The Write Coach

Reads, Rants & Ratings’

Favorite Reads of the 1^st Decade of the 21^st Century

–in no particular order–

K Blows Top: A Cold War Comic Interlude Starring Nikita Khrushchev, America’s Most Unlikely Tourist by Peter Carlson, nonfiction

Just because I am, ahem, old enough to remember when this visit took place it doesn’t mean I fully grasped all the political implications of what was happening. What’s more, the behind-the-scenes political maneuverings that Carlson reveals from his vast well of research is so much richer than what we all knew about at the time. By all, I mean those of us occupied with lives other than what was grabbing headlines. Of course we paid close enough attention to understand there was much to be concerned about when the leader of our sworn enemy invades our very shore (demanding to visit Disneyland, of all capitalist places!) and when our president hosts him at Camp David. But what we didn’t know was that Khrushchev was only here because a White House aide goofed up, extending an open invitation. We also didn’t know that the Russian Premier had to juggle his schedule – blowing off a trip to another country — in order to make the excursion. But thanks to Carlson’s organic style we can actually “see” the look on Eisenhower’s face when Khrushchev informs him he can “only” stay for ten to fourteen days! Especially since Ike didn’t know he was coming at all! Carlson tells of this remarkable visit, punctuated with the kind of absurd wit and insight that only distant hindsight makes possible (assembling a kind-of historical blooper reel), with equally remarkable skill. Highly recommended.

Motherless Brooklyn by Jonathon Lethem, fiction

Lionel Essrog idolizes Frank Minna because Minna hired Lionel right out of St. Vincent’s Home for Boys to work for his detective agency. Lionel is appreciative because as a victim of Tourette’s Syndrome – a disorder that, among other things, makes Lionel blurt random, inappropriate words and phrases such as, “eat me, dickweed” – his employment opportunities are bleak. Besides, Frank likes Lionel and treats him pretty well. So when Frank is murdered Lionel decides it is up to him to solve the crime and bring the murderer to justice. The story follows Lionel as he discovers his boss was not all he appeared to be. Lethem writes this story with humor and compassion, skill and talent. Lionel is a delightful and intelligent character. I don’t give out 5’s easily so you know I loved this book. Fun with words but so much more!! I liked Lethem’s latest, Chronic Manhattan, a lot but it is a definite second to this one.

Wolf Totem by Jiang Rong, fiction

Wolf Totem is a translation of the semi-autobiographical story (Jiang Rong is a pseudonym) of a young Beijing student, Chen Zhen, who was sent to China’s Inner Mongolia during the 1960s to live among the herding Mongols (a tiny minority vastly outnumbered by the Han Chinese), learn their ways and figure out how to best exploit their land for the benefit of the rest of the country. Although occasionally preachy Jiang Rong’s prose is impeccable – despite certain translation limitations – and the story is eye opening both for the glimpse of a culture so very foreign to much of the world and for the glorious portrait of a land and a people who seem to have made a fragile peace with their environment.

Heart-Shaped Box by Joe Hill, horror fiction

An aging Alice Cooper-type rocker named Judas Coyne, who collects macabre memorabilia, buys a “ghost” off an internet auction site and all heck breaks loose. It turns out the ghost is not only real but holds a deep-seated hatred for Coyne, whom he holds responsible for the suicide of his stepdaughter, a onetime Coyne groupie/belt-notch. The old man is scary as anyone I’ve read about in a long time but Coyne is no pushover for the ectoplasmic bounty hunter. The ensuing struggle between good and evil (the primary question) kept me awake so I wouldn’t miss a thing and find out who triumphs. I will read this one again because Hill’s debut novel is better than most of his dad’s (Stephen King) and the narrator of the audio version (Stephen Lang) is outstanding.

The Plot Against America by Philip Roth, fiction

Imagine what the world would have been like if Charles Lindbergh had won the 1940 election instead of Roosevelt. It’s what Roth does in this slap-in-the-face alternate universe/what-if novel that features himself and his Jewish family living in a very different New Jersey. His aviation accomplishments aside Lindbergh, of course, was a famous anti-Semite and a staunch isolationist. Under his leadership the United States resists entering the war in Europe and life Stateside becomes increasingly tense for the Roths as religious freedom is all but revoked in the name of national security. Of course, this is Philip Roth and he is never so in his element as when he writes about a young man’s personal growing pains but he also skillfully paints a chilling scenario that conjures feelings not only of lost liberties but usurped personal privacy and freedoms in a post-9/11 world.

