The One I Wanted to Hate

Whenever I'm working late, covering a government meeting of some sort, Mr. Library Diva spends his evening making fishsticks for dinner and renting a Redbox movie. But he doesn't just choose something I wouldn't want to see. He chooses something NO ONE would want to see. Typically, they are smaller-budget knockoffs of a big-budget sci-fi/action or fantasy/action film. WHen I ask him how it was, there's always a note of surprise in his voice when he says it was terrible. At first, I used to try and understand the impilse, and ask him what precisely about the movie made him think it would even be worth $1 to rent? Then I gave up. Then, I checked out "The Baby PLanner," and I thought I understood.

I fully expected this book by Josie Brown to be dreadful. It had all the hallmarks of it, certainly. Any "baby planner," I figured, would by definition be dealing with irritating, whiny clients who never learned to distinguish between a real problem and one they made up. Furthermore, the baby planner in this book (in a refreshing twist) is in her 30s and wants a baby herself SO BAD, while her husband waffles and her sisters reproduce like Xerox machines. And yet, I totally did the Redbox thing: "OMG, this book looks so shit...I'm getting it, I'm totally checking this one out."

And it was actually a pretty enjoyable read. Brown is a clever writer, and dispatched my main objections early on. Katie, the "baby planner" heroine, fell into the job after her position at a consumer safety agency was lost to budget cuts. A mom-to-be sees her helping her own sister figure out which cribs are the best, asks how much she charges, and she's in business. Two of her early clients genuinely need her help: one has suffered several miscarriages and is on total bed rest and literally CAN'T do any of her own baby planning, and the other lost his wife in childbirth and is now trying to solo-care for their child while his company is getting ready to go public. See, these people NEED Katie!

Katie's husband is also -- how to say this politely? -- a douchebag. There are some clues to this early on, so I'm not exactly revealing anything shocking, and he only gets worse as the story rolls on. Her birth-control sabotaging and his stonewalling are less about a potential baby than a marriage. This adds a lot of interest to the story, and his opposition to parenthood comes from a very different place than the stereotypical "I like my freeeeeeedom!" sentiment. The tension between them culminates in The Worst Day Ever for Katie, which has a twist you spot several miles down the road, and one you're very unlikely to guess at, ever.

Katie's very likeable, which helps keep the whole "baby planner" notion palatable. Most of her clients are fairly sympathetic as well, and the unsympathetic ones are funny. It helps that she herself doesn't take the notion super-seriously, either. It's her business, and she clearly gets satisfaction out of it, but doesn't pretend that she's saving the world or anything. She doesn't make it more than what it is. As surprised as I am to say this, I enjoyed this book a lot. No, it's certainly not a tale for the ages, but it's a fun read.

Telling Herstory

Even when I signed the papers to become a women's studies minor, I despised stupid cliches like "herstory". I even hated how the feminist group was called Center for Womyn's Concerns. It made us look unnecessarily angry, when we mostly passed out condoms, and sponsored speakers with an "admission charge" of personal items for the battered women's (sorry, womyn's) shelter.

But "The Girls Who Went Away" is an important piece of women's history that hasn't been examined much. During the 1950s and 1960s, a solution was imposed on the thousands of teenage girls who got knocked up: have them stay with a "sick aunt" at a home for unwed mothers, put their baby out for adoption, and then return to the community, with the secret kept. Many kept the secret for the rest of their lives.

Ann Fessler interviewed women who were "the girls that went away". Their stories are interspersed with a comprehensive look at what led to the rise of the homes for unwed mothers as a way of dealing with teenage pregnancy; what life at one of these homes was like; what drove the demand for adoptable white babies; and the lasting effects on everyone.

It's a very sad book. One of the first things that jumps out at a reader is how much the women in the book fail to conform to any stereotype about unwed mothers. They weren't all poor, or even mostly poor. They weren't all promiscuous: many got pregnant during their first time having sex, and others got pregnant by their boyfriends. And most of them wanted very much to keep their babies, but weren't allowed to.

