I read this earlier this week in The Wall Street Journal:

http://online.wsj.com/articles/book-review-two-new-translations-of-anna-karenina-by-marian-schwartz-and-rosamund-bartlett-1416614422

It appealed to me mostly because I think I own almost every translation of Anna Karenina (I'm a fanatic with that book) but also because the article is well-written and very interesting.



Right now I'm reading this very (very) dark and disturbing novel that I should have deleted upon finishing the first chapter, but didn't. It is so oddly compelling, so much so it's like I'm reading it against my will.

The main character herself goes way beyond the anti-hero archetype and does horrible things, but when she finds herself in the middle of another girl's disappearance, which may be related to sex trafficking, it seems like she might just be the right person to help.

She's also a vampire who spends way too much on shoes and has done pretty much everything under the sun (except when the Sun is actually out) to ever be squeamish about life.

It's so complicated and weird I'm not sure I can even explain. When I first downloaded the novel for free, I thought it was about a rock group called Suzie and the Monsters; once I realized it wasn't, it too late. I was hooked. I'm never ever hitting one-click on Amazon again when I'm under the influence of Nyquil.

Two more great mixes I found on Soundcloud include another take on "Let's Dance" (kind of out there and definitely edgy, but hypnotizing in the best way possible.) Also good is this one:

https://soundcloud.com/rubenandra/80s-child-back-to-the-80s-mix

 

"I Love Lucy" in the country episodes...

My insomnia struck hard last night, but I was okay with it because I popped in the sixth season I just bought of "I Love Lucy" and watched an episode I've never seen before.

"Lucy Raises Tulips" is the one where she doesn't know how to turn off the lawn mower she's borrowed from her neighbors and ends up riding all over town. The expressions on her face (we only hear about her scary drive down the Boston Post Road) before and after her out-of-control ride are, as usual with Lucy, priceless.

Vivian Vance (way underrated in the history of comedic talent and always great with her delivery of lines) has one of her best solo scenes ever on the show. Ethel explains to the man on the other end of the phone that Lucy cannot find the switch to turn off the lawn mower. She believes Lucy to still be outside, the nefarious machine twirling her around in circles and then taking her across the backyard, but soon discovers, through the shop owner on the phone, that Lucy is actually driving down main street against her will.

I laughed as hard as I do during the infamous chocolate factory and  vitameatavegamin episodes. Very few things in life make me happier or more at peace than a good Lucy marathon. :)

There are many wonderful, wonderful things about Make Much Of Me by Kayla Bashe. It has an innocence I haven't really seen in the fiction I've read very recently. And much of its charm comes from the story being set in an earlier time. While it doesn't flat out state it (unless I somehow missed something) the suggested era is the 1920s. Words like "jake" and "cloche hat" and the mannerisms and dress of the girls attending the school they go to suggest this.

Make Much About Me is only 84 pages, but it took longer to read because I so loved to linger over a lot of the passages. 

Delightfully unusual (it often reminds me of the Nancy Drew books, minus the mysteries) main character Lily has an plucky yet endearing spirit and the warm tenderness between her and her friend Laura permeates all around. And, best of all, there is no sex...it's all about emotion and connecting on other levels, while still being romantic and sweet.

Some of my favorite sections:

- "The woman I might marry someday. I was thinking of her." She propped her chin up on her fists. “Perhaps she lives only a few hours away in New York- or perhaps she lives right here, or in a tenement. I ought to send her my best wishes, in case she has no one to look out for her. That’s what I’m doing. I’m sending her my love.”

 

-How could one not listen to Stravinsky and not feel utterly wild afterwards, or not sit paralyzed in amazement and admiration after the final chord of a choral piece? The teachers who had heard her sing in her private assessment agreed that while her technique was shaky, the heart was there, and while the world might never weep to hear her sing, it would surely draw joy from her.

-Lily talked to Laura in bed, saying whatever came into her head while stroking her friend's sunbeam hair. Everything from, “I don't think there is any such thing as an unattractive woman. Tired women, and badly dressed women, and women who don't look after themselves or stand up straight or could use a bit of good advice on how to present themselves. But ugly? Never."

