Notta Book Review

Summer vacation is coming (June 12 -- YAY!!!!!!!!!!) and with it, lazy days of reading on the back porch punctuated by afternoon naps. In preparation I have put a number of books on hold at the library. Just to update my interested bookaphile readers (all 6 of you!) here is my current reading: I have taken a break from Queen Bees and Wannabes, Silk Road, and The Woman Behind the New Deal: The Life of Frances Perkins. They just weren't grabbing me, if you know what I mean.

Now I am reading In A Dark Wood Wandering: A Novel of the Middle Ages, first published in Europe in 1949, and translated from the Dutch. I picked it up on a whim at the public library friends' shop It's a tome -- 574 pages of dense print -- but so far, so good. I'm finding it to be very engaging.

Next up: Daniel Pinkwater's The Neddiad: How Neddie Took the Train, Went To Hollywood, and Saved Civilization. Followed by The Iggyssey, also by Pinkwater. He is an author I frequently forget about, but I am always delighted by his writing. We used to torment our childless friends -- the ones who were scared of our children back when we were all younger and I hadn't yet become a hermit -- by forcing them to read Pinkwater's picture book The Wuggie Norple Story aloud. (Our youngest daughter, however, gave us our just desserts by insisting that we read it every night and change all of the characters' names to people she knew. Reading it became an ordeal of her barking out corrections at us: "NO, not Wuggie Norple. Petey!" Oh, how I miss those days now.)

Anyway, stay tuned for further book reviews.

I'd move to the Netherlands if it weren't so darned flat!

I read this wonderful bit of news on Boing Boing. Now, this is the kind of unemployment problem our country should have!

For your enjoyment ...

In 1969, a 14-year-old Beatle fanatic named Jerry Levitan snuck into John Lennon's hotel room in Toronto and convinced him to do an interview. 38 years later, Levitan, director Josh Raskin and illustrator James Braithwaite have collaborated to create an animated short film using the original interview recording as the soundtrack. A spellbinding vessel for Lennon's boundless wit and timeless message, I Met the Walrus was nominated for the 2008 Academy Award for Animated Short.



(Hat tip to TR for sending this my way. I love it!)

Violence Against Women

As I write this there is an ongoing manhunt in our city for a man who shot and killed his wife 2 days ago, the day their divorce became final. As it turns out, the suspect is "Fokky Weber" the very same bully who used to beat up my husband when they were kids. Mr. Ether says that one time he got sick of being hit over and over by said bully, and slugged him, making him cry. It didn't stop him though. Apparently he once mugged my brother-in-law, shaking him down for a nickel. Brian ran home and told his parents, who called the police. The police came and said, "He comes from a bad home, there's really nothing we can do." And the events of this week are the culmination of all those years of thuggery.

Where I'm going with all this is that the new issue of The Nation (which I read at the dentist's office) has an excellent column by Katha Pollitt, "Unnatural Born Killer":

We are so used to violence against women we don't even notice how used to it we are. [my italics] When we're not persuading ourselves that women are just as violent toward men as vice versa if you forget about who ends up seriously injured or dead, or pointing out that most murders are of men by men, we persuade ourselves that violence against women just comes up out of nowhere. Murder is serious, especially if the victim is young, white, middle-class, pretty; harassment, abuse, domestic violence, even rape, not so much. After all, as I'm writing, I read that Houston, taking a leaf from Sarah Palin's Wasilla, is requiring rape victims to pay for the processing of their rape kits. Los Angeles has a backlog of 12,669 unprocessed rape kits, some so old the crimes have exceeded the statute of limitations. It's controversial to even use terms like "misogyny" and "male privilege" to explain the prevalence of these crimes and the shameful inadequacy of our social and legal response to them. And if you really want to be branded a square and a prude, try talking about the hatred and contempt for, and objectification of, women that permeates pop culture.

We have an awfully long way to go as a culture. Food for thought.

Dental Work

I went to the dentist today ... first time in a long time. Even with insurance we have a pretty big outstanding debt from some crowns, and that puts a damper on things like preventive health care. I finally went however, and I need some work done -- no surprises there. But my dentist is cool*. For example, how many dentists' offices have The Nation as office reading material? How many dentists are former Union steamfitters? So I'll be going back in a few weeks to rack up some more debt. What the hell?

*Other cool facts about my dentist:

• He does free dental work for people who cannot afford it, such as homeless men.
• He junk-picks bicycles from off the curb and fixes them up.
• His office is decorated with his wife's artwork, not the usual dental office schlock.
• He plays good music.

