Girl Detective

#64 in my book challenge for the year. As with all the Potter books, an enjoyable, fast read that is darker and more complex than the books that preceded it.

In a wonderful reversal, Harry no longer hesitates about telling people his suspicions, so there is no contrived conflict as there has been in the previous five books. Instead, and much more believably, I think, sometimes people believe him, sometimes they don’t.

Snape’s character is continually called into question. Malfoy is up to something, but no one believes Harry as to what it is. A new professor, Slughorn, is introduced. Dumbledore and Harry are finally communicating and spending time together so Harry can learn about Voldemort. And Harry has a crush on a girl, though apparently, many people think she’s the wrong one. (Which is absurd. Those who think this have not been paying attention. Rowling has been dropping hints about these pairings in every single one of the previous books. Silly readers.) And at the end someone important dies, though Harry finds out that there is someone else out there with the initials R. A. B. who has acted against Voldemort. (I have a theory about who this is, by the way, if anyone wants to email me and discuss nerdishly.)

The next book is set up so that Harry will be leaving Hogwart’s and seeking out Voldemort, supposedly on his own. I thought this was a dark, entertaining story that was a good penultimate novel in a series, provided that Rowling can pull off the ending. She has her shortcomings as a writer–sometimes weak prose and a tendency to go on that is not edited now that she is so famous–but plotting is not generally one of them. I look forward to the next and last book in the series.

G. Grod and I are expecting again. Drake’s little sibling is due in late February. This is a bittersweet thing for me to write. While we planned and want to have more than one child, we have several close friends who are struggling to get or to stay pregnant. I’ve become very aware that congratulating someone on pregnancy is very strange–hey guys, good job on you know what!–while the positive attention that pregnant women and women with new babies attract can be like a twisting dagger to those for whom life is far less fair. While I’m excited for us, I’m sad, yet hopeful, for our friends.

For the past three months, I’ve been fatigued and nauseous, which has not done a lot to help my writing habit. If I every get over this rotten cold (two weeks today and counting) I hope to feel better, generally, and be more consistent with this weblog and get back to work on my novel. Because, come February, life’s going to get a lot more complicated.

#63 in my book challenge for the year, published by Alternative Comics. Weird but charming is the best description I find for Kochalka’s work. His books are always odd, but the cute factor of the art combined with the author’s sometimes painfully earnest honesty have found a continual place in my graphic novel collection. This is a wee book, expensive at $19.95, but with a pleasing size and good paper and cover quality. The themes he covers are familiar ones: work with passion, not with craft; fear technology, not nature; embrace love and hope. The middle sections, which focus on 9/11 and the birth of his son, read like extended sections from his Sketchbook Diaries, while the rest focuses on comics criticism and theory. This is not the book to start with if you’ve never read Kochalka (for that I’d recommend Quit Your Job or Fantastic Butterflies), but it’s a worthy, interesting addition if you’re already a fan.

I’m not sure the State Fair visit number 2 was a good idea. I left with a stomachache, probably having sampled one food too many (honey/sunflower-seed ice cream, I’m lookin’ at you.)

Unsurprisingly, the fair is much easier to manage with 2 parents to each child, rather than on mom-to-man defense. Drake had his first pronto pup, the Minnesotan version of a hot dog on a stick, dipped in batter and deep fried. Apparently, corn dogs are an Iowa thing, according to our friends. We also had fried cheese curds (I miss them already), Puff Daddy on a Stick–thai sausage wrapped in puff pastry on a stick drizzled with a peanut sauce (Sausage Sister & Me does badly named but delicious fair food. We also enjoyed their Little Sistazz, finger-food sausage slices in puff pastry), then root beer, a breakfast burrito with guac from Tejas (free coffee!), roasted sweet corn, mini-donuts, Cinnie Smith’s mini cinnamon rolls, and finished with a cider freezie for Drake and the regrettable ice cream for me, which has lost its place on the list. G. Grod got to see a butter sculpture of one of the princess candidates being carved, so he felt his mission to the fair had not been in vain. I see the butter sculptures like most regional oddities–once is perhaps more than enough. Then again, G. Grod only feels the need to go to the fair once a year, as opposed to me, who wants to go as many times as it takes to try all the food that I fancy.

