South of Baton Rouge sat an obscure little plantation called Indian Camp. Robert Camp ran a highly successful sugar plantation until the Civil War took all his fortunes and left the home and acreage back to the wild. The land was so isolated by the Mississippi River the only inhabitants maintained they had to fight for fishing rights with the mosquitoes who staked their claim in blood.
In 1894 the State of Louisiana took ownership of the property and designated it the Louisiana Leper Home. All Louisiana inhabitants that were diagnosed with the disease were sent to live the rest of their lives in the colony.
“The geography was perfect for outcasts. The plantation was virtually impossible to reach by land: a washed-out road with no outlet, leading to a tiny drop of land that looked like gravity had pulled it into the river’s path. It was known primarily to boat captains who navigated the sharp 180-degree turn in the Mississippi River just south of Baton Rouge.”
At first the residents had to fight with bats and snakes to live within the dilapidated house and slave quarters. They dealt daily with no running water and the very basic in sanitation as they waited for improvements from the state. A doctor from Tulane took notice and requested an order of nuns who arrived in 1896.
By 1914, the site was designated a national leprosarium and President Woodrow Wilson assigned $250,000 for the “care and treatment of people affected with leprosy.”
Today the facility is called Carville and it still houses those unfortunate enough to have contracted Hansen’s disease. On a positive note, the residents are dwindling in number since the disease is lessening and approximately 130 patients now walk the halls.
Because the facility had more beds than occupants, in 1990 the Bureau of Prisons decided to transfer federal inmates to the Federal Medical Center in Carville. On May 3, 1993, Neil White became the newest inmate.
Upon arrival, an inmate cornered him and told him he would be living with lepers now. Oh, and since he was a convict that makes him a lepercon!
Do pick up this fascinating book by Oxford resident Neil White titled In the Sanctuary of Outcasts.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
The Sanctuary of Outcasts (copy)
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Eat, Drink, and Be from Mississippi (copy)
Brother and sister growing up in Mississippi is only part of the story associated with Nanci Kincaid’s latest book titled Eat, Drink, and Be from Mississippi. The book explores how racism not only occurs in the South – like we cornered the market on the ugliness – but it happens just as easily in a state as liberal and progressive as California.
Truely and Courtney Noonan are products of a southern conservative home outside the city limits of Jackson in Hines County. They grow up in the nineties with little controversy. True is doing his part as a lineman on the high school football team to impress Truely, Sr. and make him proud. Courtney is attending Millsaps with a full scholarship, but things are about to change dramatically for both siblings.
It begins when Courtney asks her roommate to drive her home from college mid-semester. Courtney has the crazy idea to blow off the slow life of Jackson and move to the ever-sunny San Jose, California, to attend the university. True is concerned his sister is disrespecting their parents and making a mistake. This causes a slight ripple in the otherwise smooth relationship between brother and sister, but all is made well again by Truely, Sr. allowing Courtney to leave.
Soon Courtney settles into classes and meets Hastings Littleton, a successful realtor who has a passion for southern cooking. Before readers have a clue, 21-year-old Courtney is shacking up with 31-year-old Hastings. The moral decline California is known for has gotten a hold of Courtney and the parents hang their heads in shame.
After spending a Christmas at the Littleton household, Courtney having succumbed to parental pressure and married, True is now bitten by the westward bug and enrolls at San Jose State himself. As this unbelievable story unfolds, we see Truely marrying Jesse and becoming a programming millionaire joining the ranks of his real estate millionaire sister.
This book is so soap-opry; I still have suds behind my ears. The protagonist, Arnold, appears after page 140, and I am surprised by my patience in reading. It is the relationship between the street thug, Arnold, and the siblings that awakens the sleeping racism within this trifling trichotomy.
Nanci Kincaid has written a readable book; although, it is not my cup of tea. Admittedly, I found it hard to swallow.
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
The Air between Us (copy)
Like most readers, I have a stack of books ready for reading in my home. This allows me a chance to read something for which my mood dictates. I go for the book on top, but then shuffle if it does not grab my attention. Sometimes a book finds itself on the bottom and I end up taking it back to the library.
One such book, The Air between Us by Deborah Johnson, has been in the pile numerous times. Not only have I renewed then returned two separate copies – a new hardback and also the paperback – but I went out and purchased a copy for the pile. This was a book I wanted to read; furthermore, I needed to read.
Set in the fictional 1960’s town of Revere, Mississippi, Critter Tate is having trouble. He is having trouble steering his father’s pick-up truck and stepping on the pedals at the same time. So far he has managed to drive 30 miles into town without a wreck, but the town curbs are giving him a time. With a little extra gas he launches over the curb at Doctors Hospital and comes to an abrupt stop at the black only entrance.
