Border Songs--Book 5

Border Songs

by Jim Lynch

Alfred A. Knopf, New York

Sorry, I didn't like this book. I liked the idea of this book but I didn't like the book. I liked ideas in the book, but...

The border is the Canadian border and the atmosphere is one of paranoia brought on by government worries about terrorists and drug smugglers and illegal aliens crossing the border and by Canadians worried about Big Brother watching their every move.

Brandon, the main character, would rather be birdwatching, or even taking care of the cows at his father's dairy farm but instead he's on the Border Patrol. And he's really good at his job--in spite of himself. He's dyslexic, clumsy and uncomfortable around people so he tends to prefer being a loner. He'll wander off in search of more birds for his daily count and end up with the "Queen of Nowhere" or something else suspicious.

But Lynch kept me guessing sometimes about who he was talking about. I really didn't think the characters were as carefully drawn as Jodi Picoult's characters in Handle with Care. I always felt like I had to squint to see them clearly. And I never did get it straight which side of the border people lived on. Was Madeline a Canadian? I spend the whole book trying to get people straight--that drives me crazy. In fact, I almost closed it midway through. If it weren't for the blizzard we are now digging out from, I'm sure I would have stopped reading it.

The tone of the book is cold hearted. I never warmed up to anybody until the last chapter when Brandon's mother finally comes into focus and gives the book a heart. A couple more passages and the whole tone changes to almost girly-love-story. It ends happily!! My first book this year to do so. So I'll probably recommend it with a warning. After all, others just may like these characters.

Handle With Care -- Book #4 --A Two-Day Read

Handle With Care

by Jodi Picoult

I had two long train rides ahead of me so I chucked The Museum of Innocence in favor of this "family" story. I knew it would be a difficult read. It's about a family suing for "wrongful birth" at the suggestion of a lawyer to help pay the bills that pile up for the care of their younger, smart and way to mature for her age (5 to 6 1/2) daughter with brittle bone disease.

It's pretty much a soap opera except that I found myself caring too much for these characters: the cop dad with a heart of gold, the mom that thinks she can protect her daughter from the fallout of this suit even though she must say publicly she wishes the child had never been born, the older daughter so full of self-hate she can't see her own value even though she's a doll and the child herself who clearly is one everybody would love even if she's apt to break a bone by sneezing.

This is the second book I've read this year that's narrated by all of the main characters, except Willow and including the lawyer. In fact, all the characters are telling her their side of the story, talking to "you." The tone is confessional, though not always filled with regret. Love, humor, and a lot of anger manage to bubble to the surface, as well.

And surprisingly, it wasn't hard to read. The characters are lovingly drawn. The narration makes it possible to get the full story from everybody's point of view. And although we're always a step from Willow, she's drawn with great detail (as is her disease) so that you have a true sense of how this is affecting her.

I thought there was a strong pro-life message throughout the reasoning that went on, maybe the rationalization that went on, as they worked their way to the trial. No one was calling for a ban on abortion but this family clearly could never have considered abortion.

I felt strangely ambivalent about the lawsuit -- I understood the mother's desire to be able to have the things that would make life for her daughter (and their family) easier. This seemed to be the only way. Insurance would only pay for so much. She spent her whole day hoping her daughter wouldn't fall. The father worked extra hours to help pay the bills when he really wanted to be home with his family. The regret at not knowing some of the details of his daughters' lives is painful.

But the cost of the lawsuit was high: it cost everybody friendships, reputation, and tore the family apart.

Somehow I knew the ending would be sad. It's the trend of all these books. None have ended happily yet.

But it's such a satisfying story I had to keep reading. And I'd definitely recommend this one, with a warning.

New books to read: Why is everything sad?

Last night, I knew I couldn't read another page of The Museum of Innocence. The women, I hope, are safely away from the clutches of the self-centered, obsessed Kemal -- so far. There's still half a book to go. The question is will I finish it? The answer, at least immediately, is not right now.

So I went to the library to see what from the Washington Post's list was on the shelves. Something, I hoped, would be happy.

I found three books from the list, including Terry Teachout's biography of Louis Armstrong, Pops, which I've heard good things about (although Armstrong's life was said to be sad, too.) I hadn't planned on reading any of the non-fiction but I'm learning to play Armstrong's Wonderful World on the piano so I couldn't resist. Besides, who could resist the photo of Pops, a knowing smile on his warm face, a dapper red tie with his tuxedo and his horn tucked under his arm?

Also on my coffee table for the next couple of weeks:

• Handle With Care by Jodi Picoult: the story of a family coping with a cheerful child's horrible birth defect and considering a wrongful birth lawsuit. I have to admit when I couldn't sleep last night, this didn't help. I became completely absorbed by these charming characters and read nearly half the book. I stopped for breakfast. Sad story but all loveable characters. Take that, Kemal! You can love without destroying the people around you (including yourself.)
• Border Songs by Jim Lynch: A Border Patrol man (on the Canadian border) who likes bird-watching. Maybe this one won't be sad.

I don't like having to steel myself to open a book. Yet it's something I've had to do with every book so far. I have to admit, however, they've all delighted me in different ways. The narrators of Stalin Epigram, the weather in A Gate at the Stairs, the young women of The Museum of Innocence as well as the descriptions of Istanbul which mix exotic detail with the smells and sounds of a small town with flashes of terrorism--not bombs going off but comments that people live with a sliver of fear that a bomb may go off and ruin their day.