My must-have fair treats list is now honed to cheese curds, Sister & Me sausage, World’s Best french fries, roast corn, Sweet Martha’s chocolate chip cookies, mini donuts, 1919 root beer, and Cinnie Smith’s mini cinnamon rolls.

The food critic for the Star Tribune, Rick Nelson, listed these at the not-to-miss foods that debuted this year. Of them, I only tried the cinnamon rolls and Puff Daddy, but both were so excellent that I will add the other items to next year’s list to try. Of course, next year’s fair visit will be more challenging, since it’s likely I’ll be herding both Drake and his little sibling. Perhaps I’ll need to make three trips to try it all.

- Frozen Mocha on a Stick (Minnesota Farmers Union Coffee Shop, Dan Patch Avenue at Cosgrove Street).
- Mini cinnamon rolls (Cinni Smiths, Murphy Avenue at Cooper Street).
- Sorbet in hollowed-out fruit (Key Lime Pie Bar, Cooper Street at the Skyride).
- Spiral Chips (Sonny’s Spiral Chips & Sandwiches, Food Building).
- Puff Daddy on a Stick (Sausage Sister & Me, Food Building).
- Smoked salmon wrap (Giggles’ Campfire Grill, Cooper Street at Lee Avenue).

#62 in my book challenge for the year. I’ve been reading and loving Vaughan’s Ex Machina and Y the Last Man comic book series for a while, but I had yet to pick up Runaways. My friend the Big Brain told me to be patient; the initial series was going to be collected in a full-size, color hardcover. I’m glad I waited rather than picking up the individual issues here and there. The art, by newcomer Adrian Alphona, is distinctive and engaging, and it benefits from the increase in size. Runaways is the story of six teenagers who accidentally discover that their parents are supervillains. Some have powers of their own, others have gadgets, and one has a genetically engineered pet velociraptor. As the series progresses, both the parents and the teens are fleshed out believably. One of the teens is revealed as the mole, and another turns out to have a surprising crush. In the notes that accompany this collection, Vaughan writes that he was trying to make a true all-ages book, one that could be read, understood and enjoyed by kids and adults. I think he’s succeeded, and am now awaiting the next Runaways collection.

I took two-year-old Drake to the Minnesota State Fair this morning with another mom and her son, and I’m happy to say he had a better time than he did last year. The State Fair is one of my favorite events of the summer. I don’t care about rides, or attractions, or displays. I go for the food. Last year, Drake hardly ate a thing. This year, he was much more engaged.

We started with breakfast burritos at Tejas in the food building, then ran out to get a cup of 1919 root beer and a small basket of World’s Best french fries to watch local television personalities Chef Andrew and M.A. Roscoe do a guacomole-making demonstration. Drake didn’t want either the burrito or the excellent guacamole, but he tackled both the root beer and french fries with enthusiasm. Our next stop was my friend’s priority, the roasted corn stand by the grandstand. The boys ran up and down, always coming back for a bite of the roasted, buttered corn. Next was Sweet Martha’s for a cone of chocolate-chip cookies and a cup of milk. Drake and his toddler friend started dancing to the music coming out of the arcade next door. We continued on to the baby animal barn, which has the somewhat concerning name “Miracle of Birth” building. I’ve given birth, and miraculous wouldn’t be the first adjective I’d choose. Messy fits better, I think. We saw a baby horse, baby turkeys, baby sheep and a new calf, but I had to leave before we went further. The crowds were too much for a small building, and Drake was screaming and kicking in my arms. He was soon appeased, though, by a cider freezie from the agriculture building. As we made out way back to the parking lot, I tried a new treat with an unfortunate name, the Fudge Puppy, which is a piece of Belgian waffle on a stick covered in chocolate and topped with whipped cream. My friend and I agreed that it was good, but no different than a chocolate covered fried doughnut. Much more impressive were the mini cinnamon buns at Cinnie Smith’s, new this year to the fair. The little buns were airy and not greasy, hot but not scalding, and had just the right amount of cinnamon-spiced goo. The frosting was a good complement, but only in moderation. I regretted a too-enthusiastic dunk of one of my last minis.

