Author Archives: Michelle Ross

Swamplandia! by Karen Russell

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Swamplandia! by Karen Russell

I don’t know. That is my initial response after reading Karen Russell’s Swamplandia! As a contender on many of the “Best of 2011” book lists, I initially thought that this novel would be a homerun, but it just goes to show how much subjectivity there is in the world of writing.

The book follows two main storylines: that of Ava Bigtree, a young girl who works at her family’s failing alligator-wrestling theme park and Kiwi Bigtree, Ava’s older brother who wants nothing more than to escape that same park and make a way for himself on the mainland. While these two characters serve as the baseline for the tale, they are filled out by Chief (the father), Hilola (the dead mother), Osceola (the other sister) and the Seths (the alligators.)

Ava’s story, while told with the mindset of a young adolescent, is written in beautiful prose. The elegant language, which seems a bit at odds with this rough and tumble tomboy of a character, allows the reader a more refined glance into the world which Ava inhabits than would be possible if it were told in the actual words of a kid. Through Ava’s eyes, we see her world crumble to pieces. After cancer takes her mother, the axis around which the whole family revolves and the park’s main attraction, nothing is the same. It is as if without the stabilizing force of Hilola, the family and business disintegrate into their individual parts, rather than continue to function as whole entities. It is in this confusion that Ossie begins dating ghosts and Kiwi escapes for what he imagines will be a better life on the mainland. At the same time, Chief disappears, leaving Ava, the youngest, as the sole guardian of Swamplandia!

Kiwi is the other character whose storyline is closely followed. The writing in his chapters was extremely different from that of Ava’s. It didn’t display the smoothness and insight that hers did. Rather, Kiwi’s story is rather disjointed and halting, mirroring the life he is trying to create for himself outside his family’s island. Kiwi considers himself well-educated (it is a self-provided education, coming from extensive reading, but without any feedback or discussion with others, making his full of random facts, but without utility behind the knowledge.) His attempts to fit in with the mainland kids and their way of life are uncomfortable to read. It is hard to imagine him ever fitting in in this new world, but as the book goes on and profanity spews from his mouth more and more readily, you realize that a metamorphosis is taking place. Eventually I felt as if Kiwi no longer held a place in either realm, making him an outsider with both his family and his new friends.

The part of the novel that I struggled with the most was Ossie and her ghostly relationships. As I read, I didn’t know whether my mind should wander towards the possibility that she was mentally unstable or whether Russell was going to take this into the realm of fantasy. I’m not good at the whole suspension of disbelief, so as Ossie and her dead fiancé head for the underworld, tailed by Ava and her Dante-esque guide, the Birdman, I just couldn’t decide how I should be interpreting the direction the story was headed. During these sections of the novel, I had a hard time enjoying the graceful writing and unique plot because I couldn’t take my focus off where this was all going. I kept trying to figure out what kind of twist would make this all possible in a novel that is otherwise set in a realistic realm.

Taking away the oddness of a search for the underworld off the coastline of the southern United States, this book had a touching core. The idea that the loss of the one person who holds a family together can make everything unravel is a painful one, but also one that plays out in reality on a regular basis.  Without Hilola to draw in the tourists, the alligator theme park is doomed for disaster. Without Hilola to draw together the array of personalities making up the Bigtree family, the family falls apart, with each individual drifting in his and her own direction. While we never hear directly from Hilola, as she is dead before the first page of the book, she is the character around which all the choices of the book revolve.

My original “I don’t know” still stands. There were parts of debut novel that I really loved and was drawn in by, but there were also parts that were just too contrived and weird for me to accept as a reader. I can see why some people loved this book, but for me, it falls into the category of being interesting, but not something I am likely to pick up and reread at any point. Karen Russell’s Swamplandia! earns:

 

 

A Little Super Bowl Halftime Reading

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The big day has arrived. It is Super Bowl Sunday. (Or Super Bowl Monday for our soon-to-be-colleagues in Chengdu. I hear there is a pre-work party with bagels and muffins!) After a crushing season in the Fantasy Football league, losing a playoff spot for Playing in Stilettos by just one game, I am ready to wrap this season up.