Woo Hoo!

A statewide smoking ban (in all workplaces including restaurants and bars, but not cigar bars, obviously) will be signed into law on Monday! Madison has had one for the last several years, and as the spouse of a working musician I can't tell you what a difference it has made. I am happy to see this go through.

The Merry Merry Month of May

Regretfully, I missed our local annual May Day celebration this year. It happens on May 1st at dawn. The Morris dancers, the Pagans, and other people who are in the know all converge at the end of Picnic Point to ... um, er ... erect a Maypole, dance, sing, leap over a bonfire and other fertility rites, and welcome summer. I love going to it, but it's so darned difficult to get up even earlier than usual, drive across town, then drive across town again to get to work by 7:30 a.m. (not to mention having to explain why I smell like a campfire!)

May is my favorite month, and May Day is one of my favorite holidays of the year. So I bring you The Watersons singing Hal-an-Tow:



And here is the genuine article, filmed in May 2008, in Helston, Cornwall. Someday I'm going to go there.



If British folk traditions are your cup of tea (ha ha, cultural reference intended) you should most definitely read the book In Search of Albion by Colin Irwin.

Happy Mothers' Day!

Following My Muse

I just got home from my bi-weekly guitar lesson. More and more I am finding that I look forward to these lessons. What I mean by that is, that although I have been enjoying learning to play, I often feel a sense of shame around lessons: I haven't practiced enough, I'm going to make a fool of myself, and so on and so forth. However, my new teacher is so encouraging and the music that she is giving me to learn is exactly what I want to be learning. It is a very good fit.

As I was driving to my lesson today I was musing about me and the guitar, and I realized that when I'm playing -- when I get into what Mr. Ether calls "the zone" -- it really is playing in the truest childhood sense of the word. When I can let go of my inhibitions, and quit feeling like I'm channeling the Eugene Levy/Catherine O'Hara duo from A Mighty Wind, I feel so happy.

The late, great educator John Holt addressed that in a book he wrote about learning to play the cello as an older adult, Never Too Late. It's been a few years since I read it, but if I remember correctly, he wondered if we set up psychological barriers when we talk about "practicing" an instrument, and would it be different if it was just referred to as "playing." I haven't thought about that for a long time, but I suspect he was onto something.

That's it for now. I have to go and play my guitar.

Book review: Monique and the Mango Rains by Kris Holloway

Monique and the Mango Rains: Two Years with a Midwife in Mali chronicles Kris Holloway's two years as a Peace Corps volunteer in Mali, Africa and also tells the story of a remarkable young woman, Monique Dembele.

Kris Holloway was 21 years old and just out of college when she was assigned to the village of Nampossela, Mali. Her host in the village was 25-year old Monique Dembele, the midwife and general health care provider for the area. Monique had been born in the nearby city of Koutiala, and as is traditional, came to her husband's village to live after her marriage. Because she was fluent in French as well as the local language, she was selected by the village leaders to receive training as a health care worker. This work became Monique's passion.

One of the things that really struck me about Monique Dembele was that, although she had very little formal education and was relatively isolated from many of the ideas that women growing up in the Western world take for granted, she had an amazing feminist sensibility about her. To me it is the essence of feminism to be concerned about what's best for women and children. Monique knew from her health work that multiple successive pregnancies were often deadly for women, as was too-early weaning of babies, so she worked to make birth control pills available in her village.

Another example of this (and a very touching part of the book) was when Kris became aware of and was shocked by the Malian practice of female circumcision. Monique was equally shocked by the revelation that it was not universal practice, that women in the United States are not cut, and can actually enjoy sexual intercourse as much as men. This set Monique on the road of thinking about her younger, pre-pubescent sister, as well as her young daughter.

Over the two years that Kris lived in Nampossela and worked with Monique, the two women became fast friends, a friendship that endured after Kris returned to the United States. Monique visited the United States for a month in 1993. The two women corresponded, sharing their joys and sorrows. More than anything else, this book is a beautiful tribute to a friendship.

Holloway wrote the book after Monique's tragic death in childbirth with her fifth child. (This is not a spoiler. It is included in the book's introduction.) Kris returned to Mali in 1999 to try to understand her friend's death and to advocate for the education of Monique's three living children. The proceeds from Monique and the Mango Rains are directly benefiting her children, as well as helping to fund Clinique Monique outside of Nampossela, a medical clinic founded and run by Monique's cousin. Monique's younger sister Angelé followed in her sister's footsteps by becoming a midwife, and works at the clinic.

