the rabbits judged the passing of the time is something that civilized human beings have lost the power to feel. Creatures that have neither clocks nor books are alive to all manner of knowledge about time and the weather; and about direction, too, as we know from their extraordinary migratory and homing journeys. The changes in the warmth and dampness of the soil, the falling of the sunlight patches, the altering movement of the beans in the light wind, the direction and strength of the aircurrents along the ground - all these were perceived by the rabbit awake. pg. 40

Fiver gave no sign of having heard him. He seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. When he spoke again, it was as though he were talking to himself. "There's a thick mist between the hills and us. I can't see through it, but through it we shall have to go. Or into it anyway."

"A mist?" said Hazel. "What do you mean?"

"We're in for some mysterious trouble," whispered Fiver, "and it's not elil. It feels more like - like mist. Like being deceived and losing our way." pg. 47

Mostly Harmless

Mostly Harmless by Douglas Adams

(Hitchhiker's Guide Series #5)

originally published in 1992

My copy was a trade paperback, 277 pages

ISBN-13: 9780345418777
recommended

From the Publisher

It’s easy to get disheartened when your planet has been blown up, the woman you love has vanished due to a misunderstanding about space/time, the spaceship you are on crashes on a remote and Bob-fearing planet, and all you have to fall back on are a few simple sandwich-making skills. However, instead of being disheartened, Arthur Dent makes the terrible mistake of starting to enjoy life a bit–and immediately all hell breaks loose.

Hell takes a number of forms: there’s the standard Ford Prefect version, in the shape of an all-new edition of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, and a totally unexpected manifestation in the form of a teenage girl who startles Arthur Dent by being his daughter when he didn’t even know he had one.

Can Arthur save the Earth from total multidimensional obliteration? Can he save the Guide from a hostile alien takeover? Can he save his daughter, Random, from herself? Of course not. He never works out exactly what is going on. Will you?

My thoughts:

This book ends the series as "the fifth in the increasingly inaccurate named Hitchhiker's Trilogy" and this is the one book I had not previously read before (and do not own in the original paperback). A couple thoughts immediately spring to mind. First, although I'm glad I did it, I have hitchhiker's burnout. Additionally, I still think the first book was the best. Mostly Harmless is a fine effort and ends the series. Written so long after the others, Mostly Harmless didn't quite have the same tone. Remember to read the books in order if you are planning to read the series. Douglas Adams (March 11, 1952 – May 11, 2001) died at age 49 from a heart attack.
Recommended - especially if you're reading the whole series.

Quotes:

The history of the Galaxy has got a little muddled, for a number of reasons: partly because those who are trying to keep track of it have gotten a little muddled, but also because some very muddling things have been happening anyway. opening

One of the extraordinary things about life is the sort of places it's prepared to put up with living....It will even live in New York, though it's hard to know why. In the wintertime the temperature falls well below the legal minimum, or rather it would do if anyone had the common sense to set a legal minimum. The last time anybody made a list of the top hundred character attributes of New Yorkers, common sense snuck in at number 79. pg. 17

She was a rapidly rising anchor. she had what it took: great hair, a profound understanding of strategic lip gloss, the intelligence to understand the world and a tiny secret interior deadness which meant she didn't care. Everybody has their moment of great opportunity in life. If you happen to miss the one you care about, then everything else in life becomes eerily easy. pg. 19

"You seem very angry and unhappy about something to do with stars and planets when we were having our discussion, and it's been bothering me, which is why I came to see if you were all right." pg. 31

...she reflected that if there was one thing life had taught her, it was that there are some times when you do not go back for your bag and other times when you do. It had yet to teach her to distinguish between the two types of occasions. pg. 39

So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish

So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish by Douglas Adams

(Hitchhiker's Guide Trilogy #4)

originally published in 1984

massmarket paperback 204 pages

ISBN-13: 9780345391834

reread

From the Publisher

Back on Earth with nothing more to show for his long, strange trip through time and space than a ratty towel and a plastic shopping bag, Arthur Dent is ready to believe that the past eight years were all just a figment of his stressed-out imagination. But a gift-wrapped fishbowl with a cryptic inscription, the mysterious disappearance of Earth’s dolphins, and the discovery of his battered copy of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy all conspire to give Arthur the sneaking suspicion that something otherworldly is indeed going on.