All of 10-years-old, Critter thinks he has done right, but the trouble continues. His passenger, Billy Ray Puckett, lays strewn across the seat with blood oozing from his white self. Critter’s dad is gonna be mad when he sees all the blood. Then the attendants flat out refuse to allow Billy Ray in the black only entrance.
It didn’t look good for Billy Ray as Critter notices his blood turning dark. Critter has seen death enough times to recognize the signs. Back in the truck, he hauls it around to the other side of Doctors and sits paralyzed at the door. Seeing no one through the screen, Critter cringes as he knows he faces a sure whipping if he goes through the white only entrance.
Billy Ray lets out a moan that sets Critter through the door and to the first nurse he can find. None-too-happy the nurse scowls down at him as he burst out, “I told him he was doing it all wrong!” Billy Ray had fallen out of his rickety deer stand and gone and shot himself.
The Air between Us is well worth the read. Deborah Johnson, currently living in Columbus, displays a mastery of storytelling in her first novel. What I thought would be a depressing story blooms into a funny, quirky mystery that holds a reader’s attention for hours. The characters are so alive the story might be set in Anywhere, Mississippi.
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
Library Card Sign-Up (copy)
The beginning of the school year is one of my favorite times. Amongst all the new student confusion – where do I go for this, what do I need for that – appears the readers for the year. Without help from the staff, they search the online catalog and begin to read book spines to find a certain book. The reader then strolls confidently to the circulation desk with a couple of fictions in hand and a shy smile on her face.
I like imagining why the little smile accompanies the patron. I pretend I am them, seeing the library for the first time, and finding that great book to read. It is common for the latest in a series or current bestsellers to sit on our shelves waiting for readers while at the public library one has to wait in line for the same books. Naturally, all books are due at the end of the semester and sit ready to read by the beginning of the next.
I like to think the students have found favorite authors that afford the library some sort of cool points. Yes, it is my pipe dream to see them smiling because they are happy with our collection.
Unfortunately, there are only a handful of students who come to the library as recreational readers. More often I stand in front of a group of students during orientation who are just realizing our college has a library. I want desperately to place a book in the hands of these students that they will enjoy. How do you make the average student fall in love with books?
This is the question facing more and more librarians in the state of Mississippi. In an article in The Commercial Appeal by Dorothy Johnson, executive director of Shelby County Books from Birth, titled “Reading is powerful fuel for child's growth” she cites facts that make me excited. One such fact I now use during orientations. “Children exposed to books and reading during preschool years enters kindergarten with a listening vocabulary of 20,000 words, versus 3,000 words for those who don't have this exposure.”
Imagine the change our great state of Mississippi would undergo if we placed books in the hands of our kids before they ever hit kindergarten. Imagine my joy if I got 20 more readers at the beginning of a semester then 20 more the following semester.
Okay citizens of Mississippi. Gather your young ones in the car and head for the nearest public library. Go, get out there and celebrate Library Card Sign-Up Month in September. We need more readers!
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Tattoo Machine (copy)
Not just for drunken sailors anymore, tattoos are appearing on more skin then birthmarks. What is the fascination with decorating ones’ skin? If you ran away from the doctor ready to inoculate you as a child, why sit still for multiple pricks as an adult? I get the argument that it makes one unique, but if everyone is doing it who is unique?I picked up Jeff Johnson’s new book Tattoo Machine looking for the answer. What I got was a whole lot of fun akin to sitting around a campfire listening to horror stories.
Johnson owns a century run tattoo shop in Portland, Oregon called the Sea Tramp Tattoo Company. In his many years of customer service he has seen a variety of clientele. No two people are alike but as the sticking time approaches a couple of categories begin to emerge.
The shop has its own vocabulary for these stereotypes. The person who comes armed with pain pills is a bunny. One who loses his lunch is a chudder and an appointment that greedily downs fast food before the session is a taco valve. Customers are encouraged to eat before the needling, but isn’t the taco valve looking to chudder?!?
Among the many stories Johnson relates, one made me chuckle in agreement. In his location he has the opportunity to work on many a homesick GI. State flags are popular amongst this group as a quick display of pride. One such GI asked for the Texas state flag. Johnson explained that he did not own a book of flags and the young man should visit the library for an example. The GI shook his head and said he knew the flag by heart and began to draw it on a napkin. The following week the GI stomped into the store and yelled, “I’m Texan not Portuguese!”