I highly recommend this book.

Definitely Beautiful

I posted a couple of things about work on Facebook, which elicited a chat with my friend Dave in Ottawa. (I have lots of friends named Dave, by the way.) He gave me some nice strokes -- just the sort of thing a teacher needs to hear on a Friday afternoon -- and sent me the link to this video of poet Taylor Mali. It made me cry.

You're A Swine!

In honor of "Snoutbreak '09"

Maybe You Can Help Me

I would like very much to acquire a copy of this book
but I do not wish to spend upwards of $75.00 on it. If you should ever run across it at a thrift store or yard sale, would you be so kind as to purchase it for me? Or if you happen to have it sitting in your book case ... (hint, hint. I'm not naming names, but you know who you are. I'll give you a small amount of cash and a signed note that I will never again dis' J.K.Rowling in public. I promise!)

Lunatic Fringe

In a WaPo article today, headlined Gun Owners Attack Rush Limbaugh (no comment; I try to walk the path of nonviolence) I read that a number of national sport-hunting organizations are upset with that flaming liberal Mr. Limbaugh for doing public service announcements for the extreme fringe group The Humane Society of the United States, helping them "mainstream their image."

The Post reports:

Rush Limbaugh's new pet project -- fighting animal cruelty for the Humane Society of the United States -- is riling sportsmen from coast to coast, prompting fears that the talkster typically supportive of gun rights is aiding a group they say has a secret agenda to end all hunting in America.

Twenty-eight groups representing millions of hunters and sportsmen are demanding that the conservative radio commentator end his collaboration with the HSUS and stop "helping them to mainstream their image in the minds of reasonable people."

I have a few questions here. What the hell is a "talkster", as in "talkster backs animal group"? You mean he's not a mean-spirited, treacherous, oxycontin-using, bigoted, chicken hawk anymore? He's traded all that for the kinder, gentler handle of "talkster" -- one who likes fluffy kitties, no less? Why in the world would the HSUS want Rush to be a spokesperson? Does he even know that he is a spokesperson? The interview with Faux News' Greta Von-whatever her name is would suggest not.

This is just absurd! I didn't think I was going to get to use this tag again, but ... Jesus I'm sick of these people!

Book Review: Men At Arms by Terry Pratchett

My name is Suzy and, friends, I have an addiction to the writing of Terry Pratchett. It is not necessarily a harmful addiction by standard definitions. I still go to work, stay clean and sober, and feed my family. However, it does set the bar ridiculously high for literary quality. In short, because of Terry Pratchett I can no longer read just anything. His books are that good. In fact, there is a book -- currently out of print and stupidly expensive so I have not read it -- called Guilty of Literature. It's a collection of essays by other authors (A.S. Byatt, for one) about Pratchett's writing.

Men At Arms is the second book about the Watch, the police force of the ancient city of Ankh-Morpork. When the story opens, the Watch -- a typical old boys' club -- is struggling to integrate some new affirmative action recruits: a dwarf, a troll, and a w-. Captain Samuel Vimes, a 25-year Watch veteran, is retiring in 24 hours when he marries Lady Sybil Ramkin and becomes a part of Ankh-Morpork's society elite. Corporal Carrot ( a dwarf by adoption), Sergeant Fred Colon, and Corporal Nobby Nobbs round out the core group of Watchmen.

In the midst of this internal upheaval, a series of murders rocks the city of Ankh-Morpork. A murder in Ankh-Morpork is nothing unusual, but these murders appear to have been committed with a one-of-a-kind weapon invented by the genius Leonard of Quirm, and believed to have been destroyed by the Assassin's Guild: Ennog Eht. (Leonard of Quirm preferred to write in mirror writing.) Worse yet, Ankh-Morpork's patrician, Lord Vetinari -- a former assassin himself -- has ordered Vimes not to investigate.

Men At Arms is an excellent example of the brilliance of Pratchett's writing. He combines explicit and relevant social commentary with great stories, memorable characters, and exquisitely bad puns. Dear [blog] readers, there is a reason that Pratchett became Sir Terry Pratchett last year and is the second most popular fantasy writer in Britain. (OK, that one's easy: It's because J.K. Rowling had a lot of money backing her.) Maybe his writing isn't for everyone, but if you enjoy a good book -- I mean a really well-written book -- and you like to be made to think and laugh, then for Pete's sake, don't make me say it again: Read Terry Pratchett!!

The Watch series begins with the book Guards, Guards, then Men At Arms, Feet of Clay, Jingo, The Fifth Elephant, Nightwatch, and Thud!