The Kite Runner by Khaled Husseini, fiction

Amir is the son of a wealthy Afghan businessman and he grows up palling around with Hassan, the son of Amir’s household servant. They are best buddies but Amir’s culture does not provide him with a frame of reference that will title Hassan as his “friend.” Ultimately Amir’s devotion to Hassan is tested when bullies accost the boy. Amir fails his friend, causing terrible consequences that change both children forever in unspeakable ways. As Amir grows up he must deal with trying to, first, understand what he did and, second, trying to find a way to find forgiveness – both from himself and from Hassan. Amir is on my list of most interesting protagonists. As he tells his story he doesn’t flinch from revealing his faults as well as his virtues. He is struggling with good and evil within his own heart just as everyone else on the planet is. The second best part of this book is the glimpse it gives into Afghan culture. The only fault I found with the story was a couple of disappointing twists that I could have lived without. Note: I listened to this on audiotape, narrated by the author, and feel it greatly enhanced my experience. If I read it I would’ve struggled, trying to pronounce the words foreign to me. Instead, he glided over the text with ease.

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon, fiction

Brit Christopher Boone is 15 years old and late one night discovers that his neighbor’s dog has been murdered – done in with a “garden fork” (in the US we call this a rake). At first he’s suspected of the dastardly deed since he’s found crouching over the cadaver. This makes him all the more determined to unravel the mystery and bring the killer to justice. He applies the best principles of his idol, Sherlock Holmes – Christopher is autistic and demands order and logic over everything in his life – and, keeping a journal of his quest that he hopes to publish (the book we are reading), he sets off on a wonderful adventure. I loved this book! Christopher is such an interesting protagonist and Haddon’s storytelling ability is terrific. Wonderful, rich and complex characters; interesting plot.

Peace Like A River by Leif Enger, fiction

Leif Enger’s story, about a Minnesota family who piles into a car towing an Airstream trailer looking for a prodigal son/brother, teaches us a lot about life. Enger spins a delightful tale full of magic and gunplay and fascinating characters and Wild West stories and life lessons. Some things I learned:

- When you put a lot of time and energy into fighting someone/something you end up looking just like your enemy.

- On the other hand, when you fight no one and forgive everyone you can perform miracles.

- Life is magical.

- Don’t take the air you breathe for granted.

- Read, watch, listen and learn.

- Travel life’s road with an open mind.

I loved this book and have been recommending it to just about everyone I know. It is a great read for both men and women. I’m thinking it’s a “5” because it is well written, an enjoyable ride (entertaining) and a well-crafted story.

The Botany of Desire by Michael Pollan, adult nonfiction,

There is a long-held Western belief that there is nature and there is mankind; two halves of a whole that are divided by, what? I forget. I forget because Pollan trashes that dividing line. There is no real difference between natural selection and artificial selection. Truth-be-told, plants are using us humans on a daily basis to propagate their own species by appealing to our very basest desires. Pollan takes us on a journey to examine how plants such as the apple, the tulip, the marijuana plant and the potato have had their way with humans and in the end, they are the tail wagging our very deluded and foolishly arrogant dog. Did you know that each apple seed grows into its very own unique variety? That in order to get an orchard of Red Delicious apples they must be grown from grafted branches of other Red Delicious apple trees? Did you know that at one point in 17^th Century Holland a single tulip bulb could sell for more than a fine house on the canal? Did you know that most 15^th Century Europeans distrusted and despised the potato? Pollan tells a great story so a book that might be deemed dry-as-dust is compelling and fascinating and a terrific read. Highly recommended!