 -Lily felt as if she knew Laura, and liked Laura, more than ever. She wanted to rescue Laura from any unhappiness, to look after her always, to see her smile like the sun coming out from behind a cloud at long last

  
-There was a girl in my life, Father, Laura thought, and she made me happy. And had I been worthy of her, I would have continued loving her until the day I died!

 

“No, Laura, that's not what I mean. The thing is...Every day before I met you, my soul spent it missing you. Laura, my dandelion fluff, my angel light. We were made to keep each other safe."

Make Much Of Me is definitely going to stay on my Kindle for re-reading. Its specialness (and deep sincerity) has nestled itself into my heart.  I know how corny that may sound, but it's just how it is.:)

 

Friday music, this and that...

This appears in December's Elle magazine. 400 dollars, "built to endure all manners of hell," the headphones are available at masterdynamic.com. They're definitely outside my price range (and lined in lambskin so that's not good), but I'd rather spend that kind of money on music than shoes any day.

Sadly, Elle isn't trying to appeal to the shoe-buying crowd here. The Master & Dynamic MH40 headphones appear in an article about top ten things to get for your guy for the holidays, right next to a sweet MP3 player that costs a cool 900 bucks.

I'd think it was kind of sexist, but I'm not sure. Whenever I'm in the music magazine section of a bookstore or in record stores like Sound Garden or Record and Tape Traders or at Radio Shack (or other places that sell stereo-related stuff) it seems like I only ever see men. And when I read Mojo and Uncut and Classic Rock, the letters to the editor section never features women readers.

Oh, well. Shoes (and diamonds) can't be every girl's best friend and that's just fine with me.

One article I found explores whether men really are more serious about music when it comes to fandom:

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/men/the-filter/11167333/Are-men-more-passionate-about-music-than-women-are.html


Meanwhile, this is on SoundCloud, not a mix, just the original version. It's still lots of fun to listen to:

Another reason I like SoundCloud so much is that it can give you over a dozen different (wildly different) mixes for the same song. David Bowie's "Let's Dance," for instance, is the perfect track to mess around with, as it has been here:

https://soundcloud.com/tool-o-saurus/david-bowie-lets-dance-studio



Dimitri from Paris's take changes the tempo so fast it's like, "Dude, where's the fire?" And another dj mashes Santana, Tito Puente and "Let's Dance" all magically together...it shouldn't work, but it does.

My favorite discovery so far, though, is Amos Lee's cover of "Like A Virgin," as a ballad. I always imagined what the song would sound like slowed down and pretty and now I know...it's so very gorgeous, with a wonderful spirit. Sorry, Madonna:

https://soundcloud.com/mrmetacrisis/amos-lee-like-a-virgin-madonna-cover-from-greys-anatomy

 

Thursday odds...

 

I was listening to the DI music app again and discovered this awesome, awesome dj/singer named Tallulah Goodtimes (the name is spelled wrong on the app.) She mixes swing with electro synth and hip hop...it's amazing stuff. "Hop On This" is not available for purchase, but I've been taking it in on Sound Cloud. It's made my whole day:

http://www.tallulahgoodtimes.com/hop/

The SoundCloud app is another favorite and I love it most for finding different mixes for the same song, in this case Andy Gibb's "Shadow Dancing":



Brendon P's "Moonlight Shadow" dub

Never start your cleaning with the bookcase. I always forget this and my dusting venture ends (shortly after it just started) with me sitting on the floor, engrossed in a book I completely forgot I owned.

So now, I'm reading a collection of stories from an old Alfred Hitchcock anthology. The best one I've read so far is called "The Clock is Cuckoo" by Richard Deming, but I also like "Six Skinny Coffins" by Jonathan Craig.

If you don't mind reading a PDF file, you can link to the Richard Deming story here:

http://the.hitchcock.zone/wiki/Alfred_Hitchcock%27s_Mystery_Magazine_(May_1969)

It happens even when I'm extra careful. My headphones get snagged one too many times in my book bag and over time the wires get a short in them and I have to get a new pair. Recently, I bought a set that looks like something fancy you'd use in a recording studio and yet they are...well, I won't use the actual word I want.

