Girl Detective

#19 in my 2007 book challenge was The Yiddish Policeman’s Union by Michael Chabon. I went to see Chabon discuss this book, a recent selection of Talking Volumes. Chabon in person is good looking, funny, and well spoken. I also saw him on the promotional tour for The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay. He joked about the danger of obsessing over his rank at Amazon. Since winning the Pulitzer, I’m guessing he doesn’t worry so much. Before that reading, I made an embarrassing gaffe. This time I was much better behaved. I stayed in my seat and kept my mouth shut, and listened while Chabon talked and read from his very entertaining book.

My opinion may be biased. I’ve had a literary crush on Michael Chabon since I read The Mysteries of Pittsburgh in college. It was a book that made me want to become a better reader (see #4). I’ve come to have a great deal of empathy for his wife, author Ayelet Waldman, diagnosed as bipolar after the birth of their fourth child. I admire her further for writing AND being married to Chabon. I would be intimidated to write alongside the multiple-award-winning author who’s been showered with critical acclaim since he was in college. She does, though, and her latest book was well reviewed.

Chabon’s TYPU is an alternate-reality noir, in which Jews were granted temporary exile in Alaska after WWII. Detective (”shammes”) Meyer Landsman investigates the murder of a man who lived in his building. He is discouraged from this by his new boss, who is also his ex-wife. In true noir fashion, he continues to pursue his investigation, pissing people off, getting shot at, and obsessing over dames (his ex and his dead sister). It’s a decent mystery, elevated far above the ordinary by its humor, and Chabon’s fluid prose and the eccentricity of the yiddish/noir/alternate history mix. In the end, though, Chabon has too much affection for his characters for anything very bad to happen. In fact, the description of Landsman’s ex is strikingly similar to that of Chabon’s wife. The novel can also be read, I think, as an extended mash note to her.

TYPU succeeds because it unexpectedly tweaks the noir formula. Like John Burdett did with Bangkok 8 (Buddhist noir) and Jonathan Lethem did with Motherless Brooklyn (noir with Tourette’s syndrome), Chabon has taken a seeming incongruity and made it work. TYPU is clever and fun, though perhaps less bitter than it would like to be.

#18 in my 2007 book challenge for the year was Discipline without Tears, a book recommended to me by the doula who helped me through labor with Guppy. It’s not aimed at parents, but rather at teachers, though it has some good insights for both. The authors note that children are good observers, but bad interpreters. They contend that young children have four major desires when they act out: attention, power, revenge, and withdrawal. How an adult feels is a good hint as to the child’s object. An adult often feels annoyed at a child wanting attention, threatened by one seeking power, hurt by one seeking revenge, and helpless by one who has withdrawn. Adults are encouraged to communicate with the child to clarify the situation, and act in response to the different situations: give attention when the child isn’t seeking it, not when she is; give power to the child; don’t show hurt, and find ways for other children to draw out withdrawn peers. This is an old book, and somewhat dated, but it’s worthwhile in that it encourages adults to take the time to analyze what’s going on, learn new patterns, and teach new patterns. Skip the workbook at the end. I recommend re-reading the most relevant chapters instead.

A few things, in list form about Chabon’s appearance, as I’m tired and feel a cold coming on.

One of Chabon’s favorite books is Pride and Prejudice. When the interviewer expressed surprise at this, his voice gently chided her as he asked whether she was surprised that he had picked it, or that it was considered great at all. He admired Austen’s ability to dial up and down her ironic and perfectly pitched voice in the service of her characters. He also said that Elizabeth Bennet is one of the very few main characters that he never tires of spending time with.

While he was writing three of his recent novels–Summerland, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, and The Yiddish Policemen’s Union–people sent him books by other authors that had similar, out-there themes. He waited till after he’d finished his book to read them. (American Gods by Neil Gaiman, a book about comic strips, and The Plot Against America by Philip Roth, respectively.)

Chabon no longer writes through the night, as he did when he was younger. He prefers waking early to spend the beginning of the day with his kids before they go to school, as opposed to 4 to 6 pm, which he noted is the hardest time of the day with kids. (Amen to that.) He also no longer writes short fiction, since the time he used to devote to it is now given to his four children, who range in age from four to thirteen. He likes to read fairy tales to them, since it’s something that can engage all ages.