The Super Bowl is a fascinating slice of Americana pie. A section of our pop culture is put on display for the world to see, from the massive build-up to a game that never seems to live up to its hype to the obsession over commercials hawking everything from beer and pizza to luxury cars and stock portfolios to the constant complaints about how bad the halftime show is/was/will be. (Who could the league hire that wouldn’t draw endless complaints? I mean really.  When you’ve got half of the American population watching the same concert, how will you ever come up with an artist that satisfies all of them? You won’t!)

I, too, will be watching the match-up between the teams today. (Who are they again? Seriously. That is the level of attention I pay. This may be why the lovely Stilettos didn’t make the playoffs, yet again, this year.) While I don’t follow the NFL closely, I do have a few suggestions for ways to improve this end-of-season party.

My proposal takes the end reward for winning the game and works backwards to reach a better form of entertainment, leading to that prize.  What coveted award is given out to the victorious team? Rings. Big, expensive, diamond-laden, sparkly baubles to adorn the giant sausage-like fingers of the players who propelled their team to the number one spot in the NFL.  We are talking jewelry here people.

I propose, if jewelry is what is at stake, we come up with a contest more fitted to that trophy. Much like the Miss America candidates who vie for a tiara, I think the professional football players should also show us their jewelry-worthy skills.  So, with that in mind, here is what I propose:

Super Bowl Sunday still exists, but rather than settling the dispute with sweaty piles of gigantic dudes fighting over a piece of animal hide, they give us a fashion show.  That’s right. A fashion show.  It is a fitting way to earn their rings.

I suggest the teams go head to head in four categories- home, away, wild card and mascot.  Each round will serve as a quarter, so the Super Bowl maintains its roots in football. The home outfits will be modeled by the offensive players, while the away outfits are donned by the defensive players. (On a personal level, I would suggest teams shy away from the white pants. Something metallic or dark does a much better job of hiding that embarrassing jock-strap line.) Those quarters are pretty easy to picture, and possibly pretty easy on the eye, depending on who the reigning quarterbacks are. The wild card round will be shown on the special teams players. These outfits are determined individually by each team. They could be throw-back uniforms or ones worn during October’s profusion of pink games or they could be something more creative, like futuristic uniforms. Of course, the fourth and final round goes to the mascots. These guys will take to the runway to demonstrate not only their level of team spirit, but also the type of mascot will be judged. (Personally, I am a fan of the weird balloon ones that can jiggle and bounce around, but as I am not an NFL sanctioned referee, I don’t get a vote.)

Obviously, the team which scores the most points overall, after the completion of all four quarters, will be declared the winner and be presented with the coveted Super Bowl rings. They will be bling-tastic, just as they are now. The winning team can still choose an MVP who will announce they are going to Disney World and could be featured not only on the front of the Wheaties box, but his face could also shine on the cover of Glamour.

The rest of the NFL season will stay the same, with kick-offs and run-backs and field goals and sacks and interceptions and all the other football-y stuff that makes up each game. The only change to the league’s procedure would be to the season finale and how those players earn the most sought-after prize in American sports- the Super Bowl ring.

Think about it. We are an hour away from watching dozens of grown men battle one another for a diamond encrusted bit of beautiful glory. Runway show- it could work!

Scored by Lauren McLaughlin

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Scored by Lauren McLaughlin

We live in a world where, in many cases, numbers dictate who we are. It starts in kindergarten when IQ tests are administered. Travelling through grade school, those numbers become how many words per minute the child can read and how accurately a Mad Minute math test can be completed. Heading into middle school and high school, the focus shifts to percentage scores and GPAs defined to the hundredth of a point. Throughout the years of schooling, throw in mandatory state testing as required by No Child Left Behind, and a shot or two at ACT and SAT scores. Add all of those numbers up and what you get is a judgment on most any kid in America.