Not only do they weigh my big head down enough to bring on vertigo, the bass sounds awful and there is no actual "there" there. My five dollar headphones from 5 and Below worked better than this.

I have my iPhone ear buds to fall back on for now, but I don't like ear buds; they never stay in and the sound just isn't as good. Plus, you can't turn off everything else the way you can with headphones.

Speaking off music that helps you forget the world for a while... Future Islands' "Doves" (the Vince Clarke remix, specifically) is amazing.

It's the saddest dance song I've heard in ages. Samuel Herring's voice is terrific, the way it transforms from melodic baritone into a deep guttural growl only makes the song more intense, more bare in its expression. My heart wants to break but my feet want to dance.

*re-rub (according to Urban Dictionary): "The rerub of a song is a less radical reworking of the original than a remix. A rerub adds new drums, new snare, new percussion, possibly effects. Rerubs are also often shorter than the original song.

David Guetta thought he remixed Cassius's song "Toop Toop" but it's just a freakin rerub. All he did was add some bass. "

 

The last thing a bookworm with not enough time needs is another title for her TBR pile, but this past Sunday's New York Times highlights a novel that sounds like a must read:

 

 

By CURTIS SITTENFELD

NOV. 21, 2014

                  

In a 2013 exchange that’s become famous in literary circles, the novelist Claire Messud took to task an interviewer at Publishers Weekly who observed that she — the interviewer — wouldn’t want to be friends with the protagonist of Messud’s most recent novel and asked if Messud herself felt the same way.

 

“For heaven’s sake, what kind of question is that?” Messud responded. “If you’re reading to find friends, you’re in deep trouble. We read to find life, in all its possibilities. The relevant question isn’t ‘Is this a potential friend for me?’ but ‘Is this character alive?’ ”

 

For the most part, I agree with Messud, yet as I devoured Miriam Toews’s latest novel, “All My Puny Sorrows,” I thought that I’d very much like to befriend the main character. In fact, spending time in the company of Yoli, a 40-something woman alternately busy with the work of caring for various family members and screwing up her own life, was the main reason I loved the book.

 

It’s a testament to the entertaining voice, emotional acuity and quick pacing of “All My Puny Sorrows” that it doesn’t become evident until about two-thirds of the way through how slight the plot is: Yoli has traveled to Winnipeg from her home in Toronto because her sister, Elfrieda, a brilliant and successful classical pianist, has — not for the first time — attempted suicide. Elfrieda, a.k.a. Elf, is now in the psychiatric unit of a hospital, and most of the book’s suspense arises from the questions of whether she’ll attempt suicide again and whether she’ll persuade Yoli to help her. Many pages are devoted to the daily pattern of waiting out a family member’s hospital stay: trying to extract information from doctors and nurses, trying not to let non-hospital-related obligations fall into disarray, hugging, crying, hugging while crying, procuring food and sleeping (usually not well).

 

Such a synopsis would not, if I hadn’t read the book, seem to me enticing, but “All My Puny Sorrows” is irresistible. The flashbacks to Yoli and Elf’s childhood in a rural Mennonite community are vivid and energetic. In both the past and present, Toews (who is the author of six earlier books that have received significantly more recognition in her native Canada than in the United States) perfectly captures the casual manner in which close-knit sisters enjoy and irritate each other. The dialogue is realistic and funny, and somehow, almost magically, Toews gets away with having her characters discuss things like books and art and the meaning of life without seeming pretentious or precious; they’re simply smart, decent and confused.