That part was also very depressing, and what messed with the mothers the most. One woman compared the psychological pressures in the home for unwed mothers to those exerted on a soldier in basic training, explaining that they broke you down to rebuild you into what they wanted, a woman who would give up her child. They were reminded repeatedly how irresponsible they'd been, how much their stay was costing their parents, and how much better off their child would be with a "decent" family. Almost no one resisted. When they were back to their old lives, though, they were left to wonder why not.

Another notable thing about the book was how shockingly restricted information about sex and contraceptives were, so very recently. One woman said she wasn't worried about pregnancy, because she knew that pregnancy was for married women, so since she wasn't married, didn't think it'd be a problem. Another woman asked her mother how the baby was supposed to come out of her stomach. Condoms were kept behind the counter at pharmacies, and their use wasn't encouraged. It wasn't until 1965, with the Supreme Court case of Griswold vs. Connecticut, that some state laws banning the use of contraceptives were struck down. It wasn't until 1972 that that right was extended to everyone, not just married couples.

This book is compelling, important, and destined to become a classic. It's a powerful reminder, too, of how far women have come. Read it, and you'll have another reason to respect your mother's generation.

Two new from Jennifer Weiner

I've been thinking for the past hour about where to start with tonight's post. Now that I'm writing it, I'm still no closer to an answer. I read so many books this summer and fall that it's hard to figure out where to start.

But I settled on the two Jennifer Weiner books I read recently, "Fly Away Home" and "Then Came You". These are her eighth and ninth books. I've mentioned before some of the things I like about her books: they're funny, entertaining stories about "the rest of us", without the extensive materialism that plagues so many books aimed at women (we don't ALL live to shop, you know...)

Both are present in her latest two books, although I liked "Then Came You" much more than "Fly Away Home." Although she says "Fly Away Home" wasn't inspired by a particular event, it had a vague, ripped-from-the-headlines feel, heightened by the unfortunate coincidence that Weiner shares a last name with a recent philandering politician. That's the subject matter of this book: what happens to the wife and two adult daughters of a respected senator after his affair with a girl young enough to be a daughter herself is revealed.

I hate to say it, but it was kind of dull. The characters felt rather stock: the kooky, screwed-up youngest fresh from rehab, her love interest, the uptight, little-miss-perfect-with-a-secret older daughter, her schlubby husband, and the wife who's repressed her own personality for a very long time in service of her husband. In fact, I bet you can guess a few key things about the plot just from the character descriptions here (what do you suppose the older daughter's "secret" is?). It wasn't bad overall, but not her best one.

Certainly not as good as "Then Came You." This book deals with the subjects of surrogacy and egg donation. It's told from several points of view. Julie, the egg donor, is a college student who sells her eggs to fund rehab treatments for her father, a depressive who lost everything when he turned to drugs and alcohol. Annie struggles to stretch her husband's small military salary and becomes a surrogate mother. She's carrying the baby of India, the new wife of a New York City financier. But his daughter Bettina doesn't trust India one bit, and even has her investigated. Each of these women have their own chapters in the book, and it's interesting to see how the story weaves together and how the characters develop.

Julie's goes in a fairly surprising direction. India, it turns out, is hiding a sad past behind her face lift and fake first name. Bettina and Annie are both struggling with their socioeconomic status: Annie has everything she ever wanted but enough money to allow her to live a decent life, and Bettina is so worried about being seen as spoiled or entitled that she overcompensates. The baby that Annie's carrying, along with an unexpected tragedy, brings everyone together. In fact, I'd say this is one of her better books.

What's this? A blog post?

You might question the wisdom of someone who hasn't blogged since July doing NaBloPoMo. Or you might not question it at all. You might forget about it in five minutes, the way you forget about the schemes of that one cousin or friend of a friend who's totally moving to Vegas next month, or developing his own video game, or going back to college and this time I even have an application, but whose commitment to those things has never lasted beyond boring people at parties.