Looking at society from this point of view, Lauren McLaughlin’s Scored really isn’t far-fetched at all. In this young adult novel (Another one, I know! I promise a review on a different genre soon.) ScoreCorp, a national company has found a way to utilize the ubiquitous cameras monitoring Americans on a daily basis to create a scoring system for adolescents.  Families are not required to enroll their students in the program, and a few of the wealthy families are privileged enough to not have to, but for most families in the not-so-distant future Massachusetts clamming community, the Score is the only chance their kids have at any semblance of upward mobility. With a high enough score, students are given automatic scholarships to college, which puts an education and future in reach of kids who would otherwise be left with whatever service-industry job they can cling to in the economically depressed region in which they live.

Imani, the protagonist of the novel, has always strived to keep her score above the scholarship line. She works hard, follows all of the rules and hopes that will be enough to earn her a scholarship to study marine biology. When the monthly score reports are posted and she drops from the mid-90’s to the 60’s, she realizes that her friendship with Cady is the problem. With only a month before final scores are posted and lifetime trajectories are set in stone, Imani knows she must do something to get her score back to its previous standing.

When the opportunity to enter a scholarship essay contest is presented by a teacher, Imani thinks she may have solved all of her problems- until the teachers says she must write about why the Score is bad for society. Imani believes whole-heartedly in the score and the opportunities it affords those without monetary advantages. To write against the score is to write against everything she believes in.

Eventually, Imani is forced to turn to Diego, a wealthy, unscored classmate whose lawyer mother is famous for fighting legal battles against ScoreCorp, for help. Their relationship isn’t one of friendship, but of mutual need, as he too is entering the contest, but must write about how the Score has been beneficial to society.

The premise of Scored is one that should resonate with many young adults.  Feeling constantly monitored and judged is a pretty universal part of being a teenager in America. The book has a strong foundation and delves fairly deeply into both sides of the argument towards a true meritocracy system. I appreciated the references to 1984  and Brave New World (hoping that maybe a teenager or two goes to the library and picks them up out of curiosity), as well as the snarky comment early in the book  aimed at No Child Left Behind. The place where McLaughlin’s novel falls short is the unnecessary love story propagated by the relationship between Imani and Diego. I was disappointed that their intellectual connections weren’t allowed to stand on their own, but rather had to morph into romance.  It would have been great to have strong female and male characters that were able to stand on their own as individuals and not need a bit of Cupid’s arrow thrown in at the end.

This young adult novel was a quick read, weighing in at just 160 pages. The story moves quickly, but has a depth uncharacteristic to such a short book.  It can be read as just another dystopian novel, enjoyed and set aside without another glance. On the other hand, it would also make a great classroom novel. I can just imagine some of the great discussions that students could have about how society stratifies itself now and whether the world envisioned in the book is a step forward or a step backward.  Lauren McLaughlin’s Scored earns:

Here Comes the Bride

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Bridal showers. Baby showers. Even rain showers. As I’ve mentioned before, I’m good with them all, as long as games aren’t involved. Throwing a shower for someone is a great way to help them get off to a great start on a new era of her life, whether it is because of impending nuptials or the arrival of a squawking bundle of joy.  This past weekend, I had the opportunity to help plan and throw a wedding shower for two very good friends.- John and Lulu.

John and Lulu met in China while he was a Peace Corps Volunteer. (Shout out to Peace Corps China!) Before he returned to the States in late May to begin the Foreign Service Officers training, in the same class as Thad, he asked Lulu to marry him.  Their engagement had to be a long distance one for the next half a year, as he was here in DC doing his training and preparing to head to Taiwan on his first assignment and she was home in Guizhou province in China. Luckily, John was able to fly to China over Christmas, where they were married, and return with Lulu to start their new lives together.

We not only wanted to help this wonderful couple put together the foundation they will need to establish their own home, but we wanted to welcome Lulu to America with open arms. What is a better way to do that than throw them a traditional wedding shower?