 

It’s Yoli who is the story’s heroine, though she wouldn’t believe it. Relentlessly self-deprecating, she explains that she “had two kids with two different guys . . . as a type of social experiment. Just kidding. As a type of social failure.” She is semi-amicably ending her second marriage and receives a text from her soon-to-be-ex-husband that reads, “I need you.” When she texts back asking if he’s O.K., he replies: “Sorry, pushed send too soon. I need you to sign the divorce papers.” In contrast to her famous sister, Yoli is the author of an unremarkable Y.A. series called Rodeo Rhonda and is also trying to write a more literary novel, which she carries around in a plastic Safeway bag. She gets lost in the hospital’s basement, has impulsive sex with her car mechanic and, when she gets a recorded phone call asking if her debt has become uncontrollable, whispers into the phone, “Yes, yes, it has,” then hangs up.

 

Per the Messud Doctrine, Yoli is bracingly alive, as is everyone with whom she interacts, even as the possibility of Elf’s death looms over them. “All My Puny Sorrows” is unsettling, because how can a novel about suicide not be? But its intelligence, its honesty and, above all, its compassion provide a kind of existential balm — a comfort not unlike the sort you might find by opening a bottle of wine and having a long conversation with (yes, really) a true friend.

ALL MY PUNY SORROWS

By Miriam Toews

317 pp. McSweeney’s. $24.

I had the weirdest dream last night and it upset me a lot, not because it was a bad dream, but because it was a good one. In the dream, the building where I work was transported to what I think was the Atlantic City boardwalk, which I used to know well and love as a child.

It was a pretty day and I got to see people from all walks of my life, not just my present. The person I like, the person I have been trying not like for the longest time, even showed up, smiling peacefully at me, which is so not how it would be in real life.

Even more than I do with nightmares, I really work hard to come out of a good dream. Good dreams have a way of making you feel worse once you awake. I swam up from out of my dream (I swear, sometimes, trying to wake up feels like you've been down at the bottom of an ocean and are trying to resurface) and turned on my dvd player to watch "I Love Lucy."

In the old days, when I felt this kind of lonely, I'd pretend somewhere, way far out in outer space, perhaps, there was someone I'd meet someday, someone who could like me back. That used to get me through unbearably quiet days when a teddy bear just wouldn't do.

Now, I know better...false hope is better than no hope at all. And, yet, when I see other people sometimes feel the same way (as below), I wonder if it's not totally bad to still hold out (however unrealistic it may be to) thinking there might be a day you meet that someone special.

There was a time in my life not so long ago, that I experienced a moment that could only be described as pure love and happiness.

It was as if love and happiness were finally real to me and were something tangible, embodied in that moment.

They were in everything I could hear, touch, taste and smell.
I could see them with my very eyes – reflected back at me in someone else’s.
They were all around me, breathing life into me, as if wrapping me up in a blanket.

And in that moment I caught a glimpse of something.
A parallel universe - a way things could have been.
An alternate reality where that love and happiness were mine to keep, a place where I didn’t have to let them go.

I only hope that one day…. many years from now when I am an old lady and I close my eyes for the last time – I will open them again and find myself there. 

― Ranata Suzuki  (as seen on Goodreads)

Do cover artists ever actually the read the descriptions of the characters they're drawing? Ridiculously perfect misrepresentation...

I read for companionship as much as I do for enlightenment and entertainment, but the most recent book I read left a bad feeling inside that would welcome loneliness any day.

Right from the start, the premise of Three's A Crowd struck me as beyond unsettling. Tossing aside (for the moment) how profoundly disturbing I find the idea of a "threesome," I find the main character's eagerness to please her boyfriend (despite the misgivings she tries to hide from both him and herself) even more troubling.

No one who truly loves you should ever pressure you (in this case by hinting what a "bore" you are) to do something you don't want to do. "You would if you loved me...," especially in this case, is emotional blackmail; that should be black and white, without question.

Just as with another Q. Kelly novel I read (A Woman Unleashed, where the female lead kills and goes on to live happily ever with a woman who is quite comfortable with the fact she's a murderer) I felt my skin actually crawl. No matter that there were indeed some actual passages that reached out to me:

"There’s a cheesy romantic in everyone, huh? I always wondered what it’d be like to find that one person—a soul mate. I don’t believe in them, but I’d like to look in that person’s eyes and know this is the one. She’s the one. She can make my pain go away. Don’t need rings for that, but this is pretty. It really is.”