My Thoughts

My reread of the Hitchhiker's series continues with book 4 of the trilogy for the Summer Lovin' Challenge. (If interested in this series you need to read them in order.) highly recommended

Quotes:

"Hold on!" the figure called, waving at the ship.

The steps, which had started to fold themselves back through the hatchway, stopped, re-unfolded, and allowed him back in.

He emerged again a few seconds later carrying a battered and threadbare towel which he shoved into the bag. pg. 5

Rob McKenna had two hundred and thirty-one different types of rain entered in his little book, and he didn't like any of them. pg. 8

And as he drove on, the rain clouds dragged down the sky after him for, though he did not know it, Rob McKenna was a Rain God. All he knew was that his working days were miserable and he had a succession of lousy holidays. All the clouds knew was that they loved him and wanted to be near him, to cherish him and to water him. pg. 10

Whether it was because he was drunk, ill, or suicidal insane would not have been apparent to a casual observer, and indeed there were no casual observers in the Old Pink Dog Bar on the lower south side of Han Dold City because it wasn't the sort of place you could afford to do things casually in if you wanted to stay alive. Any observers in the place would have been mean, hawklike observers, heavily armed, with painful throbbings in their heads which caused them to do crazy things when they observed things they didn't like.

One of those nasty hushes had descended on the place, a missile crisis sort of hush.

Even the evil-looking bird perched on a rod in the bar had stopped screeching out the names and addresses of local contract killers, which was a service it provided for free.

All eyes were on Ford Perfect. Some of them were on stalks.

The particular way in which he was choosing to dice recklessly with death today was by trying to pay for a drinks bill the size of a small defense budget with an American Express card, which was not acceptable anywhere in the known Universe. pg. 14

Life, the Universe and Everything

Life, the Universe and Everything by Douglas Adams

(Hitchhiker's Guide trilogy #3)

originally published in 1982

massmarket paperback, 227 pages

ISBN-13: 9780345391827

reread

From the Publisher

Why is it a mistake to think you can solve any major problems just with potatoes?
How the planet Krikkit, hostile to anything that is not Krikkit, comes to be encased in a Slo-time envelope...
Why Arthur Dent has such an urgent wish to return the Ashes to Lord's Cricket Ground, and why a can of Greek olive oil becomes his most prized possession, symbolizing as it does the oneness of things...

How the Campaign for Real Time is determined to reverse the erosion of the differences between one century and another caused by easy time travel...

Follow Arthur Dent on a day which begins with his visit from Wowbagger the Infinitely Prolonged (whose goal is to insult everyone in the universe - alphabetically) and ends with the Truth, the Whole Truth and Nothing but the Truth - which turns out to have entirely too much to do with frogs.

My thoughts:
My reread of the Hitchhiker's trilogy continues for the Summer Lovin' Challenge. (If interested in this series you need to read them in order.) highly recommended

Quotes:

The regular early morning yell of horror was the sound of Arthur Dent waking up and suddenly remembering where he was. opening

"For those of you who have just tuned in, you may be interested to know that, er...two men, two rather scruffily attired men, and indeed a sofa - a Chesterfield I think?"

"Yes, a Chesterfield."

"Have just materialized here in the middle of Lord's Cricket Ground. But I don't think they meant any harm, they've been very good natured about it, and..."

"Sorry, can I interrupt you a moment, Peter, and say that the sofa has just vanished."

"So it has. Well, that's one mystery less. Still, it's one for the record books I think, particularly occurring at this dramatic moment in play, England now needing only twenty-four runs to win the series. The men are leaving the pitch in the company of a police officer, and I think everyone's settling down now and the play is about to resume." pg. 21

Arthur's consciousness approached his body as from a great distance, and reluctantly. It had had some bad times in there. Slowly, nervously, it entered and settled down into its accustomed position. pg. 22

"It isn't my towel," insisted Arthur, "that is the point I am trying to..."