#17 in my 2007 book challenge was Gilead, my second reading of Robinson’s luminous work. How can I possibly contain my admiration for this book in a brief review? I discussed it with two groups of people. Few liked it; many found it dull. Several wondered why it was good enough to win the Pulitzer. I admit that I admire it more than I enjoyed it. But the experience of it and the aftermath as I ruminate on it, are deeply pleasurable and satisfying.

It’s a letter by an elderly minister written to his young son, to be read long after his death. There is story, plot, mystery, and romance; all are part of the narrator’s ruminations on his life. This is not a fast-paced thriller. It is, though, a deep examination of human relationships, especially between parents and children. It is also a thoughtful theological examination of a microcosm of suffering and redemption, etched onto a small town.

On this reading, I found a parallel between the generations of the narrator’s family, and the ages of Christianity. His grandfather was a soldier and warrior, who had visions of God and lived by simplistic rules of right and wrong, like the God of the Old Testament. He also has only one eye, like Odin, the Norse god of thunder and war. The narrator’s father read widely, and valued peace above all. He had a contentious relationship with his father, much as Jesus did. The narrator, John Ames, is a thinker. He has books on theology and his own thoughts on those. He is an analog for the age of the Holy Spirit, in which there isn’t an immanent God. The question I still ponder is, what age of Christianity does the narrator’s son represent?

Did you think Mothers Day was invented by Hallmark? It’s been around for longer than that. Some research dates it back to Cybele (pronounced with a hard C, short Y and long E at the end: KIH-buh-Lee) worship in ancient Greece. The American version is largely based on a post-Civil War peace manifesto. The English version, Mothering Sunday, was reportedly begun so working class domestics could have at least one Sunday off a year to visit their mums, and so the mums could have off to receive the visits. Whatever the origin, though, there’s little disagreement that mothering is a tough gig, and few begrudge moms the day as tribute to that.

Some very good news for moms: the Mommy War is more a media invention than an accurate portrait of reality:

Most women today have to work: it’s the only way their families are going to be fed, housed and educated. A new college-educated generation takes it for granted that women will both work and care for their families — and that men must be an integral part of their children’s lives. It’s a generation that understands that stay-at-home moms and working mothers aren’t firmly opposing philosophical stances but the same women in different life phases, moving in and out of the part-time and full-time workforce for the few years while their children are young.

In this week leading up to Mothers Day in America, think about the mothers in your life. Not just your mom, or your spouse’s mom, but all the mothers: friends, siblings, co-workers, neighbors. Give a mom a break this week. If you hear a screaming kid and judgment flashes through your brain, offer help instead. And think of pretty, comforting things, big or small, that might make a mom’s day a bit brighter:

Card Papyrus carries, and Marcel Shurman makes, lovely ones.

Flowers I love yellow roses and dislike lilies. Do your loved one a favor. Ask what she likes, and avoid carnations, daisies, baby’s breath, and alstroemeria, unless specifially requested. Gerbera daisies are an exception.

Chocolate Twin Citian’s are fortunate to have both B.T. McElrath (I love the passionfruit and dark chocolate truffles) and Legacy Chocolates (Potion No. 9) readily available.

Accessories Little blue box or big orange box, brand recognition can be a lovely thing. I love the blue/green En Duo ribbon pattern.

Books I recently recommended Jill Murphy’s Five Minutes’ Peace and Kate Atkinson’s Behind the Scenes at the Museum. Both take wry looks at the mundane reality of mothering small children, though Atkinson’s book is both funny and tragic. For self-examination and spiritual growth, I recommend Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. Gift cards for www.amazon.com, Barnes and Noble, Border’s, or your local book shop are always good ideas.

Ice Cream Did you know that you can get Graeter’s ice cream shipped? Now you do. The chocolate chip flavors are stunning.

Ice Cream, Again Twin Citians, you’ve got a lot to love.

Fancy Dinner at the best restaurant in your city. Twin Citians, this is ours.