It actually hurt a little (because, no matter what else, Q. Kelly is a gifted writer) that both the boyfriend and the other woman Carol's boyfriend wants to bring into the picture lie right and left. Because, ultimately, the book (thank goodness) is not really about a threesome, Carol falls in love with Ennis, the "number three" (as her boyfriend jokes like the jerk he is) who ends up breaking her heart.

Despite some great writing and two plot twists I didn't see coming, I still found the novel to be a huge mess and the ending quite ridiculous. It's both a prequel and a "companion" story to the first book in the series, Strange Bedfellows, an equally far-fetched story, but one with more backbone and better morals.

Now, thanks to American Pulp, I'm starting this (available on Kindle and the basis for the classic noir film of the same name):

Tuesday odds and ends, mostly odds...

I never knew about this side of Anais Nin. I find her diaries very down-to-earth and interesting.

I love Digitally Imported's music app. It's all upbeat, usually with techno (not so fond of), trance (it's okay) and electro synth (pretty darn good!) It's free (unless you don't want to listen to ads or see them at the top of your screen, then you pay) and has a wide variety of "channels," including this really neat one that mixes swing with electronic:

There's also a lot to choose from in the "chill" department and I really need to chill tonight so I'm listening to this station "Clump of Trees" is gorgeous, by the way.  :) 

Clump of Trees," Float 11

 I've recently discovered Elisabeth Sanxay Holding, who wrote terrific crime novels and lived from 1889-1955. To read more about her you can go here:

http://www.criminalelement.com/blogs/2013/03/the-godmother-of-noir-elisabeth-sanxay-holding-jake-hinkson-the-blank-wall-the-reckless-moment-thee-deep-end-tilda-swinton

You can download some of her titles onto Kindle, Nook or iBooks free through this link:

http://www.munseys.com/detail/mode/author/Elisabeth_Sanxay_Holding

I woke up from a bad dream last night and my anxiety felt so intense I put a jacket on over my clothes and went outside, into the parking lot, just so I could get some air and breathe properly...all because of a book I read yesterday, which only got to me because it reminded me too much of real life and missing things, as the main character had, that most others have experienced as part of the human cycle.

Then, I get to work today and I long to be back on my staycation because I just don't do really well around people, especially people I like and want to actually talk with, but end up turning away in something that could almost be called terror.

One reason I like books so much is that they give you the illusion of being around people, without presenting the physical chance of messing up those interactions with people.

I keep hoping I'll get the swing of it, but I either turn into Beaker from The Muppets or I shut down completely.

A great article on Robert Osborne in yesterday's New York Times is linked below. He is such a charming man and so interconnected with Turner Classic Movies it's impossible to think of one without the other:

 

http://mobile.nytimes.com/2014/11/23/movies/robert-osborne-is-the-face-of-tcm.html?referrer=&_r=0

And, from a new book on music called The Art of Noise: Conversations with Great Songwriters by Daniel Rachel, here's a little background from the late Robin Gibb on the story behind The Bee Gees' "Jive Talkin":

 

This also caught my eye today. It's a fascinating look at pulp fiction. I can't wait to have a chance to read it more; it's loaded with so much information! :

 

Five stars are not enough; they just aren't.

I read No Way To Live, almost feverishly, desperate to finish, yet wanting to take it slow because the writing and the plot make for such a compelling read.

Where has this author been hiding and will she please write more? This is such an atmospheric, unnerving, even sweet read...not quite like, but still reminiscent of, Sarah Waters, Minette Walters and Ruth Rendell all rolled into one.

There is a slight, underlying kind of sinister feel to the tale. I always begin to feel a bit uneasy when I realize I'm relating a bit too much with the villain of a story...or, rather, the supposed villain of a story, as other people seem to think our main character Rose is.

Her life is more one of torment and bullying, both formerly by her classmates years ago and presently by her ailing, abusive mother, for whom she cares for day after day. The house they live in is rented out to a group of quirky, often troublesome, lodgers who also add to Rose's daily stress.