In Johnson’s 18 years of artistry, he has gathered some strong opinions on fellow artist. He looks down on those who call their machine a gun. He dislikes sloppy and lazy workers who draw on their customers with a pen or toothpick dipped in ink. It is accepted if one is emulating smoke or wind; otherwise, these are “Night Hogs” in his opinion and not true artist. “Direct-to-skin drawing, at its worst, is a pressure sales tactic.”
As for the psychology of decorating ones skin, the book gives no answer, but it is packed with pure unadulterated fun. I must warn you. The author is very much in the style of celebrity chef Anthony Bourdain. He throws out the off-color jokes and slings the slang like no one’s business.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Your Own Sylvia (copy)
I love this book! Last night I picked up Your Own, Sylvia by Stephanie Hemphill and read through it like a runaway train. Why? What propelled me? Is it that good?
Yes! It is the biography of Sylvia Plath written in verse chronologically from birth to tragic suicide. Marketed for teenagers, it enjoys a plethora of awards including the 2008 American Library Association Top Ten Best Books for Young Adults and 2008 Michael L. Printz Honor Book.
What a great way to introduce Sylvia Plath to a whole new reading audience. In my education she was sorely missed. I lacked exposure to her poems or books during high school and college although my friends were reading The Bell Jar as a word-of-mouth choice. I guess the educators thought it best not to study a woman who wrote with suicidal tendencies, but from Your Own, Sylvia readers will realize there is more to Plath’s writing.
The poems are written as if the person in Sylvia’s life at the time is speaking. For example, the poem titled “First Publication” is written as if the editor of the Boston Herald is speaking to the reader about Sylvia’s first published poem at the age of eight. Footnotes are included for each poem that explains the history behind the event or person featured. At the bottom of “First Publication” the footnote reads, “‘Poem,’ a sweet rhyming verse about crickets and fireflies, appeared in the Sunday Boston Herald on August 11, 1941, on the ‘Good Sport Page’ of the children’s section.”
I like the fact that this book leads readers to other books. It is natural to have the desire to read The Bell Jar after one finds out the real people who populate the fictional pseudo autobiography. For example, Janet Wagner who vocalizes the poem “Stigmata” appears in The Bell Jar as the “sweet, farm-fresh Betsy from Kansas.” In real life, the two were friends while guest editors for Mademoiselle magazine.
Need more convincing? Here are the first lines of “Owning Sylvia Plath” as vocalized through a reader of her poems.
Who are you, Sylvia Plath?
A cold comet locked in place by gravity?
A glint in the cracked ceiling above my bed?
Something shimmers out of your chasm.
Your language feels like words
trapped under my tongue.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Magazines Anyone? (copy)
I picked up an old habit over the summer. I am now running two miles without stopping. Along with my new obsession comes a healthy curiosity. Do I run to the library and check out books on running to fulfill my need to know more? Well no, I take the easy approach. I subscribed to Runner’s World magazine.
Without prompting from me, two of my carpool buddies (new to the running thing) are also subscribing to the magazine. They look forward to their first month’s issue having read articles from hand-me-down copies. This example is proof others want to learn everything they can about a hobby. It is a shared human experience.
Do you have a son or daughter with a hobby such as gymnastics, football, basketball, knitting, drawing or sewing? Do they also balk at reading? Here is your chance to shine.
Subscribe to a magazine that follows a favorite hobby such as Sports Illustrated or VIBE. When the issue arrives place it in the teenager’s room and then casually walk away. Say nothing about reading it or how much it cost or “I was thinking…” merely walk away.
Reading magazines counts as reading. Who cares if the quality is questionable? It is the fact kids are reading and exposing themselves to different vocabularies and sentence structures without the pressure of test taking afterwards that has huge appeal. One can learn from fun, senseless reading, too.
I see you shaking your head at me. Your child’s hobbies are video games or talking/texting on their cell phone while in the home. Well, gamers will be thrilled with GamePro magazine. This monthly rag rates the latest games from every system and every genre. Packed with secret codes to advance players and thought provoking articles like “Versus Mode” where they pit game hero against game hero such as Inspector Tequila against Max Payne, will enthrall young readers.
Cell phone chatterers can find amusement in entertainment magazines. We at the library like to thumb through the pages of PEOPLE magazine. We look at the pictures and read the captions, but rarely do we actually read an article. Again, it may not be quality reading but it is active reading not before seen from that texting teenager. Sorry, I was unable to find a magazine for texting.
Consider magazines for those in your home who do not read. They could be the stepping stones to a reading future.