Music Fun and Booty-Shakin’ (Justin Timberlake’s FutureSex/Lovesounds), Local (new Low album!), Singer/Songwriter male (Rufus Wainwright’s Release the Stars), Singer/Songwriter female (Patti Griffin’s Children Running Through), Sophomore effort (Arctic Monkeys’ Favourite Worst Nightmare)

Movies Go out to a theater that serves good popcorn with real butter (Heights, Riverview, or GTI Roseville in the Twin Cities), or stay in and watch the vastly underrated Children of Men, Alfonso Cuaron’s chilling look at a future without mothers.

If you have other ideas, email me and I’ll post them, too.

My unexpected gift, today? That baby Guppy is still napping, which has allowed me the time I needed for this link-a-palooza.

And if you were bothered by my lack of apostrophe in Mothers Day, get over it. Apostrophes are one of the most misused and unnecessary pieces of punctuation. Here’s a long explanation of why I can leave them out. But do you get what I mean when I say Mothers Day? Then you see my point.

The first Saturday in May is Free Comic Book Day. Visit your local comic store to pick up a free comic book. Many have been created just for the day, so they’re not just 25 cent-ers. I plan on picking up Comics Festival! 2007, Whiteout, Nexus, and Owly. I highly recommend Whiteout and Nexus.

Find your local comic shop by visiting the Comic Shop Locator. Do not be afraid. The Simpsons guy is an exaggeration. Free Comic Book Day was created for comic book geeks (like me) and neophytes as well.

If you’re in the Twin Cities, visit the best comic shop, Big Brain Comics, on Washington Avenue by The Loft and Grumpy’s.

Reading, Discussion, & Book Signing with John Scalzi, who writes The Whatever and is a SF author on the rise*

Saturday, May 5, 2007
1:00pm

Uncle Hugo’s
2864 Chicago Avenue South
Minneapolis, MN 55407
(612) 824-6347

*Event in conjunction with author Tate Hallaway

#16 in my 2007 book challenge was Elizabeth Gilbert’s spiritual memoir Eat, Pray, Love. Gilbert is an engaging, believable narrator, and is direct about her own foibles, an essential ingredient to a good memoir. The book is by turns funny and sad as it details her bad divorce, worse rebound relationship, and the crushing depression that spurred her to plan a year abroad, with four months apiece in Italy, India, and Indonesia. I found the segment on India the most compelling. Throughout, her transformations–emotional, physical and spiritual–are related with clear and intelligent prose.

….when you sense a faint potentiality for happiness after such dark times you must grab onto the ankles of that happiness and not let go until it drags you face-first out of the dirt–this is not selfishness, but obligation. You were given life; it is your duty (and also your entitlement as a human being) to find something beautiful within life, no matter how slight. (115)

I have two small reservations about the book. One, Gilbert used male pronouns to refer to God; I would have preferred gender neutrality. Two, Gilbert relates that she was raised in a Christian church and chose to study and practice Eastern religion as an adult.

I think this is a little like growing up in one small state in the US, then saying the whole country is terrible, and moving to Japan. Christianity is not a monolith. Even the various sects are so complex that they vary by church, and by individuals within each church. There is a long and interesting history of physical practices, meditation, and even feminism, WITHIN the broad umbrella that is Christianity. One need not leave the country, or even one’s church or sect, to learn about and practice them.

I am by no means discounting the value of Gilbert’s spiritual choices. I loved reading about them, and they have given me much to think about; I highly recommend this book. But one need not go East in search of meaning and unexplored territory. As Gilbert herself notes in the book, there are many paths up the mountain.

#15 in my 2007 book challenge was Embroideries, another memoir by Satrapi about women’s life in Iran. This is a short but sad and entertaining book. She wrote it between the Persepolis volumes as a way of distancing herself from the many painful memories. This is a sexy, frank portrayal of a women’s tea-time get together. They discuss sex, marriage and divorce. As with the Persepolis volumes, Satrapi does a wonderful job conveying difference while also noting common truths. I enjoyed it at least as much as I did when I read it last year.