Rose's only escape is a hidden attic she has made into a studio where she both paints and dresses up in wigs and different outfits so that she can be someone else, if only for a few minutes at a time. This need and ability to transform herself into a fantasy character gives her a flash of courage to attend a small class reunion she has inexplicably been invited to, seemingly from out of nowhere.

At the event, wearing a brunette wig and gold dress way too fancy for the occasion, Rose overhears some of her classmates talking about her...using their old nickname for her..."Scissors Sharpe." One of the women expresses remorse over how they used to tease her so, but another member of the group says Rose "brought it on herself" by dressing oddly and being a quiet eavesdropper.

This is where my sympathy kicks in hard. Through brief flashbacks, both Rose's and others, we discover Rose's only real crime was not knowing how to fit in with her classmates...hardly an action worthy of the bullying she experienced in school.

I had to take a few minutes to breathe at this point and then return. Things truly begin to take off once one of the former bullies begins a friendship with Rose and, as an experienced professional in the field of nursing home care, tries to ease some of Rose's hardships with her mother.

There is a hint that Rose may be involved with some of the deaths sprinkled throughout Chrissie McDill's alarmingly addictive read. Neither romance nor mystery, it's more psychological suspense dabbling in heartache and sometimes even hope.

I spent the whole day cozied up with tea and finished not too long ago. No Way To Live is everything you could want and more. The twists and turns and emotional depth it takes on wrecked havoc with my heart and nerves...just a superb and beautiful read that has left me kind of speechless.

I don't know why, but today I got to thinking of someone I used to know. We'll call her Jane, though that's not really her name.

I met through her a personals ad years ago, back when I was more willing to try dating and was going through one of my brief periods where my need to find love outweighed my need to please my parents.

Blind dates freak me out as they do other people as well. When I look back now, though, I recall this one more fondly than any other I ever had.

Before we met in person, Jane and I talked for hours almost every night for almost a month. Friendly and inquisitive, a huge reader and sports fanatic, she made our phone conversations very interesting and had a great sense of humor. She also had a very engaging voice and was great at filling in the gaps when I became too shy.

We finally decided to meet. On the day we picked, I walked into the restaurant a nervous wreck. In the lobby we recognized each other from raised eyebrows and shared telephone descriptions and I relaxed. A cross between Susan Sullivan and the mother from "That 70s Show," she had the hearty self-deprecation of a stand-up comedian. It looked like things were going to go smashingly.

Then, about halfway through the meal, she said with lots of gusto: "I could never talk like this with you if I found you attractive."

If anyone else had said that, I would have probably cried inside or been taken aback. But her charming honesty and carefree tone suggested she didn't mean it be cruel. Part of me, in fact, knew exactly what she meant. I have often completely shut down around people I find appealing. Sometimes, I'm lucky if I even remember my name around them.

The difference between her acknowledging she didn't find me attractive and the other times where that had come up in a date was in her approach. She didn't frown as she as soon saw me or jump up suddenly, declaring she'd forgotten to feed her cats before leaving home. She wasn't trying to be mean or hint she wanted the date to be over. We ended up talking for another hour and she promised to call.

I didn't think she would. She was certainly sincere, but had no clear interest in me. After a few days passed and she didn't, I figured she had just been polite. I was a bit disappointed, but not brokenhearted about it.

Then, one night, about a week later, I came home from work to find a message on my answering machine from her asking if I wanted to go on a skiing day trip. I was so flabbergasted and nervous (and also unbelieving it wasn't a joke) that I didn't know what to do...I still didn't know what to until almost a week later. And by the time I worked up the nerve to return the call, it was too late.

Thinking of that this evening, pretty content alone but still wanting to make new friends, I hope I would never be that cowardly again. I need more pluck in life and more social skills, I always have, but this time I really do want to try more.

A kind-of-related website:

http://www.nerdfitness.com/blog/2013/05/13/the-4-step-plan-to-not-suck-at-talking-to-people/

Saturday odds and ends...