There were a few of my favorite foods that time and toddlers did not permit me to sample: fried cheese curds, mini-donuts, sausage, honey-sunflower-seed ice cream and a lemon shake. Luckily, we have another fair trip planned for the weekend, so I will have one more opportunity to indulge my annual craving for delicious and spectaculary unhealthy foods.

2002 State Fair entry

There are two problems, and they’re simple.

First, takeout is usually not very good. There is something about pre-prepared food other than pizza that seems to disintegrate by the time it gets home. Since I avoid fast food and most packaged foods, my choices are somewhat limited. Again and again I’ve tried prepared foods from our grocery coop, or takeout from restaurants that I normally like. Too often, it is merely mediocre. As regular readers may have divined, I’m not a big fan of mediocre. Mediocre, as far as I’m concerned, is bad. Food is either good or it’s not.

Second, takeout is usually expensive. There is a premium for convenience. This second point often accompanies and exacerbates the first–the takeout is bad AND it’s expensive. For our family of limited means, this is a cruel double whammy.

A further wrinkle is location. There may be good, reasonably priced takeout places here and there, but unless they’re close to me, they’re largely useless.

I rant because we tried a place last night for the second time. As before, the food was so-so, and the price was high. There was little prep and cleanup, which G. Grod and I were grateful for, since we both have dreadful, lingering viruses. But the cost, both in money and in middling food, is just too high. It is with dread that I contemplate tonight’s dinner.

Why is good takeout so hard to find? Why?

For Drake’s birthday, his grammy kindly sent a bookstore gift card. It was burning a hole in G. Grod’s wallet so we went book shopping this weekend. Plus, I think G. may have harbored a small hope that maybe he or I could justify getting something for ourselves, like the new TPB–trade paperback–of Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norell, or the Low CD The Great Destroyer. We were good, though. We used it all on Drake.

Choosing children’s books has been more of a learning curve for me than I would have thought. My mom thoughtfully kept all the books from when my sisters and I were young, and I oversaw the kids’ section of a large used book store for a year. I felt pretty knowledgeable about kids’ books. But a former colleague from the bookstore shared that he spent years collecting a tremendous children’s library, yet all his kids want to read is Pokemon. Like him, having a kid sharpened my appreciation for what really works. Omnibus collections of multiple stories (George and Martha, Curious George, and Madeleine all have these) are heavy for toddlers to lift and too long to read in one setting, causing tears once the book is shut. Deluxe editions, like The Essential Eloise by Kay Thompson, contain extras that might be interesting to adults, but do not make easy reading to children. And some stories are just disliked, either by parents or by the kid. Both my husband and I dislike Curious George stories, which are long, disjointed and often feature odd or disturbing details, like George being kidnapped from the jungle and later smoking. Other books are fine once or twice, but can become tiresome when asked for several times in a row. Some of our books receive a temporary, and some a permanent, time out. Some of Drake’s favorite books are classics from when I was a child, like Bedtime for Frances, but some of the most successful new books we’ve acquired have been recommendations from other parents. Pancakes, Pancakes by Eric Carle, and several of the mouse books by Kevin Henkes are now well-loved and oft-read books in our library.

As I struggled to winnow our choices, I was reminded why we normally shop in used book stores. Yes, there are some dodgy ethics about the author not getting the proceeds, but I just can’t argue with the sheer bang for the buck of the used books. (Last week, for example, we got 11 books–one for us, 10 for Drake–for $30.)

