Rain of Gold (Victor Villasenor)

One of the other teachers at work recommended this book to me. Her favorite book of all time, she said, and I can see why. It's the sweeping tale of two families, their experiences leaving turbulent Mexico during the Mexican Revolution and their adaptation to America. It is, in fact, the true story of the author's grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles and it is a fascinating peek into Mejicano culture. Stories of gold mines, bootlegging, poverty, rape, religion, humor, honor, and love. What is a life well-lived? What makes a man a man? How do we keep God in our everyday miracles?

I personally like the character of Dona Margarita, the image of her in the outhouse every morning with a cigarette in one hand, whiskey-spiked coffee in the other, and the Bible across her lap. Yet her real-life religion, based in fact and human reality rather than spiritual idealism, rings true. God with humor, color, and a bit of earthy dirt. Her policy of honesty is a good example of this color. "God respects my honesty that I admit that I lie... He's the biggest liar in all the universe. Giving us a mind that knows all the questions but none of the answers! He won't hate you for lying or cheating or swearing if it helps you to survive. But, of course, you don't injure others." Her philosophy on marriage, children, and alcohol pepper the book with laughter and truth, keeping her family together through bad and good times and through the good and bad within themselves. As she says to her son, "Every time... the devil comes near, I swear, you'll hear from me. I'm the tick up your spiritual asshole for all eternity!"

A fun read for the bubbly bathtub or curled up like a cat in your favorite page-turning place, Rain of Gold would have been perfect to bring on the airplane, the train, the road for my upcoming trip to Europe but, well, I finished it already. Hm. Sad.

Honeymoon With My Brother (Franz Wisner)

My father and step-mom happened upon a book signing at a local bookstore by the author of this book, Honeymoon with My Brother, Franz Wisner. And I am very glad that they picked me up a copy of this light, airy and well-written memoir. One of those Million Little "memoirs" that have been in the news of late? No. This is, in fact, Franz's true story of being left at the altar by his girlfriend/financee of ten years, quickly followed by a demotion at his 12-hour-a-day, life-obsessing job. Questioning everything he thought he stood for, who he is and why his life has rolled to a halt at this particular stumbling block, Franz decided to still go on the pre-paid Honeymoon to Costa Rica. With his brother as his "bride."

After two weeks of jungle-trekking, Imperial drinking, volcano watching, and brotherly love (Man, I loved Costa Rica!), the boys come home with the idea of a year-long vacation around the world. Now or never, they think, and why not? They're young and unattached. And, of course, they are of independent means. Not overly rich but, well, let's just say that Franz even paid the mortgage on his 1/2 a million dollar house while they were out of town. A house that for the additonal second year of the trip, he did sell. In those two years on the road, they visited 53 countries on five continents (Australia and the Artic are still on the To Do list). Though they do have some cash to throw around, that doesn't mean that their travels were ultra-plush. In fact, they share many money-saving ideas along their life-changing, perspective-altering and self-finding trek. Wisner's observations and travel saavy are very fun, even if they make you want to simultaneously hug him for his adventure and hit him in jealousy that you are not there yet yourself. Observations like:

• How to get Saab to pay for you to fly to Europe
• Where to get a sand-floored hut on the beach for $4 a night (double occupancy)
• Visible signs that a country's government is corrupt
• Why to ditch that Lonely Planet guidebook
  
• What hand signals are considered raunchy in Brazil
• Football (soccer) facts and fans from around the world

Honeymoon is a highly entertaining read that makes you want to quit your job, give away your cat and sail away into the world. Don't forget the sunscreen! I am a world traveller myself, setting off for Eastern Europe in less than a week now (Yay!) and also a writer (who would kill for the opportunity to write a book that would pay for all of those travels!). So I am very happy, then, that my dad and step-mom had it personally inscribed to me and The Boyfriend at the authorial meet-and-greet that they attended.

The Brothers Karamozov (Fyodor Dostoevky)

Okay, so my classic reading spree has gone a skosh too far and I am over the deep end in pages over my head. That and it's not fun anymore. Unlike the Joyce attempt, this book was not obfuscated or as hard to follow as breadcrumbs at an aviary. No. Dostoevsky has a great, detailed story-telling style full of ripe, psychological dialog. It's just frickin long and I don't have the patience right now. Plus, it's due at the library and I'm only on page 246 of 720. I think Dostoevsky, much like a foreign language, must be part of a class' instruction. You'll never get through it on your own unless you buy the audio tapes.