"And the time I which I would like you to shut up about it," continued Ford in a low growl, "is now,"

"All right," said Arthur, starting to stuff it back into the primitively stitched rabbit-skin bag. "I realize that it is probably not important in the cosmic scale of things, it's just odd, that's all. A pink towel suddenly, instead of a blue one with yellow stars." pg. 25

Bistromathics itself is simply a revolutionary new way of understanding the behavior of numbers....it is now realized that numbers are not absolute, but depend on the observer's movement in restaurants..... Numbers written on restaurant checks within the confines of restaurants do not follow the same mathematical laws as numbers written on any other piece of paper in any other part of the universe. pg. 45-46

The Restaurant at the End of the Universe

The Restaurant at the End of the Universe by Douglas Adams

(Hitchhiker's Guide Series #2)

originally published in 1980

massmarket paperback, 250 pages

ISBN-13: 9780345391810

From the Publisher

Facing annihilation at the hands of the warlike Vogons is a curious time to have a craving for tea. It could only happen to the cosmically displaced Arthur Dent and his curious comrades in arms as they hurtle across space powered by pure improbability—and desperately in search of a place to eat.
Among Arthur's motley shipmates are Ford Prefect, a longtime friend and expert contributor to the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy; Zaphod Beeblebrox, the three-armed, two-headed ex-president of the galaxy; Tricia McMillan, a fellow Earth refugee who's gone native (her name is Trillian now); and Marvin, the moody android who suffers nothing and no one very gladly. Their destination? The ultimate hot spot for an evening of apocalyptic entertainment and fine dining, where the food (literally) speaks for itself.
Will they make it? The answer: hard to say. But bear in mind that the Hitchhiker's Guide deleted the term "Future Perfect" from its pages, since it was discovered not to be!

My thoughts:

Book 2 in the Hitchhikers series continues the hilarious, improbably adventure. I've re-read my original Pocket Books paperback for the summer lovin' challenge. Very Highly Recommended

Quotes:

"There is a theory which states that if ever anyone discovers exactly what the Universe is for and why it is here, it will instantly disappear and be replaced by something even more bizarre and inexplicable.

There is another which states that this has already happened." opening

Like all Vogon ships it looked as if it had been not so much designed as congealed. The unpleasant yellow lumps and edifices which protruded from it at unsightly angles would have disfigured the looks of most ships, but in this case that was sadly impossible. Uglier things have been spotted in the skies, but not by reliable witnesses.

In fact to see anything much uglier than a Vogon ship you would have to go inside it and look at a Vogon. pg. 4

"A personal friend?" inquired the Vogon, who had heard the expression somewhere once and decided to try it out.

"Ah, no," said Halfrunt, "in my profession you know, we do not make personal friends."

"Ah," grunted the Vogon, "professional detachment."

"No," said Halfrunt cheerfully, "we just don't have the knack." pg. 7

Nevertheless, he felt much more comfortable with them on. They were a double pair of Joo Janta 200 Super-Chromatic Peril Sensitive Sunglasses, which had been specially designed to help people develop a relaxed attitude to danger. At the first hint of trouble they turned totally black and thus prevented you from seeing anything that might alarm you. pg. 35

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams

(Hitchhiker's Guide Series #1)

Originally published in 1979

massmarket paperback, 215 pages

ISBN-13: 9780345391803

This cover looks like my original paperback cover

Synopsis:

Don't leave Earth without this hilarious international bestseller about the end of the world and the happy-go-lucky days that follow...about the worst Thursday that ever happened and why the Universe is a lot safer if you bring a towel.

My thoughts:

This is one hilarious science fiction book that must be read to be appreciated. I have the original Pocket Books paperbacks. As my son Wonder Boy says, "They are the literary equivalent of Monty Python." Re-read for the Summer Lovin' challenge. Very Highly Recommended

Quotes:

“Appropriate time?” hooted Arthur. “Appropriate time? The first I knew about it was when a workman arrived at my home yesterday. I asked him if he’d come to clean the windows and he said no, he’d come to demolish the house. He didn’t tell me straight away of course. Oh no. First he wiped a couple of windows and charged me a fiver. Then he told me.”

“But Mr. Dent, the plans have been available in the local planning office for the last nine months.”