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
Books to Movies (copy)
There is nothing like the refreshing sensation of watching a movie in a cool dark cinema on a hot summer day. During this summer’s season, many books-to-movies have graced the screen such as Angels and Demons, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince and My Sister’s Keeper. Well people, don’t put the popcorn away just yet!
August promises two bestsellers on movie screens ready to divert your attention from the heat. First is Julie & Julia based on the book Julie & Julia: 365 Days, 524 Recipes, 1 Tiny Apartment Kitchen by Julie Powell. Meryl Streep plays the role of Julia Childs. Will she be able to master the trembling vibrato of Childs’ voice?
The second movie is The Time’s Traveler’s Wife based on Audrey Niffenegger’s book by the same title. Back in 2004, I remember spending nights dreaming about the characters. In my sleep, I would compose all sorts of dialog for when Henry and Claire would see each other again. The story has them apart for years and only together for brief periods in time.
Unfortunately, I will sit and analysis the movie to pieces. Because I love the book, I will descend the cinema aisle determined not to allow the movie to surpass my reading experience. I am doomed to compare and contrast everything such as the characters, settings, plot, and theme. Will nothing escape my memory’s eye?
It is my hope the actors chosen to portray Henry and Clare, Eric Bana and Rachel McAdams, will meet my high standards. Bana, being unknown, will help preserve my vision of Henry, but I contain less promise for McAdams.
Before the year ends, Cormac McCarthy’s The Road is set for release. The wife’s brief appearance is played by Charlize Theron and the father by Viggo Mortensen. This post-apocalyptic story which won a Pulitzer may not appeal to all viewers just as the book. I cringe thinking the producers might place a feel-good ending on a book that left the future in the reader’s hands.
Last but not least, is my all-time favorite children’s picture-book Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak. I use the book often in story times where I gather children tightly on an imaginary island while I encircle them reading. They become the “Wild Things” as I play the part of King Max. What a thrill it will be to see this and other books mentioned on the big screen.
Note: Julie & Julia was a delight! I almost wanted to come home and cook, but let's not get carried away!
Sunday, August 02, 2009
It's a Bust!
Sorry Guys! I really let the Southern Reading Challenge die this year. I ran one contest and sent out one thing of pecans; although, I drew for two more peeps. My heart just wasn't into it.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
In the Woods (copy)
Two different types of readers can tell librarians a thing-or-two about mystery and romance. These readers know their authors, titles, series, and the order in which the books are to be read. I never squabble with a mystery or romance reader. It equates to betting with my brother. He smiles; I lose.
As a librarian, it is hard to read mystery and romance without letting other genres suffer. Even within the two, one will need to choose sides. I am familiar with both but I prefer mysteries.
I began with romance, as so many young readers, in my tweens. My mother handed me Danielle Steel but after eight books I began to wonder, “Where’s the sex?” Next, the librarian suggested Corrie ten Boom’s The Hiding Place and my romance reading languished.
To keep mystery readers happy, I like to keep a couple of Edgar winners in mind. The Edgar is a mystery award named after Edgar Allan Poe. It is decided by Mystery Writers of America and not the American Library Association. This year’s president is Lee Child.
Here’s a little trade secret for those looking for that next book. (Sorry, romancers, I got nothing for you.) Google Edgar winners or go to http://www.theedgars.com/ and find a wealth of titles from which to read. This is a proven method to keep 98% of mystery readers happy. I use it on my unsuspecting husband all the time. Through the website, I have introduced him to new authors and got him reading new series he would not have heard about otherwise.
This week’s book is one such winner in the Best First Novel by an American Author category for 2008. We travel to Ireland in Tana French’s In the Woods, which fits nicely in the subgenre of body-in-the-bog mystery.
All day the three children played in their Dublin estate neighborhood. They were seen by many neighbors traipsing over rocks, running around corners and hiding under bushes. It was after supper and none appeared to eat, that the parents began to worry. Their last known whereabouts were near the woods entry.
Later that night, one is found gripping a tree with his fingernails stuck in the bark and his shoes a flood with blood. Nancy Pearl says, “French’s plot twists and turns will bamboozle even the most astute reader.”
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Olive Kitteridge (copy)
This week our travels take us to a small coastal village in Maine named Crosby. Here we explore the 2009 Pulitzer Prize winning book by Elizabeth Strout titled Olive Kitteridge. Does the author sound familiar? Her previous novels include Amy and Isabelle and Abide with Me.
I hesitate to call it a novel. To me, a novel has a distinct timeline or timelines and plot. Olive Kitteridge is a collection of 13 short stories that all take place in Crosby and have one person, the title character, in common. One story does not flow into another, the characters change often, and plots are subtle if at all present in this book.
