4/29/15 - A Play/A Book That Made Me Cry

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The reading history log for the last week or so of April and the first week or so of May is... patchy, to say the least. Sometimes I never even finished filling in my reading goals for the week all the way. The 23-29 week of April only has three books in it, and only two of those were read. Fortunately, those two were Challenge entries!

I used up another easy out that week - A Play. Plays are incredibly short, they should be easy to understand, and did I mention that they're short? Not to mention that The Children's Hour by Lillian Hellman was made into a movie starring Audrey Hepburn. My favorite actress ever. So I'd been meaning to read this one for a while.

The gist of the play is that a boarding-school brat starts a rumor that her two headmistresses are engaged in lesbian activity. In the... 40s? As you can imagine, it's not a happy play. 

It's an engaging one, though. The characters owned their voices, and while it takes a little while to distinguish the generic WWII women's names in your head, you get there eventually. It helps that Hellman manages suspense and especially dialogue really, really well. You love who you're supposed to love and you hate who you're supposed to hate, with equal and opposite passions. 

It makes the ending worse, being so fond of the characters. The whole play is suffused with a sort of sadness - which makes sense; it's a suitable sadness, which still doesn't take away from the effect it's supposed to have. 

Not a play for everyone - the ending is deeply disturbing - but a good one. If you can handle it, I'd recommend it. I know, now that it's been a few weeks, that I'm ready to watch the Hepburn movie.

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And we have A Book That Made Me Cry. Is it cliché that this is one of my very favorite novels - possibly my favorite standalone story? If it is, I don't care. Faces is worth it.

If you don't know the story of Till We Have Faces, don't read a summary. Just go get it and read it. Don't even glance at the back blurb. Just read it. All you need to know is what's on the front cover: there is a lot about faces, it's a myth retelling, and C.S. Lewis wrote it.

But this is not the Lewis of Narnia; this is not the Lewis of Screwtape; this is not the Lewis of radio broadcasts about Christianity. This is a wholly separate Lewis, approaching the divine with nearer a divine sense than Aslan got in all seven books. (Not to disparage Narnia; I, like almost every other homeschooler, have a deep sycophantic love for Narnia. But Faces is different.)

Do you like flawlessly, lovingly crafted and handled female protagonists? Do you like tangles upon tangles of emotional, spiritual, and religious questions, woven and punched together until the mass is almost too heavy for your heart to bear? Do you like having your carefully cradled beliefs and notions about gods and humans pierced by arrow after unerring arrow of honesty and doubt? Do you like knowing that the divine is unknowable and that the fault is not in our stars but in our unimaginable smallness and unimportance? Do you like being told that despite our unimaginable smallness and unimportance that something too big for us to ever comprehend exists for us and watches over us in our unimaginable lives?

If so, read Till We Have Faces. If not, read Till We Have Faces. There's something unspeakably freeing about having your insignificance articulated in this way. It's cathartic. I recommend Faces every six months to deconstruct any sense of pride or bigness that you might think about cultivating - in case you make Orual's mistake of writing a book.

2/4/15 - Nonfiction / January Book

(Lets pretend that I haven't missed nearly a month of reviews, shall we?)

In the last week of January, I said that I had two books for my challenge: Unapologetic by Francis Spufford, going under the Nonfiction slot, and The Sweetheart by Angelina Mirabella, for my January Debut book. I have good news and bad news and ish news. I finished Unapologetic for that week and it was pretty good! Bad news is that I did not get through The Sweetheart, instead putting it on my DNF list. The ish news is that I read my January debut book after all, even though the author has been published before.

But first, Unapologetic.

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This book was written by a British chap a few years back, and its subtitle is Why, Despite Everything, Christianity Can Still Make Surprising Emotional Sense. Christianity is, if Spufford is anyone to believe, very different across the pond, and so some of what he says about the American church would probably badly offend a good portion of us over here. Still, the meat of what Spufford says carries out the stated message of the subtitle fairly eloquently (though with a lot of F-bombs - something that I'm sure we'd also get our feathers ruffled for.)

Nevertheless, Spufford has a strong sense of self-awareness, and I think that's a valuable commodity that a lot of the American Protestant church lacks. But he never lets up on the utter respect and awe of God, which makes for a realistic yet deeply spiritual little book that I desperately need for my shelf.

9/10 would recommend to anyone interested in Christianity and what it means and how it works emotionally.

And now, onto my January Debut book: All The Bright Places, by Jennifer Niven.

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If you're anywhere on Goodreads or probably any of the other various online book catalogue systems, you've probably seen this. It's not the kind of book I usually go for. It's got JUST LIKE JOHN GREEN! JOHN GREEN STYLE! BASICALLY THE NEW FAULT IN OUR STARS! DID WE MENTION JOHN GREEN!-esque marketing, an immediate turn-off. I'm not a John Green fan (Paper Towns and Looking For Alaska can both be found on my the-stupid-it-burns GR bookshelves). Not to mention this just isn't my genre. And it's got such a hipster title. 

To be honest, I don't know why I put this on hold at the library. Maybe because I just couldn't get past The Sweetheart's length and its second-person POV, and this was the only January release-date book that the library had that looked any good.

I'm really glad I picked it up.

I can see the appeal for John Green fans. It's that kind of book. But it's not John Green, and it garnered five stars from me. The funny thing is that a lot of people hate it for the same reasons that I tend to hate John Green books (except for TFiOS, I liked that one moderately). This means that I am, in all likelihood, a hypocrite. But moving on to All The Bright Places! (Ugh. I can't get over that title still.)

It's a suicide book, like TFiOS was a cancer book (so if that's a touchy subject for you, please stop reading). Unlike cancer, suicide is kind of a topic I know a bit about, at least from the inside out. I've never been affected by losing someone to it, thank God. So the stuff that Violet and Finch go through - mostly Violet, though Finch to some degree, too - is a subject pretty close to me. Maybe that made me blind to whatever unapologetic [see what I did there] pretentiousness it has, but even if it didn't, it made me connect with this story to a degree that I don't think I ever have in a "real-life" sort of book.

I will admit that the ending had the kind of dragging, emotionally exploitative ending that I loathed in Looking For Alaska. I stuck out this one because I actually loved both Violet and Finch, and, while a little bit trivializing, this one had more punch. And it was worth it at the end.

Reading some of the more negative reviews, I find I can't argue with most of them. Especially when I say the exact same things about John Green! It's a very frustrating position to be in, forced to see myself as the curmudgeonly, spiritually-fifty-four-years-old fun-sucker that I am, hating on young cancer love and dead author quoting. (At least Niven had the decency to force her characters to Google Virginia Woolf quotes to keep up their facade, for gosh sakes.) 

However, there is one area I want to defend ATBP on: the idea that it gives no hope for kids who are suicidal. I saw at least one reviewer who said something to this effect. While no one person is the same, I can't say that I found this true for me. I wouldn't go shoving this book into every suicidal or borderline kid's hands, because it made me feel a lot of things and not all of them were positive, and it might be too much for some. Still, there was hope to be found. It's called All The Bright Places for a reason. It was even, dare I say it, inspiring.

So, while I did cheat a little bit - on the first month, no less! - by not reading a true debut, I can't say that I regret the choice. ATBP is a new favorite and I need a copy as soon as possible.