“Oh yes, well, as soon as I heard I went straight round to see them, yesterday afternoon. You hadn’t exactly gone out of your way to call attention to them, had you? I mean, like actually telling anybody or anything.”

“But the plans were on display . . .”

“On display? I eventually had to go down to the cellar to find them.”

“That’s the display department.”

“With a flashlight.”

“Ah, well, the lights had probably gone.”

“So had the stairs.”

“But look, you found the notice, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” said Arthur, “yes I did. It was on display in the bottom of a locked filing cabinet stuck in a disused lavatory with a sign on the door saying ‘Beware of the Leopard.’” pg. 9-10

By a curious coincidence, “None at all” is exactly how much suspicion the ape-descendant Arthur Dent had that one of his closest friends was not descended from an ape, but was in fact from a small planet somewhere in the vicinity of Betelgeuse and not from Guildford as he usually claimed.

Arthur Dent had never, ever suspected this.

This friend of his had first arrived on the planet Earth some fifteen Earth years previously, and he had worked hard to blend himself into Earth society—with, it must be said, some success. For instance, he had spent those fifteen years pretending to be an out-of-work actor, which was plausible enough.

He had made one careless blunder though, because he had skimped a bit on his preparatory research. The information he had gathered had led him to choose the name “Ford Prefect” as being nicely inconspicuous.pg. 11

Ford Prefect was desperate that any flying saucer at all would arrive soon because fifteen years was a long time to get stranded anywhere, particularly somewhere as mind-bogglingly dull as the Earth.

Ford wished that a flying saucer would arrive soon because he knew how to flag flying saucers down and get lifts from them. He knew how to see the Marvels of the Universe for less than thirty Altairian dollars a day.

In fact, Ford Prefect was a roving researcher for that wholly remarkable book, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. pg. 13

Arthur remained very worried.

“But can we trust him?” he said.

“Myself I’d trust him to the end of the Earth,” said Ford.

“Oh yes,” said Arthur, “and how far’s that?”

“About twelve minutes away,” said Ford, “come on, I need a drink.” pg. 20

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy has a few things to say on the subject of towels.

A towel, it says, is about the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitchhiker can have. Partly it has great practical value. You can wrap it around you for warmth as you bound across the cold moons of Jaglan Beta; you can lie on it on the brilliant marble-sanded beaches of Santraginus V, inhaling the heady sea vapors; you can sleep under it beneath the stars which shine so redly on the desert world of Krakrafoon; use it to sail a miniraft down the slow heavy River Moth; wet it for use in hand-to-hand combat; wrap it around your head to ward off the noxious fumes or avoid the gaze of the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal (a mind bogglingly stupid animal, it assumes that if you can't see it, it can't see you - daft as a brush, but very, very ravenous); you can wave your towel in emergencies as a distress signal, and of course dry yourself off with it if it still seems to be clean enough.

More importantly, a towel has immense psychological value. For some reason, if a strag (strag: nonhitchhiker) discovers that a hitchhiker has his towel with him, he will automatically assume that he is also in possession of a toothbrush, washcloth, soap, tin of biscuits, flask, compass, map, ball of string, gnat spray, wet-weather gear, space suit etc.,etc....What the strag will think is that any man who can hitch the length and breadth of the Galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, win through and still know where his towel is, is clearly a man to be reckoned with.

Hence a phrase that has passed into hitchhiking slang, as in 'Hey, you sass that hoopy Ford Prefect? There's a frood who really knows where his towel is.' pg. 27-28

4th of July

While most people in my family love the 4th of July, I’ll have to admit it isn’t my favorite holiday. I like the parades, picnics, homemade ice cream, and family gatherings held to celebrate Independence Day, but I can do without the fireworks. Unfortunately going without fireworks was only an option during the years we lived in Nevada and they were illegal and scary due to the fire danger. Basically, it feels like everyone that I’m related to is a pyromaniac.

My Dad is a pyro going way back to his childhood. Even though they were dirt poor, he and his twin brother would save up their very hard to come by money all year so they could send away for fireworks. When we were young he always managed to find the money for fireworks. It’s safe to say that the fireworks are what make the 4th a great holiday for Dad.

This meant that my childhood was filled with explosions on every 4th. While I did okay and enjoyed, for brief periods, lighting the little firecrackers, smoke bombs, and snakes during the day, I disliked the big booms and sparks that happened at night. I enjoy the pretty colors in the large displays, but that enjoyment was always bittersweet since the big booms always accompanied them. I hated and despised sparklers. Still do. Who in their right mind wants to hold a piece of metal that you light in order to experience it throwing stinging sparks off onto your arm and hand while you have to be careful holding it because now it is burning hot metal? In my mind the new sparklers are still just as evil and dangerous.

My husband, The Snack King, also loves fireworks. Naturally, he fits right in with my family. Years ago, I’m sure the statute of limitations applies now and he is safe from prosecution, he got his hands on some M-80’s or cherry bombs. We were out at some relatives on his side, on a farm in the country. I will not divulge the state. The Snack King used these cherry bombs to blow up various cans and things - resulting in huge, fantastic booms and explosions.

My son, Wonder Boy, carries on the tradition. For awhile we lived out in the country on an acreage in a state that allowed fireworks for a week before the fourth. There were far fewer restrictions for rural areas. Wonder Boy would spend the whole week lighting off fireworks. He grudgingly took time off to see family, and then went right back to fireworks as soon as he possibly could. Wonder Boy invented a smoke bomb cannon, where he used a firecracker to shoot a smoke bomb through a piece of pipe. This was one of his more tame inventions.

During this time we lived near my parents. My dad, Grandpa, would be out with Wonder Boy for at least one whole day, lighting off fireworks and blowing things up. The summer before we moved to Nevada there was a drought. It was very dry. I warned Wonder Boy and Dad to be careful, try to stay on the gravel drive with their fireworks, and keep the hoses ready. Imagine my shock when I looked out the front window and saw a big black patch of grass. Wonder Boy and Grandpa had moved on to exploding things in the backyard. They had left something burning and I had a smoldering patch of grass, slowly burning, in my front yard. I manned the hose and, after it was out, yelled at both of them. They sheepishly took the abuse and promised to be more careful.

Hipee likes watching fireworks. I don’t know how keen she is on lighting them. This could be due to her firecracker accident. We all laughed uproariously when it happened, but really, the poor girl hurt herself. The accident happened when we were all standing on the street curb in front of our house in a city. We were lighting off little firecrackers and throwing them into the street to explode. We all had our own punks, a slow burning stick used for lighting firework fuses. Hipee was excited, hopping around, lighting and throwing firecrackers. Then she lit her firecracker but threw the punk. The firecracker blew up in her hand. She cried. We laughed at her. Mom yelled at us and took care of Hipee’s hurt hand. (Even then… lucky to be alive.)

I spent the last 4th happily alone, walking the dogs and protecting them from the fireworks going off in the neighborhood. It seemed like the cop across the street was competing with the guy 2 doors up, who was competing with the neighbors across the street from them. Our street was very noisy. The dogs and I were all understandably nervous with the number of explosions surrounding the house. They did their business quickly, much to all our relief, when we went out. This 4th will be spent the same way, but with an added twist. While the rest of my family heads off for fireworks fun with extended family, I’ll be having a root canal. The long weekend will be spent recovering, reading, walking dogs, consoling dogs during the big booms, and making several batches of soup.

The Black Dahlia

The Black Dahlia by James Ellroy

Grand Central Publishing, 1987

this edititon 2006 trade paperback

ISBN-13: 9780446698870

did not finish - (148 pages)

Synopsis

On January 15, 1947, the torture-ravished body of a beautiful young woman is found in a vacant lot. The victim makes headlines as the Black Dahlia–and so begins the greatest manhunt in California history.

Caught up in the investigation are Bucky Bleichert and Lee Blanchard. Both are obsessed with the Dahlia–driven by dark needs to know everything about her past, to capture her killer, to possess the woman even in death. Their quest will take them on a hellish journey through the underbelly of postwar Hollywood, to the core of the dead girl’s twisted life, past the extremes of their own psyches–into a region of total madness.

My thoughts:

This was a reread and for some reason I simply could not get past 150 pages this time.