New bookstores, though, have their own joys, like a wide selection, including new releases, of non-shabby books. I was torn by all the choices, though. Should we get new books, classics, hardcovers, paperbacks? Just as I’d finally made my decisions, G. Grod drew my attention to the book clutched in Drake’s hand. He’d made a choice of his own, so I had to put back a copy of Ferdinand by Munro Leaf. Here are our new books. Try to guess which was Drake’s pick.

Kitten’s First Full Moon by Kevin Henkes
Make Way for Ducklings by Robert McCloskey
Swimmy by Leo Lionni
Katy and the Big Snow by Virginia Lee Burton
Lift the Flap: Things That Go
I Am Not Sleepy and I Will Not Go to Bed by Lauren Child

Apologies for sporadic posting. I feel like I’m being flung from one thing to the next. First was G. Grod’s surgery, from which he continues to recover nicely. Then was Drake’s birthday, and this week it’s a very nasty head cold. I can’t quite get my groove back, and I’ve not worked on my novel in a while. I am trying, though,and hope to be back up to speed soon.

#61 in my book challenge for the year. My husband and several other people I know started Harry Potter #6 (Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince) only to say, “I completely forget what happened in #5.” Forewarned, I read #5 in preparation for #6. #5 is the 766-page, brick-sized, potential bludgeoning weapon in the series, so this was not something I undertook lightly. Yet I blazed through the book in just a few days, when books less than half as long have taken me twice as long.

I know there are many out there who don’t like the Harry Potter books, and especially don’t like the hype that they’ve garnered. Fair enough. J.K. Rowling is a fair, not a great, writer of prose, and her books have some serious plot flaws, chief among them, in my opinion, the continued failure of Harry and his friends to confide in adults who have proved themselves trustworthy again and again. If Rowling were a bit more precise in plotting, she could come up with much better reasons why Harry & Co. couldn’t or wouldn’t confide.

There is much to these books’ credit, though. First, they’re getting people to read who might otherwise not. Second, they’ve brought notice and acceptability to that bastard stepchild genre of literature, fantasy. It’s not just for nerds anymore. Third, in spite of plot flaws they are hugely enjoyable, eminently readable tales. And finally, they’re full of engaging, sympathetic characters who have grown more complex over the course of the series. In all, I think the books do much more good than harm. I think detractors are welcome to their opinion, but there’s no need to go on about it.

This book once again escalates the darkness and complexity. Harry is a very believable angry young man. He is confused about his attraction to Cho Chang, he is angry that Dumbledore is keeping him in the dark and ignoring him, he is frustrated that people don’t believe him that Voldemort is back, and he is reckless in his interactions with the new defense against the dark arts professor, Dolores Umbridge, who has been sent from the ministry of magic to keep an eye on things at Hogwarts.

The central plot of the book is solid. There is a group called the Order of the Phoenix that has re-formed in order to fight Voldemort. But other subplots, even if they are integrated, still felt extraneous, such as Hermione’s ongoing attempts to free the house elves, and the mysterious thing that Hagrid is up to this book. I found the shenanigans of Fred and George Weasley to be very entertaining, and was thrilled when they seized control of their fate. Someone in the book who is important to Harry does die, but I felt curiously unmoved both times I’ve read this book by it. On the one hand, it seemed inevitable. On the other, perhaps I was so distracted by the rest of the 766 pages (in the English, Bloomsbury edition) that I couldn’t focus my attention.

This book has the same extremely aggravating flaw as all the books beforehand, which is that Harry is unreasonably stubborn about confiding in trustworthy adults, and much distress might have been avoided. Rowling is great at making the reader want to find out what happens next, but I deplore this contrived way that she manufactures the conflict at points.

I am working at a readable summary of this book for those who don’t wish to re-read it before tackling #6. I found it a quick and enjoyable read, though, and am glad to have undertaken it.

#42 in my movie challenge for the year is this classic mystery adapted from the Dashiell Hammett novel, featuring Nick and Nora Charles and their dog Asta. The mystery of an inventor’s disappearance is less interesting than the intrigue among the suspects, which is secondary to the witty repartee between Nick and Nora, who steal the show. Particularly funny was a throwaway scene, the morning after a big party, where Nick leisurely pops balloons on the Christmas tree with a pop-gun. It’s rather shocking to see how casually excess drinking was taken, and how it is both a joke and sometimes a sign of upper-class urbanity. I wouldn’t be surprised if Nick and Nora needed some time in rehab following their adventures.