Finn, A Novel by Jon Clinch, fiction

In Finn Clinch has created a fictional biography for a character we all first encountered when we read Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn where Huck and Jim find a dead man in a that’s house floating down the river. The dead man is Huck’s father and he’s been shot in the back. What Twain failed to give us in his book (knowledge of Huck’s family history) Clinch delivers in what I have to say is the best book I’ve read this year. The character Finn – we never learn his first name – is both despicable and fascinating at the same time. His father (Huck’s grandfather) is a judge, also a nasty guy, who seems to have bred all his vileness into Finn, bypassing Finn’s brother who is a decent person. But where the Judge is an upstanding member of the community; Finn teeters on the rim between human and animal, living by his (dim) wits and blundering through life in a drunken haze. And yet…and yet he has deeply tender feelings for the woman who becomes his common law wife, Huck’s mother. Even more, we feel his love for Huck. This book may not be to everyone’s taste for many reasons, not the least of which is getting used to the open racism of the period. But if you’re enjoy terrific writing, complex characterizations and want a book that will have you grabbing people off the street to discuss it with you can’t go wrong with Finn. By the way, Ed Sala does a fantastic job narrating the audio book.

Things I appreciate and am thankful for:
1. Love. I am lucky to be on the receiving end of so much love from family and friends who love me — sometimes in spite of myself — and without whose love I could not function.
2. Peace. In my home, within my family and among my friends there is peace (most of the time) and when there is not, I am thankful for the generous spirit of those who strive to restore it.
3. Comfort. I enjoy way more comfort than many people who share this planet and (Did you hear that deep sigh?) I am grateful for it every day.
4. Laughter. ‘Nough said.
5. Flowers. They make plants bearable and life more worthwhile.
6. Great meals with loved ones.
7. Wine.
8. Great kissers I have known and/or loved.
9. A terrific childhood in the arms of a reasonably functional family plus mentors from whom I learned good family and citizenship skills. The bad habits I have are mostly my own invention. They are part of my charm.
10. Books.
11. This breath. No. This one. Well, every breath I take.

I think I suffer from something called blog block. I facebook. I twitter. I write all kinds of book reviews and other stuff. I read other people’s posts, tweets, blogs and blahs. In the olden days most respectable people kept their opinions and thoughts to themselves. But I never considered myself (in my be-honest-with-yourself moments) a respectable person. So I blabbed thoughts all over the place. In these good new days everybody is more or less required to be an un-respectable blabbermouth (or should that be bloggermouth?). What’s worse, they’ve all got an agenda. Maybe it’s my advancing years but it sure seems like everyblogger is out for one thing — self-promotion. It’s in many of those so-called celebrity tweets and facebook pages. It’s in the “expert opinion” of the TV talk show consultant whose career could use a boost if s/he simply says the controversial thing on a morning show. It’s everywhere. Am I the only one finding this tiresome? It’s enough to make me shut my own mouth. Hah. Like that’ll happen. But it is enough to make me blog-shy. It’s why my brain has started to shrink wrap it’s thoughts if I even look at a blank blog page. This is an exception. There will be others. I am reading a couple of books I would dearly love to tell you about. But they won’t get a lot of readers since I have no axe to grind and stand to gain nothing by talking about them. ‘S’okay with me. Have a great day and remember: if you want to be contrary, keep your thoughts to yourself.

I’m gonna rant now. I was writing something and just wanted to use the verb cripple in a paragraph describing what a winter snowstorm can do to normal traffic. When I referred to the word processor’s dictionary the first three definitions were “offensive term“!! This is not a definition, people! Nor is it an accurate description of what the word cripple means by any remote stretch of the imagination. Can I say, “The waist-deep snow offensive termed my ability to go from the house to the barn.”?? NO! The word simply means having impaired function. Anything can impair function, from a snowstorm to ingesting a whole bottle of Jim Beam to a limb amputation. These are all things that can cripple one. And it is not the least offensive to use the word in that context. To use it as a derogatory label is quite another matter but its misuse should not cripple my ability to express myself in clear and precise language. Nor should a reference source, such as a dictionary, censure a word without offering first and foremost any and all bona fide definitions of that word. Okay. I’m willing to acknowledge that, as a wordsmith, I may be biased here. But I really don’t think it is the dictionary’s place to obfuscate word definitions just to take some politically correct high moral ground. We are losing a lot when a dictionary (a DICTIONARY, people!!) becomes our moral compass.

Taking a leisurely tour of the old neighborhood can be kind of spooky, especially when that neighborhood is routinely threatened with extinction whenever the legislature or Mayor Daley start jonesing for a third airport. Periodically the ax hangs heavy over the quiet little neighborhood on Chicago’s far southeast side known as Hegewisch. One of these days somebody may have their way and the place where I grew up will become runway 17A. So I recently took a look at the house where both I and my dad before me grew up, then toured up and down the blocks that I know well enough to walk in my sleep.