Happy Birthday, Mr. Ether!

Here's the cake I wish I could make for you. I love you! (Go wish him a happy birthday yourself, over at his blog, Enriched Geranium.)

Blogger Meet-Up

Tweetey and her lovely daughters in Green Bay, Easter weekend. It's fun to put real faces with the words people write.

My Trusty Steed

I had an unsettling experience this morning. When I went to the garage to get my bike for the (ridiculously short) commute to work, I immediately knew that something was not right. We're pretty loosey-goosey about our garage, which mostly seems to be a haven for the neighbor's cat, squirrels, and once, a skunk ... but things didn't look right. My first thought was for Mr. Ether's bike, a nice vintage Trek and by far the most valuable. It was there, all the bikes were there, but his bike and mine were kind of tipped over. My bike had a big old grafitti sticker stuck to the seat that hadn't been there before, and when I went to ride it, the seat was tipped up at an awkward angle.

Furthermore, in a burst of common sense Mr. Ether had closed the garage door when we left on our little vacation last week, but when we returned he found the garage door open and Sparkly Seacow's bike in the driveway. He didn't make much of it, until my discovery today.

It looks as if someone came and took our bikes out for a spin and then returned them. How strange is that? I'm grateful that they were only borrowed, not stolen, but I still feel somewhat violated. I guess the lesson is to lock up our bikes, even in the garage, and keep the door closed.

Odd, very odd.

Book Review: The Wet Engine

A few years ago my brother sent me this sweet little book, The Wet Engine: Exploring the Mad Wild Miracle of the Heart, by Brian Doyle. First, a few words about my brother Paul. He's an extremely funny and smart guy, wielding sarcasm and cynicism like a finely honed rapier. In our house there is an oft-repeated quote of his that has become something of a mantra for Sparkly Seacow: "Sarcasm in a child is an ugly thing", delivered dripping with sarcasm of course. Anyway, underneath Paul's oh so tough exterior is (and always has been) an incredible well of compassion for all sentient beings and for the natural environment. (However he doesn't suffer human fools gladly.) In short, he's a marshmallow.

Anyway, receiving this little gem of a book meant a great deal to me. Paul dropped everything and flew across the country to stay with me when our daughter Sophie died. He has been consistently attuned to my loss, and the gift of The Wet Engine was one more example of this.

Brian Doyle had twin sons. One was born healthy and whole, while the other one, Liam, had just three chambers in his heart and underwent two open heart surgeries as an infant to make his heart functional. This experience inspired Doyle to write an ode to this very essential organ, to all that it means to the human psyche, and to the doctors that saved his son and thousands of other children every year. Doyle's prose reads like poetry, by turns poignant, informative, and funny.

I've read it twice now. I will admit, it was a bittersweet read for me. Liam survived, in all likelihood will live into adulthood, and grow to be an old man. My daughter did not. But Doyle's purpose in this book isn't to celebrate a victory at the expense of all the other children who die of congenital heart defects. In fact, this book is so loving, sometimes I felt as if he was speaking directly to me and my bereavement. I often think that Sophie's death -- whatever situation led to her death -- resulted in new learning that saved the lives of many babies who came after her. Perhaps even Liam's life.

Doyle deftly interweaves his memoir with facts about the heart, some startling and some sobering. Here is a passage:

In America these days one woman dies every minute of every day from a failed heart. More women die of failed hearts than men. Failed hearts kill more women and men than the next seven causes of death combined. The highest rate of death by failed heart is in Utah. The lowest rate is in Mississippi. More than four hundred babies are born every day with flawed hearts. Eight of every thousand babies are born with flawed hearts. One percent of all babies born all over the world are born with flawed hearts. Twenty percent of all babies born with flawed hearts will die before their first birthday.

The Wet Engine is a quick read, though you might want to savor it. It's a lovely book. Highly recommended.

(Just a personal note for anyone who knows my family -- or is my family -- and is reading this. The warm embrace of family and friends, the way that Sophie has been integrated into everyone's lives even though she is not physically present, fills me with love and awe. You are amazing.)

Go, Vermont!

(From Think Progress this morning)

Yesterday, Vermont Gov. Jim Douglas (R) vetoed a bill legalizing gay marriage that passed the state legislature last week. Now the legislature has voted to override Douglas’ veto: The Senate voted 23-5 in favor of the override, and the House voted 100-49. Vermont joins Massachusetts, Connecticut, and Iowa as the only states where gay marriage is legal, and Vermont is the first state to approve gay marriage through the legislature.