Along with Molly and Jessica, I set about putting together a small gathering for John’s friends and FSI classmates. We were able to reserve the activities room herein Crystal City Oakwood, which was the perfect size to hold the roughly twenty-five people who came to celebrate.  As invitations went out, we not only received an overwhelming number confirming attendance, but also numerous offers to bring food and drink to the party. It was wonderful to see so many people happy and excited for John and Lulu, wanting to contribute to the festivities as a way to honor them and their marriage.

As Saturday rolled around, in true worrywart fashion, I was awake with my mind reeling at 6:30 in the morning, a mere four hours before the commencement of any activity. As I lay in bed, I had these terrible thoughts about what if I didn’t really reserve the room (even though I knew I had, since I had checked with the front desk on several occasions to be sure it was on their calendar), what if no one came (ridiculous, as our RSVP list was extensive) and what if we don’t have enough food and drink for everyone (again, ludicrous since we ended up with enough left over to do it all again!) ?

Needless to say, the morning went off without a hitch. There were balloons and streamers and garland; there were cookies and muffins and salmon mini-sandwiches and cupcakes and veggies trays galore; there was hazelnut coffee and regular coffee and juice and limeade and champagne; there were wrapped gifts and bagged gifts and enveloped gift cards. There were no games.

That, my friends, is the best part. No games. The bride was not embarrassed by having to wear bows on their head, representing the number of kids she would have. There were no wedding dresses or veils made from toilet paper. There were no awkward moments where the groom has to try to remember what color of toothbrush his blushing bride uses.  There just a lot of eating and a lot of chatting and a lot of friends spending time together in recognition of a fabulous new couple.

I am pleased to have been able to be a part of the planning for this occasion.  While a shower isn’t the same as a full-blown wedding, it was a great way for us to all gather and extend our wishes for happiness to John and Lulu. Saturday’s event was a success, thank to everyone who helped plan, who helped provide food and who helped set-up and take down.

Next up? Baby shower for Rory!

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Nanjing Requiem by Ha Jin

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Nanjing Requiem by Ha Jin

Ha Jin’s latest novel, Nanjing Requiem, released last fall, takes on the huge challenge of setting a novel during the Japanese invasion and occupation of China’s Nanjing City. It is not an easy task to write a
book with a foundation based in the torture and slaughter of thousands of civilians, but that is the challenge Jin has set up for himself with this new book.

Jin tells the story of the fall of Nanjing,  opening  with the heartbreaking tale of Ban, a young boy who serves as an errand-runner for the Western –funded and run Jingli College, who was whisked away by Japanese soldiers and forced to do their bidding, fearing for his life if he didn’t cooperate.  After this initial chapter, the rest of the book (with one other short exception at the end) is narrated by Anling, a Chinese woman who works for the college. While she is the primary story-teller, the roles of the foreign citizens are the focus of much of the novel.

Nanjing’s citizens were cruelly treated when the Japanese army overthrew the Chinese government there, as the invading army’s officers allowed their soldiers to run wild, abandoning any sense of
decency and humanity. Countless women, of all ages, were raped and killed. Men were forced to watch their relatives’ endure these heinous acts and then they themselves were slaughtered.  Jin doesn’t shy away from the realities of what occurred in city in the late 1930’s. Because of this brutally honest look at those atrocities, Nanjing Requiem can be difficult to read. His writing relays the stark realities of the horrors committed, making the book, at times, painful to endure. It is not a leisurely book, written for the feint-of-heart.

With the focus on the deeds of the foreigners living in Nanjing, I was disappointed that Ha Jin didn’t focus more on the positive aspects of Chinese culture and traditions.  Oftentimes, the Chinese women (other than the main narrator herself) are made out to be petty and squabbling and wholly selfish. I would love to have seen him incorporate more Chinese women who sacrificed for the cause of helping others.  The characters, both Chinese and foreign, were pretty flatly drawn, making it hard to connect with them while reading the novel.