So why'd I quit? Why'd I leave you guys dangling with "The Women of Westeros, Part I" back on July 13, nary to return until all the leaves were gone? It was simple. I became rather convinced that there weren't any of "you guys" out there reading this. The longer I was away, the more out of the blogging habit I got. I write about four articles a week for people who do actually read them, and I get paid a princely sum for it (not like Prince Charles...more like a four-year-old boy who is Prince of Bedroomia). So, writing at night seemed to pull me less and less.

But why'd I return? That's also pretty simple: I was asked to. I'd like to flatter myself and pretend that my gmail account was overwhelmed during my absence and I finally decided that it would be easier to write blog posts than respond to the thousands of emails a day about how much I'm missed. But I was asked to return by a friend, who's doing NaBloPoMo and wanted company. She's an awesome writer and an awesome person, and I know how important support is for NaBloPoMo, especially around mid-month. So check her out at thesedentaryvagabond.wordpress.com.

And keep visiting me during the month of November. If you've read this far, you're awesome too. I'm looking forward to getting back into this, and I'd love feedback on what I can do to make the blog better. I certainly have lots of good material from the past few months!

The Women of Westeros, Part 1

So I've been wanting to blog about my trip through George R.R. Martin's series for several weeks now. It's always hard to know how to write about books that are strongly plot-driven, and these are so highly unpredictable. Many main characters have been killed off, or their nature completely changed. Victory occurs when defeat's expected, and vice versa. Evil triumphs over good on many occasions.

But one thing that stood out to me was the role of women in the books. As I mentioned in last month's post, women are very repressed in the Seven Kingdoms. The acceptable roles for women are that of wife and mother, of servant, or of septa (similar to a nun). Prostitutes aren't exactly "accepted," but it's acknowleged that they have their place in society, and they appear frequently in the books.

As the books develop, however, many women emerge that don't fit the defined roles in Westeros. Arya Stark, Cersei Lannister, Danerys Targaryen and Brienne of Tarth were the ones that interested me the most.

Arya Stark is only 8, but is an ungovernable child. She's very headstrong, she hates needlework and dancing (unlike her sister Sansa, who enthusiastically works towards becoming a noble wife). Her father, Eddard (Ned) Stark, becomes the Hand of the King at the opening of the series, and within the confines of the court, her nature is merely irritating to those around her. She fights with the septa who has the thankless task of trying to make a lady out of her, and squabbles constantly with Sansa. She strikes a compromise with her father, who allows her "private needlework lessons," and also allows her to keep her sword, which he names Needle.

When her father's star falls from the sky, however, her time spent with Needle proves to be a literal lifesaver. It's not long before her swordfighting lessons gain practical application. The fact that her spirit was never broken allows her to survive her exodus from the castle and the horrors of war she's confronted with along the way. She's disguised as a man, forced into servitude, kidnapped over and over, but manages always to endure. I felt George R.R. Martin took her character in an odd direction in A Feast for Crows, so it will be interesting to pick up A Dance with Dragons and continue to follow the Arya storyline.

Brienne of Tarth is also a child, though twice Arya's age. She was given less of a choice in what she would become. Brienne is described, harshly, as large and ugly. Stronger and more powerfully built than many men, with buck teeth and a freckled face, she is most unsuited to the stereotypical female gender role. We first meet her when she's fighting in a tournament at a palace held by Renly Barthaeon, brother to the king, and onetime contender for the throne. When she wins, she's given the opportunity to ask for any boon from Renly, and all she requests is to become a member of the Rainbow Guard, which serves and protects Renly.