I love Poets & Writers magazine. It not only has great sources for writers, some of those very sites are super for readers as well.

 

There are also some very helpful links referenced(book review outlets) and neat little sidebars with columns like "Page One," which features opening sentences to recent works of poetry and prose. There are lovely openings like this one:

 

When you are alone and too tired even to turn on any of your devices, you let yourself linger in a past stacked among pillows. Usually you are nestled under blankets and the house is empty. Sometimes the moon is missing and beyond the window the low, gray ceiling seems approachable.

 --Citizen: An American Lyric, Claudia Rankine

 

 

Their ads can also catch your eye. :)

 

And this month's section on independent publishers is loaded with lots of info. Two Dollar Radio is just one of the presses you can find:

 

http://www.twodollarradio.com/Books

 

 

Speaking of monsters, this anthology (recently reviewed in Locus) is quite good:

 

 

When I was 11 or so I saw The White Hotel in a grocery store check-out line, in a small rack of books next to People magazine. It was the early 80s and even though I'd already snuck in reading Judy Blume's Forever and a few Stephen Kings, I'd never been bold enough to try for something like what I thought the book above represented.

 

In my mind's eye it would have the things you'd find if you merged Jackie Collins (whom I'd only ever heard about in hushed whispers) and Stephen King together. Scared, but very curious, I reached out and pulled the book out of the rack. If you opened it to the inset, you would see this:

 

 

 

I remember this picture so vividly and how much it terrified me, so much I immediately returned the paperback to where it belonged. I think my dad said something along the lines of, "You shouldn't look at that."

 

For years that book remained completely different in my head than it actually is. I thought of it as some kind of horrific, sexed-up version of the tv show "Hotel." It's only now that I've decided to read it, finding the current edition (much more understated), that I'm giving it a go:

 

 





It is no less terrifying than my younger self thought...but for completely different reasons. I have been sucked in since the first page...


The reason the book jumped back into my brain is because of this title, which has given me a long list of books to be read:

 

Fireside is an absolute charmer! It is sweet and romantic without being sappy and it has such genuine heart to it that you can't help but grow to adore the characters, both main and secondary.

In a previous review for a different book by a different author I got a bit bent out of shape about the alarming amount of sex. Here, in this lovely novel, the love scenes are actual love scenes and they are neither rampant nor rabid.

As one of the main characters, Abby, says in a very emotionally raw and tender scene: “First, I need you to know this about me. At this stage in my life, I couldn’t possibly be sexual…I couldn’t possibly make love to someone, Mac, unless I was in a committed relationship. It simply isn’t in me. Perhaps it’s some kind of odd British prudery. I don’t know, but there you have it.”

Cate Culpepper writes about women who deeply value relationships and take their time getting to know each other.

Mac is a restless spirit who has never stayed at one job for more than two years, while Abby has sealed herself off from love out of self-doubt of her own worthiness.* Her strong work ethic comes from a good place but also because she "found a kind of insidious safety in her solitary life. Devoting all her energies to her work carried certain advantages."

The author captures scenes and people in a way that makes the fact you reach for a tissue while you happily cry seem perfectly natural. She reminds you that love really is special and that it's something worth waiting for. It makes me smile to think about reading more of her novels! :)

 

 

 

 

 

*Abby's self-doubt creeps up a lot in the book, especially in the beginning. Some of those passages just really get to me:

 

-It seemed, as her mother had pointed out more than once, that Abby was simply not the kind of woman capable of arousing strong feelings in others.

 

=Abby had never been a raving beauty, and rarely anyone’s first choice. Hope that she could inspire the kind of devotion she wanted to feel herself. That she was worthy of love, and nothing she’d done in the past had changed that.

I did so want to like If I Were A Boy by Erin O'Reilly. The title grabbed me right away, making me think it would be a lot deeper emotionally and romantically than it actually is. For me, the "If I were a boy" resonated, because it is something heartbreaking and real a gay woman might say (even these days) to herself or to someone else when the world makes it especially challenging to be a lesbian. One of the two central characters in the book mostly says it as a joke, though, which seems to be the catalyst for both women suddenly realizing there is an attraction between them.