So I'll keep reading. So much good writing even if it may be sad.

The Museum of Innocence -- I read for the women

It has become painful to read this book. My heart is broken for the young women that are part of the triangle central to the story. Both are as easy to like as the main character is dislikable.

Sibel is sophisticated, educated, and on top of the world. She's preparing for marriage, a smart marriage one would say. She likes the guy. She's content. And she's blind to what's going on. There are hints that she knows something's wrong but doesn't see.

Then there's Fusun, a very young woman, practically a girl, whose beauty stops men in their tracks. She knows what she's in the middle of. She seems so far to remain hopeful that there will always be a place for her. And yet you can see how much pain she feels. I can't imagine how awful it must be to find yourself drawn to a man so bad for you. And here she is arriving as if on command to be with Kemal full of love for him and, worse, full of trust.

The author, Orhan Pamuk, has focused so much more on Fusun -- the afternoon rendezvous are written in minute detail -- while keeping Sibel at a distance. It's terrible, really, that the bride should be secondary in her fiance's life. And yet, it's clearer with every page, that his interest in her is obligatory now that he's met Fusun.

I'm expecting disaster on every page and yet Kemal keeps on going. He calls himself a playboy and says it with obvious pride. I realize these are days of great change in Turkey, westernization and more liberal views toward the sexes are discussed, and so is the value of virginity and a woman's reputation, as Pamuk describes new acquisitions for his museum. But every time Kemal approaches either of these women, I can't help but think skewed his thinking is: he's excited to see this sexual liberation. But who's liberated?

I'll keep reading for Fusun and Sibel. Even if it feels as if I'm watching disaster in slow motion.

The Museum of Innocence -- the hero

Plain and simple, I can't stand the main character, the narrator. A 30-year-old Turkish man, employed in the family business, well-to-do and doted upon. He's preparing to marry an educated, beautiful Turkish woman whom he has known for a year.

He has no goals, no interests beyond his own pleasures. He speaks of soccer matches and dinners with too much alcohol. He is disinterested in the religion of his family, a faith his parents are cool to as well. He doesn't even work very hard. I am not even sure of his name.

But instead of living a life of meaning, or at least preparing to live one, he's become obsessed with a distant cousin 12 years is junior. This 18-year-old beauty has, it appears, fallen in love with him even though she knows he's engaged. She's had an ugly life surrounded by creepy men and creepy boys. She works in a shop while she studies for entrance exams for the university. And she's spending her afternoons in bed with this self-centered man. She's innocent and trusting--even if she does ask him if he's lying to her. Of course, he lies about lying.

So I'm making my way through this heavy book grossed out by the main character. Is he a hero at all?

I don't think so. But the two women who love him will keep me reading. Both are drawn sympathetically, graced with charm, compassion and sweetness. I ache for them both. I worry about them. One of them has to be hurt by this vile man. Even if he doesn't see how cruel he's being, I do. And I don't like it one bit.

The Museum of Innocence -- Book #3

The Museum of Innocence

by Orhan Pamuk

Alfred A. Knopf, 2009

I picked up this heavy tome knowing Pamuk has won the Nobel Prize and thought, I'll never be able to read this. I've tried other current Nobel Prize winners and found myself lost in strange imagery, stream of consciousness sentences, ideas way beyond my comprehension. I gave up every time.

I'm not going to do that this time. Pamuk has written in language clear as a bell -- although I don't know if this was written in English first. No, he wrote it in Turkish. Thanks to his translator, Maureen Freely.

And slowly I realized I was being taken through a museum. Pamuk was showing me artifacts from what he called in the first sentence "the happiest moment of my life." There's a menu and napkin from the restaurant where he used to go with his fiancee. He describes a handbag, a yellow dress. Sometimes he speaks directly to the reader as if showing them the napkin and menu. Other times the paragraph points to objects subtly, showing them as the story progresses.

It's a big museum and the artifacts are small. The memories seem to be both grand and the meaningless little stuff that remains with you because it really has meaning. I'm in Turkey though I don't quite know when it is yet -- modern time but which decade? So I'm in for a tour of the mundane as well as the exotic, everyday mixed with the life-changing.

The Gate at the Stairs--finished

I should have known the gate at the stairs wouldn't protect anybody.

Not Tassie, the babysitter.

Not her parents or her brother.

Not Sarah or Edward.

Not Mary Emma.

And, no, it didn't even protect me.

All fall down! as the children's nursery rhyme goes. Have you ever watched as someone you loved took a tumble down the stairs and you were helpless to stop them, catch them, keep them from getting hurt? All you could do was watch.

At three o'clock this morning, I couldn't stop watching as this sweet domestic novel took a turn to to the dark side of life. Everybody fell. It hurt. How it hurt to see these people fall. I couldn't stop it but I had to keep reading as if I could at least help them up. No, of course, I couldn't; but I read to see that they picked themselves up as best they could.

And they did. Followed by a weather report. A lyrical moment followed a tragic moment. And then a wise moment.

and then

The End.

Two books down from my list. I'm way behind and now I move onto 500 pages of Orham Pamuk's The Museum of Innocence. A Nobel Prize winner, no less. I'm intimidated.