#14 in my 2007 book challenge was the second part of Marjane Satrapi’s graphic-novel memoir, Persepolis 2. It is aptly titled, because it’s more like the second chapter in Satrapi’s memoirs than a different book from Persepolis. Again, the stark black and white art is used to good effect to convey complex emotions and events. Satrapi ably manages to make herself sympathetic in spite of being a somewhat spoiled and selfish teenager; she communicates a believable portrait of herself that is not too flattering or too self-deprecating. This segment follows the author out of Iran to Europe for school, then back again, and finally away again. Her story effectively shows the push/pull of family and place and the counterbalances of curiosity and individual growth. This is the second time I’ve read the book, and it is a rich reading experience, as before.

Sometimes Bunty feels as if the whole world is trying to climb on her body. (17)

Bunty….is irritated….(does she actually possess any other emotion?)…., disguising her thoughts with a bright artificial smile….Bunty maintains a Madonna-like expression of serenity and silence for as long as she can before her impatience suddenly boils over and she yanks the bars of [Gillian's] tricycle to hurry it along….

Is this a good mother? (19-20), Behind the Scenes at the Museum

A good mother? Maybe not. But a flawed, normal human that I can empathize with? Yes, yes, yes.

Poor Bunty, the main character’s mother in Kate Atkinson’s Behind the Scenes at the Museum. She was abandoned by a fiance, married to a pet-shop owner who has a series of affairs, and gives birth to a gaggle of girls for whom she feels scant connection. This might seem unempathizable, until we learn about the dearth of affection Bunty received from her own mother.

Nearly every day I fight the urge to shake off one or the other of my sons, as they cling like barnacles to my legs and cry out for affection beyond what I’ve given already, and beyond what I feel I possess. Just yesterday, I took 3yo Drake out to the sidewalk to ride his tricycle. I was quickly frustrated because he didn’t want to ride it; he just pushed it back and forth. To complicate matters, 1yo Guppy also wanted to push it, so several screaming fights ensued. I’m happy to say my screams weren’t part of the chorus, though they did clamor rather loudly in my head to be let out.

I frequently berate myself that I SHOULD be playing with the children, and that I SHOULDN’T have expectations of how that play should go. One part of me, the Bunty-self, can’t believe that riding a tricycle is so fracking difficult, and wonders why Guppy can’t be distracted by bubbles, and why he insists on spilling bubble juice over my lap, and trying to drink it from the bottle. Another part, the person who is trying to be a good mother (and yet who feels the sting of consistent failure), says that my kids are doing what kids do, interested in what they’re interested in, and ready when they are, not when I want them to be. Yet another part reminds me that my kids are clothed, fed, safe, healthy, learning, and mostly happy. I can’t be failing if all these are true.

So me as mother is a messy amalgam of all these parts. Perhaps I can be as compassionate to myself as I am to the character of Bunty.

#13 in my 2007 book challenge was Marjane Satrapi’s memoir and graphic novel, Persepolis. A friend who heard Satrapi speak said the author disputes that label, and that she is a cartoonist.

Satrapi’s first volume of her memoir details her childhood in 1980s Iran. Since she and I are roughly the same age, I found it fascinating to learn the perspective of someone who lived in Iran when I was just beginning to watch the news and hear the media and adult perspectives in the United States. My perception at that time was that the Shah was a good man, unfairly ousted by the religious fanatic Khomeini; the US welcomed the Shah because that was the just thing to do. Both time, education, and Satrapi’s memoir have helped me gain a much more nuanced picture of what happened.

Satrapi manages, through her stark black/white contrasts, to convey a child’s perspective, though adult insight murmurs between the lines, both of her cartoon panels and her narration. My favorite pages may be 70 and 71, on which we learn the fate of Marji’s uncle. The art, panelling, and text combine for a bittersweet synthesis.

This is a touching, beautiful book, and one that gave up further rewards and insights on this beyond what I had on my first reading.

Isn’t that a fab title? Too long, but funny enough to deserve its length. #12 in my 2007 book challenge was You’re Not Fooling Anyone When You Take Your Laptop to a Coffee Shop: Scalzi on Writing by John Scalzi.