The two main problems I have with Erin O'Reilly's otherwise sincere and (from what I can tell) good-intentioned tale is how physically-driven Helen and Katie's relationship is (Cinemax-driven might be the better word) and how one of the women's sister is so homophobic and so over the top about it, it almost becomes a farce.

At one point, Helen tells her mother she's worried her "overloaded baser instincts" have gotten the best of her, not knowing the woman she supposedly loves, Katie, has just overheard her. It's a very insulting comment, a very hurtful one, and yet it's kind of true...because so much of Helen and Katie's relationship is nothing more than sneaking around and lying to their husbands. Yes, their husbands are major jerks (horrific in the case of Helen's husband Bobby), but they still sneak around...grabbing sex whenever they can, mostly on a beach, when the rest of the group they're all vacationing with is away fishing for the day.

If I sound a bit bitter, I suppose it's because I am, a tad. Quality lesfic is hard to find, especially quality lesfic that represents love as something far more than physical. Sex sells, as they say (whoever "they" is), but some of us still prefer our love stories old-fashioned.

The writing itself is not bad and there is a plucky spirit I like (Katie is so so sweet in her fierce need and sincere desire to protect Helen) but that's just not enough for me...the innocence and mood of the kiss on the front cover is never quite matched within the book.

My favorite magazine is Mojo, which has a column called "All Back To My Place" where musicians talk about their favorite music. I love, love, love Frankie Valli (even more now that he considers Guilty one of his favorite albums.)

 

Guilty's cover always made me laugh, though I love the record itself. In the early 80s my mom played it on the stereo a lot, mostly because she adored Barry Gibb and liked Barbra Streisand's voice.

 

I've always felt a bit afraid to admit it's one of of my favorite albums...because, well, look at that cover! But time has been kind to it (the music, if not the cover) and I think it holds up rather nicely.

 

 

Review by William Ruhlmann

The biggest selling album of Barbra Streisand's career is also one of her least characteristic. The album was written and produced by Barry Gibb in association with his brothers and the producers of the Bee Gees, and in essence it sounds like a post-Saturday Night Fever Bee Gees album with vocals by Streisand. Gibb adapted his usual style somewhat, especially in slowing the tempos and leaving more room for the vocal, but his melodic style and the backup vocals, even when they are not sung by the Bee Gees, are typical of them. Still, the record was more hybrid than compromise, and the chart-topping single "Woman in Love" has a sinuous feel that is both right for Streisand and new for her. Other hits were the title song and "What Kind of Fool," both duets with Gibb. (The song "Guilty" won a Grammy Award for Best Pop Vocal by Duo or Group.)

 

 

 

Meanwhile, I can't get the Vince Clarke remix of "Dove" by Future Islands out of my head...it's great for chilling or listening to while exercising. :)

The best sampler cd from a music magazine I've heard in ages, The Dreamers has, aside from everything else great about it, two gorgeous covers of classic songs...

 

"You Don't Own Me" (originally recorded by Lesley Gore) more than holds up in Policia's hands while Julia Holter's take on "Don't Make Me Over" (Hal David/Burt Bacharach) is as absolutely mesmerizing as her wonderful treatment of "Hello Stranger" on her album Loud City Song. The woman truly makes interpreting well-known songs a magical thing...

 

Still, it’s the album’s centerpiece, a hypnotizing six-and-a-half minute rendition of Barbara Lewis' “Hello Stranger”, that might just be the most uncomplicatedly gorgeous thing Holter’s ever done. It’s risky to tackle a tune that’s been covered enough times to make it feel like a modern-day standard, but Holter’s atmospheric take finds a particular strain of longing and serenity in the song. It's a heart-stopper. Amidst the rest of Loud City Song’s chatty, high-concept vitality, “Hello Stranger” is a moment of comfort and instant connection, like suddenly spotting a familiar face on a busy street.-Pitchfork magazine

 

CMJ calls her "woozy" and I think they mean it in the best way possible...what a dreamy voice she has.