Nanjing Requiem, while dealing with a terrible period in Chinese history, really focuses on the roles that foreigners played in saving thousands of people from certain death. These characters, mostly American missionaries, put their lives on the line for the people of the country in which they live. They show a basic humanity and dignity which is a direct foil to that characterization of the Japanese forces. With this said, the writing lacks the emotion one would expect from such a horrific event. The writing  is sufficient. It describes scenes, it fleshes out characters, it has a clear beginning, middle and end. What it doesn’t do is move the reader to tears or even a conjure of a great amount of anger. If I had not read several other books about the occurrences in Nanjing (I would specifically recommend The Rape of Nanking: The Forgotten Holocaust of World War II by Iris Chang), I don’t think the absolute travesty of the situation would have been clear. In several places, Jin provides clear descriptions of varies horrors, and yet they come across as nothing more than flatly written fiction.

Overall, this book fell short of what it could have been. I am disappointed that a book with the potential of this one didn’t create more of an emotional reaction. When I initially started this novel, I
thought I was going to love it, but around the halfway mark I realized that it was going to fall squarely in the “okay” category. Ha Jin’s Nanjing Requiem earns:

Kids’ Menu, Please

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There are many descriptions that could be listed under the heading “Michelle.”  Bibliophile. Shoe-collector. Nail polish aficionado. List-maker. Obsessive-planner. And the list goes on…But there is one label that I try to hide a bit more than the others, although at some point in my relationships with friend and colleagues it becomes glaringly obvious, regardless of the steps I take to mask it.

Picky-eater.

I eat like a five-year old. My preferred diet consists of cereal, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, chicken nuggets and pizza. Throw a plain (meat and bun) burger in there and I’m still good to go. Try to add condiments or spice it up in any way and I’ll probably just pick at it until I can get home and have a bowl of cereal instead.

Thad, since discovering this trait on about, oh, our third date, has been my stealthy food accomplice. There is no way to tally up the number of times I’ve covertly transferred food from my plate to his in an attempt to make others think I’ve eaten and enjoyed the meal provided.  When we were living in China last time, it was on a fairly regular basis that we were invited to attend banquets, usually hosted by our college.  Whenever they had leaders visiting, it looked good to trot out the foreigners, so off we went to these meals that went on for hours, starting with a series of cold dishes being served, then moving on to a lengthy set of hot dishes, then complimented with either bowls of noodles or rice and finally, bless the heavens, finally, the giant dish of fruit which signified that the feast was coming to a close. These dinners, while a bit tedious in nature, were glorious for Thad. He had his fill of the best and fanciest foods offered in our small Gansu town. Not only did he get to enjoy his share of the goodness, but he got mine was well!  To keep up the appearance of loving every minute of this gigantic meals provided by our college and with important Party folks present, I helped myself to various dishes throughout the evening.  Then, when conversation turned to the next round of drinks or topics that were beyond my grasp on the language (which was quite often), I surreptitiously chopstick-ed my bowl of random food items into Thad’s bowl, where he could enjoy my pickings.

The reason the picky-eating issue comes up is that last night Thad and I went out to dinner.  For Christmas, my best friend Shannon gave us a gift card to Chili’s and we happen to have one just a few blocks up the road from our place, which makes it quite convenient in our car-less existence here in Washington DC. (Not only is the Chili’s just a few blocks away, but on a breezy night like last night, when the wind is cutting right through layers of clothing, the fact that we could get within a couple hundred yards of the restaurant through the underground labyrinth connected to our mo-partment building was a built-in bonus!)

With gift card in hand, off to Chili’s we went.  Upon arrival and perusal of the menu, we decided that the 2 for $20 deal was the way to go. We ordered the chips and corn/guacamole appetizer (I enjoyed the chips. No dip for me, thanks.)  and then I had the six ounce steak with mashed potatoes and rice and Thad had some super sizzling chicken fajitas. We enjoyed a nice dinner in a restaurant that was not only fairly quiet for a Saturday night, but also a decent temperature. (I don’t know why restaurants, summer or winter, keep their thermostats so low. Does cold make people hungrier so they order more food?  All it makes me want to do is eat quickly and get out of there!)