Chaos reigns Westeros, though, and her service is as short-lived as Renly himself. She offers her service to Lady Catelyn Tully-Stark (the hyphenation is mine), who asks her to escort the prisoner Jaime Lannister from Riverrun to King's Landing, and negotiate the release of her daughters, Sansa and Arya. Throughout the rest of the books, Brienne dresses as a man, and is frequently mistaken for a man. Once her gender is ascertained, however, she's subject to ridicule, and to attacks. She and Jaime are captured by a group of outlaws at one point. It's telling that although their first inclination is to threaten her with the most violent rapes imaginable, the form of humiliation they ultimately choose is to force her to wear a frilly dress and fight a bear in a pit.

Brienne has absorbed the lessons of chivalry and honor. She keeps all of the vows that she swears, even the ones that are solely between her and someone who is now dead, even when it would be more advantageous and convenient to abandon them, and even when no one would know that she'd betrayed anyone. It comes out in bits and pieces that she's endured a lot of pain, however. She was the subject of an extremely cruel "contest" to win her virginity, and rather than sympathize with her, the lord who ultimately put a stop to it blamed her for tempting its organizers. She was betrothed three times, and at least one of them was broken when her intended met her face to face.

The qualities which she possesses would have made her a valued and respected knight if she were a man. Since she's female, they earn her little but ridicule. Her journey towards carving out a place in society is an interesting one, though. When we see her last in Feast, she and her companions have been kidnapped and are all hanging from nooses, but not dead yet. It seems she's agreed to do something that will push her sense of chivalry and honor to its limits, so it will be interesting to see how she resolves her various loyalties in A Dance with Dragons.

I will finish up with Cersei and Danerys in the next post. This one was rather longer than I intended already.

...and success, with Game of Thrones

So where have I been these past few weeks? Not moderating comments, not remembering to return the mountain of library books I decided I didn't want to read after all, but finding success with George RR Martin's Game of Thrones and the rest of the Song of Ice and Fire series.

I'd been hearing about these books for a while. Several of the folks I play World of Warcraft with enjoy reading fantasy books, and I remember them chatting about this series as long ago as last summer. I, however, do not usually enjoy reading fantasy books. I don't really know why I never venture into that section at the bookstores, because when I do pick up something with unicorns or magicians in it, I often enjoy it. I liked the Harry Potter books. I liked the Lord of the Rings books well enough. At one point in my life, I had The Once and Future King virtually memorized. So I don't really know why I shied away.

But a recent New Yorker article about George RR Martin spurred me to try Game of Thrones. The article mostly focused on the extreme internet backlash Martin has faced for not being terribly forthcoming with the latest installment in his series. The prior one came out in 2005, and ended on a cliffhanger. He had a ton of loyal fans, who formed fan clubs, talked on internet forums and chat rooms, and occasionally even found out that they had more in common than just the books and wound up marrying each other.

Plenty stayed loyal, but now there are hate sites too, and he gets bushels of angry letters warning him that he'd better not die before he finishes the book. (Incidentally, the article was also an eye-opener for me in a different way. The week after the article appeared, the New Yorker ran a four-folded ad for the HBO show based on Game of Thrones. I guess the publication I work for is not the only publication that does stuff for its advertisers).

Anyway, several things jumped out at me from that article. George RR Martin was consciously trying to take the genre in a different direction, away from the quest-based archetype that Tolkien set up. The article says that the books were based very loosely on the events of the War of the Roses (the real one, not the Kathleen Turner movie). It also said that the books were minimalist in their fantasy trappings. Those are two reasons that I guess I'd shied away from the genre: the fantasy books that I looked at often struck me as either the same basic book over and over again, or just an excuse to write vivid descriptions of unicorns. So I gave Game of Thrones a shot, and liked it so much I bought A Clash of Kings last weekend.

These are perfect books to get lost in, they're nice and long and action-packed. The characters are fully fleshed out but there's a lot there for "plot" people too (oh, is there ever). The NYer article was right about the minimalist nature of the fantasy elements. They are there, but they don't hit you over the head with it, focusing more on the relationships between the characters, and how events change them.