My husband G. Grod started reading Scalzi’s blog, The Whatever, a while back, and frequently shares entries with me. Scalzi is funny (Chapter 4: Science Fiction, or, Don’t Skip This Chapter, You Damned Writing Snobs), smart, and not shy about sharing how he manages to make a decent living as a writer. (Hint: it’s not book tours and Oprah, though he is coming to a city near you very soon to promote his new novel, The Last Colony.) Scalzi is a pragmatist, not a romantic. He writes for hire, and for fun. He picked the topic of his novel, Old Man’s War, by going to the bookstore and studying which sci-fi books sold well. He lives in what I grew up calling BFE Ohio, where the cost of living is low, the politics swing right, and culture isn’t entirely absent, though I would argue that fine dining pretty much is. (Scalzi also claims that central-ish Ohio is a great place to raise a kid. He’s entitled to that opinion. I was a kid raised in Ohio. I left at 19 with a drinking problem and a decided lack of worldliness. Both of those got better once I was out of Ohio.)

YNFA is a collection of his blog entries. Check out the archives at The Whatever. If you like what you read, you’ll like YNFA. Why buy it if the individual entries are available for free? One, you’ll contribute to the decent living that one writer makes. If you’re a writer aspiring to make money and be published, that’s gotta help to slough some karma. Two, the edition, by Subterranean Press, is very nice. It’s cloth bound with good typefaces. My quibbles? Page 271 has a typeface goof, and there are a sprinkling of errors throughout the text that a more careful editing should have caught.

Heartening, humbling, and fun to read.

P.S. YNFA sold out of its initial print run! If you’re interested, feedback to Subterranean Press might encourage a second printing.

Three more things, which I feel are distinct enough to merit their own postscript, rather than me cramming them retroactively into yesterday’s post on Stephen King and Fieldwork.

One: M., who blogs at Mental Multivitamin, is also a fan of Entertainment Weekly. She is erudite, but not elitist. She, too, liked the essay by King.

Two: I forgot one of the reasons I was so attracted to Gilead when I first saw it in hardcover. Not only was it physically beautiful to look at, but it also felt good in the hand. It was a good size and weight; its slight heft bespoke substance, not the overwhelming weight of pretension. And the cover was textured, so the weathered pastels felt as good as they looked.

Three: one more thing urged me to buy and read Gilead, but I felt it was too long to add to yesterday’s already long post. My writing instructor told this story, which I hope is true, of an editor at Farrar, Straus, Giroux who appeared at the door of another editor, holding an unremarkable box in his hand.

“Guess what I’m holding?” editor #1 asked, holding the box aloft.

He paused dramatically; he knew editor #2 had no idea.

He continued, his voice reverent and excited. “The manuscript for Marilynne Robinson’s second novel.”

How could I not want to read the book that inspired such a reaction?

I am an unapologetic reader of Entertainment Weekly. For all the swearing off of magazines I’ve done, there are a few that rise above the crowd to earn my attention. EW is one of those. I find it smart, funny, and a good, quick review of many things important to me: books, movies, tv and music. Sneer if you must, but in this case I’m no snob. I like EW because it embraces popular culture, though whether it’s high, medium or low is anyone’s call.

Stephen King is a columnist for EW. I haven’t read a King novel in many years, but I enjoy his “The Pop of King” and his sense of humor. In April 6, 2007’s “How to Bury a Book,” he accuses publisher Farrar, Straus and Giroux of dropping the ball with its treatment of the new novel Fieldwork by Mischa Berlinski. King takes issue with the cover and the title. He feels they tell nothing about, and therefore don’t sell, the book. King picked Fieldwork up on impulse, in spite of the cover and title, and was pleasantly surprised. He says that FSG has burdened the book with a smeary image and vague title because they’re afraid to market a literary novel overtly:

Hey, guys, why not put the heroine on the jacket….why not actually sell this baby a little?