As we were wrapping up dinner, our waiter, an older gentleman named Wayne, came back to collect the dishes. Thad had cleared his plate completely, leaving nothing more than a few stray peppers and fajita juice on his skillet. I, on the other hand, in true fashion, had eaten only part of my steak. (I ate the middle part, which was good. I just don’t like the edges of most foods. I always eat the inner parts of things like steak and pork chops, provided they are boneless. The pointy ends of things like bananas and green beans freak me out and are also avoided whenever possible.  Ends are just weird.)  There was also still a significant portion of the potatoes and rice on my plate when Wayne was clearing off the table.  At first, he offered concern that I hadn’t liked my meal, but when I assured his that I had and that I had eaten what I wanted of it, he gave me a look that had me worried. I seriously thought for a split second that this man was going to go into “mom-mode” and not let me leave the table until I had cleaned my plate!  Thad, across the table, was trying to hold in his laughter and I received a pointed, stern, motherly look from the waiter about my eating habits.

I can’t help that I am a picky-eater, but I do realize that it is an oddity in someone my age.  I do my best to conceal the grape jelly Uncrustable that I eat for lunch eat day at the Foreign Service Institute while my colleagues dine on sushi  and I try not to let my taste buds dictate where we go to dinner with friends. (Hey, almost everywhere has a kids menu with chicken strips that I can order!) Picky-eating is just another part of the world of Michelle.

Now, who wants a bowl of Cheerios for lunch?

The Scorch Trials (Maze Runner #2) by James Dashner

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The Scorch Trials  ( Maze Runner #2)  by James Dashner

Not only am I a sucker for the dystopian literature genre, but combine that with a young adult series and you’ve got me hooked!  After reading the first of James Dashner’s newest series, The Maze Runner, I couldn’t wait to get my hands on the second.  The first book ends with nothing less than the epitome of a cliffhanger that leaves the reader clinging to the side of the mountain, scrambling and clambering to keep a hold on the ledge until book two shows up!  Well, book two showed up two days ago and I instantly morphed into a mountain goat, doing nothing but climb that rocky ledge as the story continued, forgoing both homework and housework to find out what lies around each turn of the page.

In this second book, Thomas is back, along with his allies from The Glade. Their rescue and relief at the end of the first novel is short-lived and they are soon placed in the middle of another experiment run by the shady group called WICKED. This time, rather than being in the confined and controlled spaces of a maze, the group is given a final destination, promised “safe haven” upon arrival at that point and told they have two weeks to get from point A to point B.

Of course, completing this task was not a mere matter of sticking out their thumbs and hitching a ride the one hundred miles, but rather a painful, and for some, deadly, trek across the burned wasteland left behind after sun flares destroyed everything on earth between the Tropic of Capricorn and the Tropic of Cancer.

Along the way, the motley assembly of adolescents faces obstacles that are unimaginable, even after what they went through in the Glade. But worse than the deformed humans suffering the ravages of the Flare (Cranks), the mind games that WICKED plays on the kids leaves them in a position where no one knows who to trust, no one knows who is working for the mystery agency or even which side is good and which is evil. More than once, messages are relayed saying the “WICKED is good.” But is it? Throughout the book, the basic tenants of their individual personalities, their beliefs and their friendships are suddenly called into question.

Like many series, the first book, The Maze Runner, sets a high bar, as it creates a new world, populated with interesting characters and unique situations. Subsequent books have to keep up the energy and excitement of the first, but at the same time somehow deepen the conflict and relationships within its pages.  In this trilogy, the follow up, The Scorch Trials, does an admirable job living up to the expectations.   I couldn’t stop turning pages, eager to find out what was to become of this group of hardy survivors and the manipulative government agency that controls them.  As I wait for the third and final installment in this trilogy, again clinging to the edge of the cliff I was tossed over by the end of book two, James Dashner’s The Scorch Trials earns:

I Have Found The Promised Land…In Clarendon!