Oh the memories. Here the term “old haunts” took on new meaning. Ghosts of friends, long ago gone their separate ways, waved at me from their front porches. Across the street from our old house I can see my best friend Patty Ann sitting on the steps in front of her folks’ duplex. She’s wearing a brand new powder blue skort. We used to walk to school together and when I’d pick her up their house smelled of freshly made Lipton’s tea and cinnamon toast. Their toaster had a cover that said, “Hot toast makes the butter-fly,” and it had a picture of a butter pat-shaped butterfly on it. Her mom kept plastic on the living room furniture (so did my mom). Even so, when we’d watch American Bandstand after school we’d have to sit on the floor. I think that furniture is probably still in that house — in pristine condition.

There’s my buddy, Dorothy, who lived next door. There’s about a three-foot-wide gangway between the houses and we had bedroom windows that sort of faced each other – hers was a little higher and further back. And for a while we had a tin-can-and-string thing going on until we realized we could hear each other just as well without it.

As I continued my tour memorable events appeared before my mind’s eye like life sized dioramas.

There’s the Methodist Church under whose stairs (which are now enclosed) my friend Tommy and I shared our first kiss. We were ten. He lived down the street from us. My parents would often go to his house to play cards or for a backyard barbecue. While the grownups played cards Tommy and I would watch Saturday night monster movies. His mom grew up living next door to my dad. We still lived in the same house, a white frame four-flat where my dad lived ‘til he was 50. When Tommy’s mom got married she moved a whole half block away. Later Tommy’s family moved to a new house in Burnham.

There’s the building (now a real estate office) that once housed the neighborhood tavern. My grandmother and I used to walk down there on hot summer afternoons. While she was inside getting the bucket she brought from home filled with cold beer I’d wait on the front steps sipping an icy cold orange pop. She was my dad’s mom and lived in the apartment behind ours. We called her “Ma” because being called grandma made her feel old. I used to hang out with her when she’d do laundry in the basement. In the wintertime she’d hang the clothes on lines strung across the basement ceiling. In the summer, of course, she’d hang them outside.

Speaking of hanging out, there’s Rose’s house. She lived a couple houses north of us and was my mom’s age. She and my mom were friends but Rose was special to me because she’d let me hang out in her kitchen when she was cooking and baking for her family. Today I guess you’d call her a mentor because I felt like I could talk to her about things I never talked about with my mom. A gentle and patient woman she was as generous with her wisdom as she was with her homemade strudel. After I grew up I relied upon her wisdom in raising my own kids. Never did have the patience to make strudel though. Tried it once and when I was buttered up to my elbows I quit.

More random reminiscences flash before my eyes.

The alley where I dropped a gallon of milk, shattering the glass and ran home crying. Mann Park where we used to play in the fieldhouse (do they still call them that?). Henry Clay School where I went from kindergarten through second grade before I transferred to the Catholic school. There’s the spot where my dad would sometimes park his ’53 Studebaker when he’d pick me up after school. The IGA (now it’s called Food Club) that was the neighborhood’s first big time supermarket. And there’s the building that housed the tiny library — a big deal because for most of my elementary school years we had a traveling bookmobile. Today Hegewisch has a big, modern library building.

This was a good tour and I have Google to thank for it. They’ve set it up so I can quietly and anonymously tour my old neighborhood – seeing every angle of the buildings in very realistic 3-D-like quality — without the distraction of strange people, traffic and sounds. It’s like a pop-up book where the sight of these buildings releases bittersweet memories uncomplicated by current reality.

So, okay, there was one last stop I had to make before closing the browser on my computer. I looked up Tommy’s (I guess it’s probably Tom now) address and found out he currently lives only a couple miles from Hegewisch. I googled his house – just out of curiosity. I haven’t seen him since we were in our twenties. What’s funny is that even though my motives were only idle curiosity, I suddenly and surprisingly felt like a stalker. I quickly closed my browser and I’m still pondering just what Google has done with its 360-degree vistas of American cities. Can this kind of anonymous visiting – snooping? stalking? — be altogether healthy?-30-
© 2009, Donna M Chavez

In addition to writing book reviews and coaching writers, I also write resumes for anyone — not just writers — that needs one to make a good impression on a prospective employer.

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