What makes this a delight to read is the character study. We begin to interact with the main character of each vignette with sympathy. We want them not to hurt but hope. We want them to shine and not be scared. We want those alone to find someone. Then, lo and behold, Olive shows up and says forget that. What we want as readers is nice and all, but not the way the world works.
Each vignette also builds on Olive’s character. There are times when Olive is merely mentioned such as the story titled “The Piano Player.” Angela O’Meara plays the piano at the Warehouse Bar and Grill four times a week. Never been married, has no children and has sustained a 20 year relationship with a married man, she is now in her fifties.
On a particular night before Christmas, Angela is playing carols as an ex-boyfriend walks through the door. He takes a seat in the corner to watch her play as the Kitteridges’ pass through to the restaurant. Angela notices both but acknowledges Henry, Olive’s husband, whom she likes with his favorite tune, “Good Night, Irene.”
Here we see Olive do a trademark move. She waves over the back of her head to Angela as she quickly moves on to the backroom. From this we imagine Olive cannot be bothered with small talk. She has an agenda we are not privy to but we feel it important; although, Angela admits feeling rather uncomfortable on those nights Olive does stop to chat.
It is easy to see why the Pulitzer committee chose this book. We know Olive. Along with that thought, we know an Olive or Olives amongst us. Heck, Olive exists within our own selves, too. The book falls flat as one big story but knitted togetherness shows its humanistic appeal is universal.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
A Couple of Boys have the Best Week Ever (copy)
This week we are off to day camp. Yippee! So, run off and grab your backpacks with lunch and wet wipes, and let’s see if we can drive those counselors crazy. Okay, I’ll start and you guys join in, “Three little angels all dressed in white, trying to get to heaven on an end of a kite…” Camp, the word still fills me with all kinds of excitement. Whether it 4-H or Vacation Bible School, I was usually the first one on the bus ready to get on with it. I sang the loudest, talked the most, devised the late night raids, led the hikes, and became the counselor(s) best friend or it seemed since they all called me by name. Naturally, I collapsed in my bed at the end of the day.
In A Couple of Boys have the Best Week Ever by Marla Frazee, young readers experience camp through first timers, James and Eamon. The opening illustration depicts James in the back of a car on his way to Eamon’s grandparents’ house at the beach. He sits happily thumbing through the Nature Day Camp brochure.
On the next page, Eamon sits anxiously on the end of the cushions between his grandparents, Bill and Pam. Bill is credited for the idea of camp and getting the boys together. He loves nature and especially penguins. Throughout the book, Bill tries unsuccessfully to get the boys to join him on a trip to the zoo to see his favorite creatures. Quick note to the adult readers, be sure to notice Bill’s ever changing tee-shirts as the subtle humor will be lost on younger readers.
Ding-Dong! Finally, the boys are united and become one as Bill quickly coins them Jamon. Next morning and they are off to camp where they learn new vocabulary words from Bill which have nothing to do with penguins. On the return trip they tell Bill about their day. It was a day full of standing around, looking at flowers; although, snapshots, lining the book’s jacket, tell a whole other story.
At the end of the week, the boys praise the camp with, “I think it should be called Sit-Around Camp.” “Yeah, or Sweat-a-Lot Camp.” But, to look at the illustration, one sees them surrounded by four different crafts they made that Friday alone. Just when you think the book is winding down, the boys surprise readers with an impromptu display. I will not give it away, but I never saw it coming!
There is a multi-generational appeal to this picture book and I believe adults sans children will have a great afternoon reading this one, too.
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
The Tortilla Curtain (copy)
The scene plays over and over in my head. I cannot stop it. When I make coffee the black tar on his teeth seems to gnaw at me. When I fold the laundry his crumpled up leg appears in the basket. When I bend down to feed the cat his row of ribs void of fat thrust out towards my hand. Even the day the coyote took our precious dog, Sacheverell, I saw the red in his watery blood-shot eyes penetrating me from that mangy beast.
I hit a man in my car the other day as I drove up the canyon to our home in Arroyo Blanco Estates. The damage minimum as a headlight and dent in the bumper were easily replaced and hammer out. It was the thought of his body flying in front of the car then doing some aerobatic maneuver that has me stunned and reliving the event.
Where did he come from? There are no houses on this stretch of highway. There are no businesses. It was like he appeared, did his act for my entertainment, and then magically disappeared all in the blink of an eye; unfortunately, it is my blinking eye or eyes. This scene plays as a rerun in slow-motion video for a dazed crowd who cannot accept the foul.