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While I don’t normally look to the pop charts for deep kernels of truth, Belinda Carlisle was right on the money in 1987 when she eloquently articulated to us all that indeed, “Heaven is a place on Earth.” For some, that heavenly spot may be found along a quiet path in the woods or on a secluded section of white sand beach or even in the frigid climes of the far north.

Saturday, I found my personal heaven on Earth- The Container Store!

I believe I’ve mentioned before my love of all things organization-y. (Yes, it is a word. When I earned my degree in English, along with it I was granted the rights to the language, which allow me to make up new words as needed, as long as I can assign them a part of speech and give an example sentence. It is an adjective and the sample sentence has already been provided.) I love drawers and boxes and crates and files and hangers and bins and baskets and trunks and bags and totes and…the list could go on endlessly. The Container Store is all of this, and more. (The “and more” being the plastic straw glasses that I grabbed off of the “impulse buy” rack near the registers, which I am now wearing, as I write this post. Money well spent.)

When Thad was birthday shopping a few weeks ago, one thing I had on my list was some way to organize my nail polishes. He asked at nearly every store in the mall and came up with nothing,  until one in-the-know clerk suggested he check out The Container Store.  Not having one of these in Idaho, he realized that while it may be the way to go, it would be best to let me experience it myself in all its glory. It is a decision that he came to regret on Saturday afternoon…

With a few nail polishes in my purse as size examples, we headed out on the blue and then orange Metro lines to make a visit, in person, to this land of glory. Walking through the sliding glass doors was a bit like what I imagine walking towards the light will be like one day. I was drawn in by a power greater than myself.

The store was two levels, all of which needed to be explored before any decisions on nail polish holders could be made. After the second complete walk through every aisle, Thad thought it was maybe time to begin to narrow down the options and maybe actually make a purchase before the store closed for the night. (We arrived at 2PM.) The decision was just too hard. I was overwhelmed by the choices of colors, styles and possibilities for either displaying or hiding the polish bottles.  Oh, what is a girl to do? How about one more tour of the store!

Hearing a series of increasingly bored sighs from my dear, patient husband, I settled on a pretty cornflower blue document box, held open with a lovely matching ribbon.  It is the perfect height for nail polish bottles and big enough to store my collection in its entirety. (I was actually surprised when I got home and started the sorting process that I only had fifty-six bottles of polish. I would have guessed closer to the 100 mark. That means my new box is only about 2/3 full, so new polishes are definitely in the near-future plans!)

While I only brought home the one container today, I am sure I will be back for more before our April departure to Chengdu. Much like petty drug dealers who give the first hit for free, The Container Store has made an addict out of me with just one visit. There is no rehab for organizational obsession, so I will have to spend the next three months assuaging my desires through both physical trips to the store itself as well as late-night forays on the website that never closes. In this world we may just be beginning to understand the miracle of living, but baby, I’ve got some containers to help me sort it all out.

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The Magician’s Elephant by Kate DiCamillo

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The Magician’s Elephant by Kate DiCamillo

While the length and the pictures in this book give it a decidedly upper elementary school feel , the fact that it is written by Kate DiCamillo, the author of Because of Winn-Dixie was all the recommendation I needed to originally pick it up. (By pick it up, I mean download it from my local library. Oh technology these days…) I am glad that I didn’t let this book’s outward appearance deter me. It can be easily read by younger readers, who will enjoy the fantastical story of a fortuneteller’s prediction that an elephant will reunite a young orphan boy and the sister he believes is dead, but there is so much more to the book than that.

The main character in the story, a young man named Peter. Peter is an orphan, his father having been killed in war and his mother having died during childbirth. He is raised by a man who was a solider alongside his father, but raised is probably not an accurate verb. He is being trained, tutored and school (although not well) in the ways of soldiers.  One day, while in town on errands, Peter spends his only coin at the booth of a fortuneteller.  This woman tells him that an elephant will help reunite him with his sister. This prophecy evokes many emotions, confusion being a primary one, as Peter has always been told his baby sister never breathed a breath of air, but was stillborn. On top of that, he lives in a small eastern European town, far, far away from the lands where elephants dwell.