The story is basically a conflict between several noble families. About 12 years prior to the start of the books, Ned Stark and Robert Barthaeon massed an army to overthrow the mad dragon king Targaryen (he wasn't literally a dragon, but the family had an affinity with them, even though dragons are extinct). The last of the Targaryens fled across the seas. Stark returned to his family's lands in the north, and Barthaeon wed Cersei Lannister and ruled as king. But Cersei Lannister has higher ambitions than just being a pretty ornament, and the Targaryen children are now of an age where they can start plotting to win back their throne. Stark has no desire to be anything but the lord in his own region, but he's not given much of a choice.

One slightly disorienting thing about the books is that they're told in a round-robin fashion through the eyes of a variety of characters. I counted about ten third-person-limited perspectives in Game of Thrones alone, and more are added in the second. It's good in a way: if you find someone boring, all you have to do is wait out their chapter, and the story will go with someone else, and you will have seen the back of them for a while. Sometimes, though, they're too long away and it's hard to remember where you left off.

The books are also pretty brutal. There's rape. There are violent murders, including one of the most imaginative, gory and fitting death scenes since the film Seven. There's more treachery than you can shake several sticks at. There is a lot of sexism, but one thing I like is that as the story unfolds, you get a hint of what might be coming to sexist asshole kings who discount the capabilities of women.

The books are very absorbing, though. George RR Martin tempers the brutality with humor and tender touches where you least expect it. For example, the young Targaryen girl, Danerys, is essentially sold into marriage by her older brother to the leader of this fearsome, savage tribe. She's only 13. Her wedding festivites are terrifying, with members of the tribe getting drunk, grabbing random women right out in the open and having sex with them, killing each other over who gets to have sex with who, and by the end of the scene as the wedding night approaches, you are terrified for Danerys. But her new husband turns out to be tender and gentle, and their wedding night is one of the sweetest scenes in Game of Thrones.
So far, I highly reccommend the series, and can't wait to see what comes next.

Fail

I don't know why, but I've had a rather high fail rate among my library picks recently. I went to the library a few weeks ago, full of ideas. Of course, they were all checked out or unavailable. I got some alternatives.

The first to fail was Last Night in Twisted River by John Irving. I'd liked Cider House, of course, and wanted to try something else. This was set in a logging camp and opened with a gripping account of the death of a young boy. But after that, I just couldn't get into it. Also, not to sound shallow, but the book was falling apart, and I kept having to hold the pages and the binding together.

So I turned to The Invisible Circus by Jennifer Egan. I was savvy enough to know that the title couldn't possibly be literal, but naive enough to get drawn in enough to pick the book up anyway. It sounded like it might be good. It's about a girl whose older sister was a hippie in the 1960s and died under mysterious circumstances in Italy several years earlier. Adrift after high school, she goes to retrace her sister's footsteps.

The first half of it was slow-moving and emotionally devoid. Phoebe (the main character) has had a lot of sad things happen to her, and from her lifestyle, it's obviously affected her deeply, but we don't feel it. She seems flat. It's hard to conjure up much empathy for her, and by the time she's obtaining her passport and plane tickets, I wanted her to just quit fucking whining already.

But when she made it to Europe, I just wanted to smack her. I went when I was slightly older than her, and it was so terrific and incredible that I've wanted to return ever since. I remember vividly the sense of possibility around every corner, the feeling of your mind and senses being blown wide open, the way that everything seemed extraordinary. Phoebe doesn't see any of this. She's a one-note singer, looking for hippies everywhere and asking if they remembered some random girl who had passed that way years earlier, as if it's even remotely likely.

So I gave up on that book. I looked in my book bin, and only two still appealed to me. Riches Among the Ruins by international financier Robert Smith is the one I'm reading right now. I saved Pelican Road (can't remember the author) as well, and a few others I'd picked up at a library visit earlier this week: a book by Carolyn Chute, and a book about the Vikings. The rest are going back today. Better luck next time, right?