Foul is a light smell in comparison to the man I found ten minutes later. Had I not heard his moaning under the brush along the path to Topanga State Park, I believe I could have sniffed him out. His homeless look of tattered rags and oily hair now authenticated with his blood and sweat from the accident. He must be camping by the creek as I caught a glint of shinny shopping cart further down the path.
Are you hurt? Do you need a doctor? Can you walk? Do you want me to call you an ambulance? Didn’t you see my car? Why did you run into the road? All my questions were met with moans but no answer. Finally, the man grinned at me with his jagged blood stained teeth and said, “Monee?”
I handed him a twenty, got back in the car, drove to my soon-to-be gated community and cried.
This story turns and twists like the canyon road setting in California northwest of Los Angeles. Adding nicely to our summer travel theme, we also go south of the border in flashbacks. ¡Lectura recomendada, si!
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
Lucky Jim (copy)
I booked a trip across the pond this week during arm-chair travel. A delightful three days were spent in early 1950’s Leicester, England, at a university one mile south of London. My tour guide for the event was none other than James Dixon, the bumbling hero of Lucky Jim by Kingsley Amis.
In this neo-classic, Dixon is a WWII veteran who lucks into a career as Instructor of History at an unnamed university south of London. He is profusely unqualified to teach and hopes others will not notice. It is bad when students use words he recognizes, but remains unaware of definitions. For instance, the word scholasticism, he thinks it might be a good idea to “look up” since he drops it into many conversations with students and faculty alike.
One of the things he is expected to accomplish in his first year is a published article. His, The Economic Effect of the Developments in Shipbuilding Techniques, 1450 to 1485 is a complete bore and editors revel in writing his rejection letters.
Since, this avenue is looking bleak he decides to run plan B where he charms Professor Welsh, head of the history department, into becoming great friends. At the beginning of the book we find Dixon, tripping over his words to please Welsh. He listens actively as Welsh orates, but internally he makes faces at the pompous wind-bag.
It is this stroll from one building to another, when Welsh ask him a favor. Would he speak on behalf of the history department at College Open Week possibly along the lines of his favorite subject Medieval History? Dixon is quick to say, “Yes, Professor.” Unfortunately, Welsh assigns the subject; something on “Merrie England” will be perfect since it is academic, but then again, not.
Dixon is at a loss. He wrote the article but now finds he has become the college’s expert on the Middle Ages. A subject he finds just as boring as his article, leads to another problem. How long can he pretend to be even remotely interested in history, too?
Lucky Jim is a comedy of errors as Dixon stumbles again-and-again socially and professionally only to come out on top in the end. Readers are left bemused as he squeaks through unbelievable situations to emerge smelling like a rose.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
The Heretic's Daughter (copy)
Not only do I travel to Salem, Massachusetts, but back in time to the year of our Lord, 1690, in this week’s book The Heretic’s Daughter by Kathleen Kent.
The story opens with this foretelling paragraph:
“In 1630 Governor Winthrop of the Massachusetts Bay Colony took a small group of men and women from the old England to the new. These Puritans, so they were named, would make a place in the colonies by surviving war, plague, and the work of the Devil in a small village called Salem. One woman and her family would stand against religious tyranny, suffering imprisonment, torture, and death. Her outraged and defiant words were recorded by Cotton Mather, who called her, The Queen of Hell. Her name was Martha Carrier.”Kent is a direct descendant of Martha Carrier on her mother’s side. She grew up hearing the stories passed from generation to generation and includes most in this slow-paced historical fiction. The Carriers were known to feed their cow pumpkins to make golden milk, and the children made bows and arrows shooting them above each other’s heads ala William Tell.
When I say slow-paced, I do not mean in the negative sense. She sets the stage for the atrocities by framing meanness and petty jealousies within the Carrier family and their surrounding neighbors. Rumors and innuendoes fill the first half of the book then the story rolls faster as accusations begin the ultimate downhill spiral.
It was said John Carrier brought plague to his chosen settlement, Billerica. Many years prior to establishing his family, he lived with this bitterness associated with the name Carrier. Now, after learning their neighbor has died of the pox, John’s wife, Martha, packs the families’ things for her grandmother’s in Andover. It was their son, Andrew, who carried the contagion to the new community. Like father like son, they would say.
The story is narrated by nine-year-old Sarah Carrier. Looking back on the story she retells, it is in the wagon to Andover she leaves the carefree life of a toddler and becomes aware of the surrounding world. Author Kent picked one so young to explain happenings as she sees them without mucking the waters with her own theories. Through Sarah, readers are not privy to the parent’s conversations and make do with the child’s point of view. Sarah soon turns 10 and has a keen eye for the wicked.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Greasy Rider (copy)
Continuing this summer’s armchair travel theme, it is time for a road trip. This week I hopped in the car with Greg Melville and his college buddy, Iggy, for a cross country from Vermont to California as reported in Melville’s book Greasy Rider. As one may guess, this is not a typical vacation. We are traveling in a 1985 Mercedes 300TD wagon converted to burn vegetable oil, and we are proving to be the first “Greasecar” to traverse America.
Did you know that diesel engines were designed to run on vegetable oil instead of fossil fuels? When Rudolf Diesel designed his first engine he powered it with peanut oil. His idea was to maintain a farmer’s self-sufficient nature by allowing him to produce fuel from his own crop to run a flywheel engine. In the 1900s this might have been practical, but in the age of relatively cheap diesel fuel it is slightly easier to pump from a gas station than plant, fertilize, irrigate, spray insecticide, etc. a crop, for example cotton for the cottonseed oil.
Yes, today’s diesel engines can burn vegetable oil after installing a conversion kit. Unfortunately, Melville’s kit cost $8,000 and to most owners who already have a car note this added expense is too pricey. It is easy to justify the onetime expense when fuel is free though. With an additional $25, one can purchase a filter system and then pull to the back of any fast food restaurant and ask for the used deep-fry oil.
As you can guess, we got a little on the Kentucky Fried Chicken side of funky. At the first toll booth we were waved through as a possible gesture of support, or the fact that we reminded him it was time for lunch. Whatever the case, we made ourselves hungry, too as the smell permeated our clothes and hair after one day on the road.
There are two bad scenarios associated with free fry oil. One, we have to ask for permission to take the used oil. Two, filtering is a nasty project. We quickly got over the embarrassment of asking since many times the need outweighed the humiliation. Most often we gained permission only to find the oil dumpster empty or the oil full of chunks such as taco chips. Filtering can be a fast process if the oil is clean; otherwise, we purchased in bulk fuses that blew with the chunks. Out of frustration one night, Iggy ran to the nearby Wal-Mart and purchased Wesson.
Off route, readers will also visit attractions such as Al Gore’s not so green home in Tennessee, a geothermal heated and cooled Fort Knox in Kentucky, a “green” Wal-Mart in Texas, and a solar-powered Google in California. Sit back and enjoy the scenery in this eco-friendly read.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Summer Reading Program 2009
My plan was to read Kid Tea by Elizabeth Ficocelli (2007), but when I arrived Veneda was setting them up with garbage sack smocks and they had exactly 30 minutes to be done with the craft and back at the elementary school!
The book has a great sing-song verse, for example "elbows-green-with-grass day, knees-and-toes-to-match day." On the next page young footballer is in the tub with the lines, "Dunk me in the tub, please, for green kid tea!" The idea that goes along with the book, is have the children make tea with the different colored paints as they rinse between hand prints. Both tubs were pink when we finished! :D
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
2nd Book Report Due July 15!
Mary's ready! How 'bout you!!!The Magical Life of Long Tack Sam (copy)
Note: This is written for North Mississippi newspaper audiences. I do not want to start another challenge!
Is money tight and options for travel this summer limited? Why don’t we wander all over the world through books? For the next two months, let us globe trot on the cheap. Pull out a world map and push-pin the many places visited without burning gas or running up huge room service bills. Do not forget the starting point (Somewhere, Mississippi) and then join them with string.
I gain a huge head start with Ann Marie Fleming’s graphic memoir of her great-grandfather in The Magical Life of Long Tack Sam. This story took me to China, Europe, North America, Japan, and Australia.
Long Tack Sam is virtually unknown to American audiences today, but in the 20’s and 30’s his vaudeville and magic act were world renown. Fleming puzzled how someone so famous could be completely forgotten in history. She, even as a close relative, did not know the extent of his fame, fortune and the exploits of his troupe. The book unfolds as she discovers the Long story.
Born in 1885, Long Tack Sam ran away from his home in the Shangdung Province of China to join the circus. This area of China is known for providing many schools in acrobat training. He became an apprentice to a magician and expanded his act with magic. Along the way he perfected the Goldfish Bowl Trick that consist of a little dance, forward tumble into a standing position then raising arms to reveal a bowl full of goldfish. He last performed this trick at age 73.
Long Tack Sam began to accumulate money and fame at a young age. While still traveling with the circus he met his future wife in Austria. He needed soap and toothpaste and behind the counter stood Leopoldine Roesler. Love at first sight? Well, this is how genealogy works. We can assume they liked each other enough to marry, have three children and live together until Long died. To add romance without fact would be misleading, but it was Poldi who became his financial manager and the force behind his touring as leader of his own troupe.