#41 in my movie challenge for the year, and quite a departure from the previous film, Key Largo. Harold and Kumar is silly, fun, and knows its limits at under 90 minutes. It has been many years since I’ve had occasion to crave White Castle burgers, but I do remember how urgent those cravings always were. When I was in college, we had a local chain called Little Tavern, and a bag of Little T burgers never seemed as good an idea the morning after as it had the night before.

Both the leads are charming and one of the things that stands out about this comedy is that, without exception, all of the heroes are minorities, while all of the weirdo bad guys are not. It’s a refreshing turn, and one that I’m pleased did well at the box office. Plus, I’m sure this will go on to be a campus classic.

#60 in my book challenge for the year. I was given this book (and its sequels) by a kind friend of mine when I was having postpartum trouble nearly two years ago. It continually got shuffled around and never made it onto my reading list till now. I can see why my friend sent it. True to its cover blurbs, it is a funny, touching, life-affirming book. Botswana itself is so carefully and lovingly described it is almost a character itself. But the main character, Ms. Precious Ramotswe, is a gem. She is honest, down-to-earth, and intelligent. I was thrilled to see her detective business succeed. This also was a good reality check book, with many reminders of what is and is not really important.

I had a few quibbles, though. First, the novel jumped around from story to story, often with little connection or continuity among her cases. Second, there was a little too much reverence for the simple life. The east/west dichotomy is not always so clear cut. Finally, I found the ending strained belief, though it was a relief. These concerns, though, are minor compared to the experience of the whole, which is overall quite worthy.

Drake turned two over the weekend, and we invited a few of his friends and their parents to our house to celebrate. The parents had a good time, the kids played well together, and Drake was still wound up the next day from all the fun. We ordered pizza and I made three kinds of cupcakes: yellow with chocolate ganache frosting, dark chocolate with cream-cheese frosting, and carrot with vanilla-bean cream-cheese frosting. For party favors, we went shopping at our favorite used bookstore and got a selection of Drake’s favorite picture books, by Kevin Henkes, Russell Hoban, and James Marshall, mostly. I was very stressed getting the house in order beforehand, but I love the aftermath of a party–everything is tidy and presentable.

Tomorrow is Drake’s second birthday, and we’re have a few friends of his over. I’ve been doing a little bit of cleaning every day. I tried to put off the kitchen floor as long as I could, but yesterday it reached a point of maximum disgustingness; I had to act. First, I scrubbed it by hand with a Dobie sponge using 2 teaspoons of Doctor Bronner’s Sal Suds to 5 gallons of hot water. Then I went over it with a mop and 1 1/2 cups of white vinegar to 5 gallons of cool water. I did every nook I could reach. That floor was as clean as it has been since we moved in. Yet it still looks dirty. The ancient, originally white tile looks grey and is stained. The corners have gunk in them that I could not scrub up. Like most other things in our kitchen (oven, sink, lack of dishwasher) I don’t love it, but replacing things piecemeal doesn’t make sense, because when (if? whimper) we do overhaul the whole, it would be a shame to have to re-do things. So for now, I do my best with what we’ve got. And I dream of a future kitchen, with a floor that doesn’t show dirt, even when it’s dirty.

My husband G. Grod and I moved to Minnesota seven years ago when he got a job here. We were open to moving, and the best offer was here, so we moved. I had never been here before, but had heard good things about it from friends and thought it auspicious that a number of authors whose books and comic books I admired lived here, such as Neil Gaiman, Steven Brust, Lois McMaster Bujold, and Zander Cannon. A few years ago we bought a condo, then last year we sold that and bought a house, so I think that we’ll be staying.