Lady Chatterley's Lover (D.H. Lawrence)

You know, I am usually one that objects to the four letter word that starts with a C that describes female genitalia. Hell, I'll say it--Cunt. Yes, cunt is not my favorite word by far, mostly because of the bitchy, rather dirty connotation it has taken on. A cunt is not a thing you make love to--it is for pure fucking, one night stands, and for women that wouldn't let you get even close to theirs. Yet, Lady Chatterley's Lover has recast the word in my eyes. "Tha'art good cunt, though, aren't ter? Best bit o' cunt left on earth... Fuck is only what you do. Animals fuck. But cunt's a lot more than that. It's thee, dost see: an' tha'rt a lot besides an animal, aren't ter? even ter fuck! Cunt! Eh, that's the beauty o' thee, lass." Ah, the subtleties of language one learns in literature. (Have you ever heard the penis called a 'cod?')

This novel is, yes, very sexually charged. It was banned for any sort of pubication in the United States, even by mail from Europe (the postmaster got involved to halt it). But it's literary merit brought it through to the public and brought the pubic delights of Lady Chatterley into daylight. If you are looking for a purely erotic novel, look elsewhere--something about pirates with Fabio on the cover will usually do, in my opinion. This story is mainly a tale of how industrialization, especially in England where the story is set, changes the nature of man. Sex is a huge part of this because, as men and women become mechanized, how do they define themselves as men and women? D.H. Lawrence believes that the self-worth that people had in the pre-industrial age is lost as they become cogs in an assembly line. In order to by happy and express themselves, then, they buy things. Money, money, money. So a bunch of sexless beings roam the planet, unable to truly love without shame.

I'm sure we can all agree when we look upon the general populace or the dating scene we see a lot of people that don't really qualify as "men." Modernized, shameful, gonadless men. So too with some women, who use sex to gain what they want and often don't crave it themselves, misleading their men and then shaming them for their own desires. Even after the sexual revoltion, do you think we have human sexuality quite right yet, quite wholly natural? Therefore when a man and a woman are able to truly love one another, in every way, it is truly a magical and rare thing.

I really enjoyed the ideas that Lawrence, shall we say, arouses in the novel. Ideas that I believe are still very apt for these times, when we often discuss the isolating effects of technology and the inhumanizing aspects of airbrushed models in magazines and television. Where, then, is the Mellors to awaken every lost, searching (but for what?) Lady Chatterley? Or, as these characters name their, hmmm, nether regions in the book: John Thomas and Lady Jane. Lady Jane? That's going to be my new analogy for the vagina. I think I still prefer that to the word cunt.

Ice Child (Elizabeth McGreggor) + The Blue Nowhere (Jeffrey Deaver)

Okay, so I forgot to bring my book to work for two different days last week. Not a problem at any other job, I'm sure, but when you have a solid two hours of nap time, you need the intellectual stimulation in order to stop the mental metamorphosis into a Teletubbie. I think I would turn into LaLa. My choices, without my trusty book, were some girly or celeb magazines or a Reader's Digest volume of four novels, sandwiched into one book. That, obviously is what I chose and I wound up reading two of the four. Guess I needed a little fluff with all that I have been reading lately--been bulking up on the classics that you often see on grad school reading lists. And fluff fluff fluffy they were.


The Ice Child plot synopsis:
Freelance journalist meets Antarctic explorer by covering the story of his disappearance during a historical expedition searching for the lost ships of an 18th century British mission that was looking for the Northwest passage. They fall in love and, dumping his wife who he has not lived with in years and over the objections of his son, plan to be married. On the day of the wedding, the son argues with the father due to pent up feelings of neglect and of loving the Artic and a lost, dead Brit more than his son. The son pushes the father, who loses balance, gets hit by a car and dies. The journalist is, of course, pregnant. The son, feeling responsible, runs away to the Artic to finish his father's quest and is declared missing. The journalist has the child who turns out to have a rare immune disease that can only be cured with a bone marrow transplant from his missing half-brother... I think you get the point. Oh, and don't forget the interspersed sections told from the point of view of the British explorers and a momma polar bear. Woo hee.

Plot synopsis of The Blue Nowhere:
A serial killer is loose, finding victims through the internet. He "socially engineers" them--finds out little details that can be used to turn himself into someone that can get close. The computer crimes unit enlists the help of an imprisoned hacker to track him down. Full of mostly correct computer jargon and some overly godlike viruses that "seize root" at every opportunity, prepare yourself to be whacked over the head with clues that will (obviously) become important to the twists of the story.

Okay. I'm back to Lady Chatterley's Lover now and am much much happier though also more well-informed should I ever choose to write a soap opera.