Days later, once again in the town market, Peter overhears some adults talking about how a magician conjured an elephant the previous night at the opera house. With the world “elephant” tickling his ears, he realizes that it is possible that the soothsayer’s divination is true, meaning his guardian has lied to him all these years about his younger sister.

Peter realizes that “What if?” and “Why not?” are questions that he should have been asking all along.  These become a bit of magic in his own life, pushing him and others to follow the words of the woman in the marketplace, to allow an elephant to reunite his small family.  The characters that get on board with Peter and his belief are compensated with all manner of rewards ranging from finding a true family to returning home to the less visible, but most important one- forgiveness.

The setting of this book very much has a fairy tale, Christmastime feel to it. Winter has descended on the small market town and the chill in the air lends a sense of the story being both of this world, but not quite a part of  the day to day world in which we all live. An elephant falls from the sky, a magician is jailed and a young boy has the chance to find his long lost sister. All possible, but none probable.

The fairy tale setting adds to the readability of this book for younger students, but it also adds an air of mystery for those of us who have torn a few more pages off of the calendar.  The book checks in with fewer than 100 pages, but those pages kept me transfixed in this other world of winter wonderland beauty and elephant-astic fantasy. Kate DiCamillo’s The Magician’s Elephant earns:

The Whole Story of Half of a Girl by Veera Hiranandani

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The Whole Story of Half of a Girl  by Veera Hiranandani

This debut young adult novel by Veera Hiranandani sets out to tackle a handful of difficult topics in just under 150 pages and in a manner that is readable for a middle school student. The book attempts to deal with ethnic and religious identity, public vs. private school systems, the meaning of true friendship and clinical depression.  I applaud the ambitious efforts undertaken by the author, as each of these topics is not only important, but relevant in the lives of many adolescents, but I just seems like too much crammed into too short of a space.

The main character, Sonia, is forced to transfer from her private school to the public one just as she is starting the 6th grade. This move is precipitated by her father losing his job as a book publisher. For Sonia, who is half Indian (her father having been born and raised in India) and half Jewish (her mother having been raised in a strict kosher home),  the new school means confronting issues of how she labels herself and how those around her label her. On top of her ethnic and religious confusion, her father spirals into a deep depression brought on by his unemployment, which she must face each evening when she returns home.

One of my favorite parts of this novel is the fact that the main character is both Indian and Jewish. While I don’t know how many kids fall into that exact category, the fact that Sonia is dealing with figuring out who she is reflects  a universal struggle for middle school students.  It may be their ethnicity or their religion or their sexuality or some other aspect of their identity, but the struggle is there for most teenagers.  Watching as Sonia tries to find her place in her new school, sometimes giving in to the pressures of others and sometimes being strong and true to herself, rings true to me after having spent a decade wandering the halls of a middle school.  Towards the end of The Whole Story of Half a Girl, Sonia says, “Sometimes I feel like I am the only one like me.” Whether teenager or adult, we all have days where this is where we are at.

It is great to see young adult books not shying away from dealing with difficult, real-life topics, but when this many weighty issues are all pushed together, I think it is hard to do them justice on an individual level. Depression, whether in themselves on in their loved ones, is an issue than many people will deal with throughout the course of their lives.  Hiranandani could have written this entire book with just this as a central theme and still come out with a book worthy of a middle school library shelf.

Hiranandani has a point of view to share with the young adult world that will resonate well with many students. As a debut novel, I think she has made a statement about wanting to deal with serious issues in a way that is accessible for young adults, and there is a need for this type of writing. With that said, I think she needs to tackle fewer issues in a single book and deal with them on a deeper level.  In the fashion world it is always said that before leaving the house you should look in the mirror and take off one accessory. Hiranandani would do well to heed this same advice when it comes to story planning. Veera Hiranandani’s  The Whole Story of Half a Girl earns: