The Great Gatsby

This book is beautiful. The words themselves are stunning.

Like everyone else, I read this book for the first time in high school, under duress. The only thing I remember was that I was glad it was short. I picked it back up again because my best friend suggested I read F. Scott Fitzgerald's short stories. I found those to be almost personal affronts, because every single story seemed to be about people bursting with youth and vitality. In fact, their defining characteristics were naivete, beauty and wealth. Since I was at the time feeling particularly old, homely and broke, I didn't feel like reading about those rich young bastards.

Almost everyone in the Great Gatsby is around 30, so I immediately felt better.

The writing is so elegant and effortless. Every descriptive phrase Fitzgerald uses feels fresh. There is no trite "inky black night" or "laughter like bells" here. There is a kind of magic to his words.

Since I don't get a lot of sleep, I'm having trouble articulating exactly what it is about this book that I found so enchanting. I will tell you one thing, the next book I read will most definitely not be about ill fated love. I'm going to read some non fiction about whales or physics principles, because this is emotionally draining.

Gist: Gatsby has loved Daisy since his youth and plots to reconnect/impress her/win her love. Spoiler: It does not go as planned.

These desperate, selfish people made me sad. Things are going in a horrible, awkward direction but clearly there will be no changing course. You are embarrassed FOR the characters... this has never happened to me as a reader before. It made me literally uncomfortable. Like I was seeing something I shouldn't be seeing.

Read it if you like lovely sentence structure and aren't looking for a happy ending.

Brief conversations with folks I meet.

Scene: a yard sale, where there is a bookcase for sale that is exactly like one we already have.

Players: me, and some guy with a poor idea about how to price things at a yard sale.

Hanna: Hi! Is the bookcase still for sale?

Seller: Oh, this lovely library? It was handmade in India, you know. We paid $1,200 for it. Handmade in India.

This is bad news. Nobody tells you they paid over a thousand dollars for something, reminds you twice that it was handmade in another country, and calls it by a fancy name if they are planning to sell it for $20 at a yard sale.

Hanna: How much are you asking?

Seller: It was handmade in India, and cost us $1,200. We want $600.

At a yard sale! And let's not forget that I already have the same bookcase at home, and know he is full of crap.

Long pause.

Hanna: Did you get this at Ikea?

Longer pause.

Seller: Yes.





Scene Two: Halloween. My porch.

Players: Me, some kid dressed like a pirate.

Kid: *silently digging around our candy bowl picking the best stuff out*

Hanna: That's a cool sword!

Kid: *looks up like I just said "that's a cool princess costume you have on"*

Hanna: Cool sword?

Kid: It's a machete.

As in- it's a machete, you idiot. The "you idiot" was just dangling unsaid in the air between us.

Hanna: *snatches candy bowl away from snotty pirate* One Butterfinger per customer, pal.

I do not like people knowing my business.

Unfortunately, sometimes this is unavoidable. Obviously the checkout person at the grocery store knows a vast amount about my business, in the one specific area of my eating habits. She knows I can't cook, and I'm probably the only person in the entire area to buy pickled beets every week. But at least she has the decorum not to say anything!

I was in the library yesterday returning some books, paying my fine, and getting out some other books. You know, typical library activities. The librarian inspected each book like she was making notes in the mental file she keeps on me. Then she looks me right in the face and says, "Do you like this author, or are you doing a report on him?"

Immediately, my stomach started hurting. I love this series, but I never recommend it to people because the subject matter is a little dicey. To start: the author wears an eye patch. The main character, who I always pictured as looking like an old friend of mine, is a private eye/total criminal who investigates stuff with his "family" (also criminals) and kills people.

I'm 32 years old. The last report I remember writing and submitting in a clear plastic binder was on Henry Hudson. What the hell kind of report does she think I may be writing as a grown up and based on these books? "10 Ways to Kill People" by Hanna. "Fashion Ideas: Eyepatches and Guns". Or, "Making Your Own Family Out of Criminal Associates".

As it happens, I do have some ideas of my own: "How to Make Nosy Librarians Dissapear" is at the top of the "future reports I might write" list. So what I like to read books about bad guys? I bet her reading list is all bodice rippers about pirates ravaging peasant girls.

It was like a clown teapot.

I thought I would make some nice tea this afternoon. Then I noticed my teapot was making a funny noise.

Items removed from teapot:

Toy airplane propeller
Wine bottle cork
Yogurt covered raisins (7)
Hairclip
Pretzel rods (3)
Unidentified chewed up plastic thing
Crushed Oreo (approx. 2 tablespoons)

I'm not sure if my son has been putting one thing in the teapot every day for two weeks, or if he decided to cram this variety of gross things in there one magical afternoon.

Can you imagine the other magpie-like collections that are at this very moment waiting to be discovered? Tweezers and a button in the camera case! Eight pens, a washcloth, and a pickle in my shoe! The possibilities are endless.

Instead of tea, I had juice.

Parenting. Maybe I should take some sort of class.

Me: Hey Nort, what's in your mouth?

Nort: Just a battery.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Team Jacob

Yeah, I read Twilight. And New Moon. And Eclipse.

I read the first one because my sister recommended it, the second because some girls from my new neighborhood invited me to see the movie, and the third because the second one ends on kind of a cliffhanger.

I'm done now though. This isn't necessarily a bad review, because the books are certainly entertaining. But this series is messing with my emotions. There is so much teenage angst that it is making my stomach hurt. Two people so in love they can't function without the other. The searing pain of unrequited love. Choosing between two men who love you equally but offer very different futures. ENOUGH.

If I want to read more emotional disaster bullshit like this I'll dig out my diary from high school.

All the Pretty Horses

I almost gave up on this book. It's a little heavy handed with the dramatic descriptive phrasing, which always drives me crazy (hello, White Oleander).

But I'm glad I hung in there, because I ended up loving the story.

Two friends leave their home in Texas on horseback, and ride to Mexico in search of a new life. Along the way they meet some folks and have some adventures.

I was very moved by the spare writing style. There is not a lot of dialogue, and much is put into describing the landscape. Textures and sounds. The mood of the book is hard to describe, but I'll say it is kind of like an ache. There clearly won't be an ending with white doves and balloons, and I kept waiting for someone to die. It's the kind of book where you just know someone is going to die. Despite my somber description, there is something of a happy ending, and I felt it suited the story and characters well.

The book reads very masculine to me. Living off the land, using your wits to survive, working and sweating in the sun... it struck me as being the kind of thing a man would wish for. Especially a man who currently wears a suit to work and spends 50 hours a week in an office toiling under a florescent light. This book is the opposite of that.

At its heart, this is an adventure book. Love, friendship, adventure. And horses. Thumbs up.