I found it interesting that King also took issue with the cover and title of Marilynne Robinson’s Gilead, also from FSG, because I clearly remember the first time I saw that book in a store. I had to sternly restrain myself from buying Gilead in hardcover. Oh, how I wanted that book. The cover was a lovely wash of bleached-out color. It looked like the door of an old church. That plus the title told me it would be a book about religion and spirituality. I didn’t buy the book, because I managed to adhere to whatever “if I’m not about to read it next I can’t buy it, and I certainly can’t buy it in hardcover because by the time I read it, not only will it be out in paperback, it will probably have gone through a trade paperback printing into a mass market printing and I’ll have spent $25+ on a book that’s harder to read because of its lack of portability, and I’ll long for the lighter weight, and smaller pocketbook dent, of a paperback” vow I had taken at the time. I continued to visit that hardcover on subsequent bookstore trips, even after I borrowed Gilead from the library. I bought it as soon as it came out in trade paperback.

I went to amazon.com to check out Fieldwork after I read King’s column. Based on the description of the book, the cover and King’s endorsement, I would get this book, in spite of the mixed editorial reviews at amazon. (I don’t take the editorial reviews as gospel, and I pretty much ignore the personal reviews–too little signal to noise. But the ed. reviews usually point me in the right direction: check it out/meh/avoid.) I might not buy Fieldwork in hardcover (see para. above). But I would certainly reserve it from the library, which notifies them that the book is in demand, and encourages them to purchase more copies. The smudgey cover and title, along with the book description, point to a messy tale about anthropologists. The image and title both appeal to me, and make sense.

I find King’s complaints interesting. He may have a point that publishers are afraid to market literary fiction. Yet his argument sounds to me like he’s taking his opinion–that the cover and title should be more obvious in order to better sell the book–and universalizing it. Given that King is mostly a writer in the horror genre, and genre books tend to have more representative and less impressionistic covers and titles, I think he has a bias for what he likes that may not be as true for “ordinary readers,” as he believes.

Let me be clear. He is Stephen Freakin’ King, the bestselling author, many of whose books I’ve read and bought over the years. I am merely the author of this little weblog, and mostly unpublished. His opinion counts for more than mine. But since I consider myself one of the “ordinary readers” whom he validates, I wanted to voice my difference of opinion.

In the end, it feels unfair to quibble with King. He’s using the considerable power of his good opinion to support Fieldwork. In fact, his closing words are so good they should be repeated:

Under the drab title and drab cover, there’s a story that cooks like a mother. It’s called Fieldwork.

#11 in my 2007 book challenge was Breaking Up, a graphic novel written Aimee Friedman with art by Christine Norrie. I’ve admired Norrie’s work on the Hopeless Savages series, as well as her previous book Cheat. I’d not read Friedman before. This is the story of four friends at an arts high school nicknamed “Fashion High”. The friends bicker over boys, then “break up” and get back together. The narrator, Chloe, is a painter. She falls for a geek boy; her friends don’t approve. In the end, everyone is wiser and more tolerant, and Chloe and the (very cutely drawn) geek boy are together. This felt a little like a mishmash of 90210 episodes. And while that inspires affection in me, it also disappoints, because there was little that was new here. The dilemmas the girls faced felt real–desire for popularity, overly strict parents, pressuring boyfriend, inappropriate crush–but more young teen than young adult. I did very much like the sneaky, specific, and cruel revenge exacted on the pretty blond by the popularity queen, whose boyfriend the blond was trying to steal.

I suspect that Friedman’s lack of experience writing for the comics format is what made the prose feel a bit stiff to me. But what made this book stand out was Norrie’s art, and her interpretation of the fairly straightforward teen story. Her art gave the characters depth, made them sympathetic, and added both humor and pathos to Friedman’s story. Norrie did a very good job showing what Friedman was telling. The art infuses the story with a sweetness and empathy for its confused teen protagonists that ultimately elevates this above standard YA fare.

from Behind the Scenes at the Museum, by Kate Atkinson.

Poor Bunty. (12)

….suddenly, an unwelcome note of reality interrupts [her] reverie, somebody’s pulling at Bunty’s dressing-gown and whining in a not very pleasant fashion. (15)

Bunty unclenches the little fists that have fastened on to her hair, and deposits Gillian back on the floor.