We’ve received a fair amount of grief from family and friends over our choice. They complain that it’s an expensive, long trip (though most of them have made the expensive, long trip far fewer times than we have made it in reverse). But over time, Minnesota in general, and the Twin Cities in particular, have inveigled their way into our good graces. For many reasons large and small, we like it here. I’m beginning a new category in which I can wax rhapsodic about things Minnesotan that particularly charm me.

Today, for example, I got the reminder in the mail that a local charity will be picking up at the end of next week. I will go through the house, collecting clothing, books and toys that we no longer need, then place them in a bag by the curb in front of our house next week. When it is picked up, we will get a receipt for taxes dropped in our mail slot.

Curbside charity with an advance reminder. It’s one more reason to love living here.

#59 in my book challenge for the year. This book had some serious wow factors. It is a noir cop novel set in Bangkok. The main character is a Buddhist who uses meditation as a detection method, and can see the past lives of those around him. Several times I paused in reading and thought, this book is really cool. There is murder, corruption, drugs, and a damsel who may or may not be in distress. The book covers lots of ground–east/west culture clash, a few short but stunning passages on Thai food, and the complex situational ethics of Bangkok prostitution. The main character of Sonchai is one of the most compelling I’ve read. The ending is somewhat vague. Some might find it frustrating, but I thought it balanced well, karmically. It’s not nice and tidy like a typical American detective novel, but it’s not inconsistent with the rest of the book, which is pleasantly different from a typical American detective novel.

G. Grod is back to work these past few days after his gall bladder surgery, and is tired, but in no pain. He is rather cranky at the continued restriction on fatty foods–and who wouldn’t be?–but is being a good sport. Drake is confused and put out that G. Grod can’t pick him up, but we’re managing. Some friends (saviors, as far as I’m concerned) brought us meals to help out, other friends have made sure that we have what we need, and still other friends wrote and called to check in and give cheer.

We are very thankful for friends, near and far.

It is an growing peeve of mine when literary folk look down on comic books. (What does a peeve grow up into? Mine has gotten pretty big over the years.) Yesterday I read comics referred to on a literary blog as trash reading. In Ebert and Roeper’s review of Stealth, both agreed that it had “comic-book” effects, meaning flashy and non-substantive. “Comic book” is not an adjectival phrase that means simple and bad. Yes, some comic books are trash, just as some books are trash. But comic books and graphic novels can be art in a way that non-picture books can’t. Comic books and graphic novels can be literature told with words and pictures. If one loves books, I believe one can love comics. Comics, like all art , have myriad genres. If a comic book neophyte tells me what kind of book she likes, I can recommend a complementary comic book or graphic novel.

Victorian lit? League of Extraordinary Gentlemen
Cop thrillers? Top Ten
Horror/fantasy? Shakespeare? Sandman
Military/Spy novels? Queen and Country
Mysteries? The Whiteout graphic novels
The Kite Runner/Reading Lolita in Tehran? Persepolis 1 & 2
Young adult coming of age? Goodbye Chunky Rice, Blankets
Travelogue? Carnet de Voyage

One of my favorite events is our family’s weekly trip to the comic store on Wednesday, which is new-comic day. Yesterday there were three–three!–new graphic novels (Tricked by Alex Robinson, Mort Grim by Doug Fraser, and the hardcover collection of Bryan K. Vaughan’s Runaways) plus a few issues from my favorite ongoing series (Fables and 100 Bullets.) When I go to the comic shop, I get to see friends, buy books, and watch Drake while he runs up and down the aisles, crowing with glee. It’s a rich joy, not non-substantive trash.

#40 in my movie challenge for the year is a Bogey/Bacall classic. Key Largo (1948) was directed by John Huston. Bogey plays the former military commander of Bacall’s late husband. He visits her and her father in law at the latter’s Key Largo hotel, only to find the place has been taken over by gangsters. Bacall is amazing–lovely to look at, entertaining to watch, and oh, what a joy to listen to that voice! She has a presence like few others. This is a dark thriller with a kind heart, much less naughty than The Big Sleep.