Get down,’ Bunty says grimly. ‘Mummy’s thinking.’ (Although what Mummy’s actually doing is wondering what it would be like if her entire family was wiped out and she could start again.) Poor Gillian!

Gillian refuses to be ignored for long–she’s not that kind of child–and hardly have we had our first sip of tea before we have to attend to Gillian’s needs. For breakfast, Bunty makes porridge….

‘I don’t like porridge,’ Patricia ventures to Bunty. This is the first time she’s tried this direct approach….

‘Pardon me?’ Bunty says, the words dropping like icicles on the linoleum of the kitchen floor (our mother’s not really a morning person.)

‘I don’t like porridge,’ Patricia says, looking more doubtful now.

As fast as a snake, Bunty hisses back, ‘Well I don’t like children, so that’s too bad for you, isnt’ it?’ She’s joking of course. Isn’t she? (16)

I’m sure the first time I read Behind the Scenes at the Museum that I pitied the children. But on my most recent reading, it became clear that those children also grew up to be parents, who repeated the sins and omissions they’d been bequeathed through generations. The mothers were less obvious, but nonetheless sympathetic, characters. Every mother had been mothered inexpertly herself. Each generation of mothers was unprepared for the physical demands of motherhood, and ill-equipped for the emotional ones.

It’s tough being a child, but it’s also tough being a mother. Does anyone feel prepared for it, or good at it? Or do we all just muddle through as best we can, with the light we have at the time (as my own mother likes to say)?

#10 in my 2007 book challenge was Behind the Scenes at the Museum by Kate Atkinson. When I first read it, about ten years ago, I thought a reveal near the end undermined Atkinson’s conceit of Ruby as an unlimited-omniscient narrator. I was sure I’d never want to read it again, and gave away my copy. Happily, a new copy wasn’t hard to come by when I changed my mind. (I ask myself two questions when giving a book away: Am I likely to read it again? Will it be easy to get from a library or used book store if I change my mind?)

Three things made me reconsider Behind the Scenes. One was how much I enjoyed Atkinson’s Case Histories last year. Two was the high praise by the author of Mental Multivitamin, whose good opinion is not too freely given. And three was that a good friend of mine was reading it, so I’d have someone with whom to discuss it.

The ending didn’t bother me this time. I was also surprised to find how much I empathised with the character of Bunty, Ruby’s mother. I’m sure I didn’t do so the first time I read it, which was pre-marriage and very pre-children. Perhaps it’s my post-partum depression, but I found all the mothers and all the children very sympathetic on this read.

Bunty makes herself a cup of tea in the kitchen at the back of the Shop, relishing her few moments of morning solitude….My poor mother’s very disappointed by marriage, it’s failed to change her life in any way, except by making it worse. If I listen in on her airwaves I can hear an endless monologue on the drudgery of domestic life–Why didn’t anyone TELL me what it would be like? The cooking! The cleaning! The work!….And as for babies, well…the broken nights, the power struggles…the labour pains!

#9 in my reading challenge for the year was Siblings Without Rivalry by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish. For a long time, I thought Drake didn’t have sibling issues. Then Guppy started to crawl, and everything changed. This book was recommended to me by several parents, and I found it worthwhile. Like many of the people in the book, I wanted ideas to help the relationship between my kids, and the topics brought up a far wider range of relationships. I got insight into the dynamics between me and my kids, between my two kids, and between my kids and other kids. Interestingly, I also got a lot of insight into my relationships with my siblings and parents. I found it affirming to be reminded that parenting in general, and potentially loaded topics like sibling relationships especially, aren’t intuitive. The challenge, as with any self-help book, is to pick some of the advice and practice it. This book has a good number of suggestions, large and small, that are easy to understand and implement.

Little Darlings was another book I read surreptitiously as a teenager. It had a pink cover with a white bikini bathing suit on it, so it was not inconspicuous. “Don’t Let the Title Fool You” was the tagline. Little Darlings, was originally a 1980 movie with Tatum O’Neal as idealistic rich girl Ferris and Kristy McNichol as streetwise poor girl Angel. Each bets that she will be the first to lose her virginity.