Fleming is a director and The Magical Life of Long Tack Sam first appeared as a documentary in 2003. The graphic memoir was produced in 2007 after the successful movie. It is apparent, Fleming has an inherent humor for the arts like her great-grandfather who became an acrobat, magician, comic, business owner (restaurants and theatres), impresario, teacher, and according to the comic George Burns, “the greatest act in the history of vaudeville!”
Sunday, June 07, 2009
Haiku Review Time
Friday, June 05, 2009
Friday Winners!
That's raight! My lazy butt forgot to draw last Friday! I would say there has been a slow start on my part to the challenge. So sorry!
I'd like to talk with you about sum maintenance. In the sidebar you can see the SRCIII button and "Sign Up" and "First Review" underneath which are highlighted. Click the highlight and go directly to that post. Don't feel like you cannot participate because you missed a post. I made it easy and will continue with the contests in the same manner until the end of the challenge. This way our first contest "Haiku Review" can be entered multiple times during the summer for a chance at a hardback Mudbound signed by the lovely Hillary Jordan. Please visit fellow southern bloggers and Good Luck!
Random Integer Generator
Here are your random numbers:
17 JMNLman @ Strategist Personal Library
29 Amelia @ Books Love Us
Timestamp: 2009-06-05 14:45:24 UTC
Thursday, June 04, 2009
Sweet Potato Queens Rule!
"On their own my eyeballs could be considered purely ornamental."
Tupelo native and first Mississippi Queen, Jill Conner Browne, has a laugh for you! All you have to do is read! Pay homage to the Queen here!
NONFICTION
Sweet Potato Queens' Book of Love (1999)
God Save the Sweet Potato Queens (2001)
The SPQs' Big-Ass Cookbook (2003) Sweet Potato Queens' Field Guide to Men (2004)
The SPQs' Wedding Planner/Divorce Guide (2005)
The SPQs' First Big-Ass Novel (2007)
The SPQs' Guide to Raising Children for Fun and Profit (2008)
American Thighs: The SPQ's Guide to Preserving Your Assets (2008)
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
The Sweet Potato Queens' Guide to Raising Children for Fun & Profit (copy)
There are many ways to recommend a book. If I read something great I tell everybody. If a patron exalts the virtues of a certain book, I suggest read-a-likes. If someone is mulling around the library, I ask what they normally read and find the latest in that genre. For hubby, I search out new mysteries that earn star reviews. Then there are those books I only recommend to my friends using a hushed voice.
I used to have an older patron that came in every Monday morning with one goal. She wanted a “good” book for the week. It was one book and one book only, therefore I had one shot to make her happy. The following Monday she would come back with a critique that led us to more books by the same author or something totally different. I felt safe handing her cozy mysteries, Christian fiction and current bestsellers.
One day I was in my office on the phone when she entered. My lovely and highly capable assistant took her request and headed to the paperbacks. Still on the phone they returned to the counter, checked out the book and she went out the door before I could say, yay or nay. I turned to my assistant and asked, “What did you give her?”
“Oh, Nora Roberts,” she said very pleased with herself. (Nora Roberts is a romance writer who makes Danielle Steel, another romance writer, blush.)
When Monday rolled around, I eagerly awaited her return. She came in, slammed the book on the counter and said with a visible flinch, “Too Much Sex!” Smiling, she headed back to her old haunts to find another book. Then she walked back to the counter and began to hem-haw around, possibly waiting on my assistant, for 15 minutes; finally, she came out with it. “Do you have any more by that author?”
The book I am currently reading, The Sweet Potato Queens’ Guide to Raising Children for Fun and Profit by Tupelo native Jill Conner Browne, is filled with debauchery, specifically foul language, sexual tales and crude jokes. Not a book I would place in my mother’s hands.
Number seven in the eight book franchise, this one is funnier than most; although, the original, SPQ’s Book of Love, (1999) is the best. The humor is throughout the pages even penetrating the title as Browne tells readers, “yes…children are reared, corn is raised” and she (rolling her eyes) knows the difference. Psst—girlfriends, you have to read this!
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Book Report Due June 15!
The Lost Art of Walking (copy)
I walk. I like to walk. I walk to clear my mind. I walk for exercise. I walk to think through problems. I walk to socialize. I walk to commune with nature. I walk to find money. I walk to pick up cans. I walk in the morning. I walk in the evening. I walk to escape. I walk therefore I am.
One day last summer, I was south of town walking towards home when I saw a white ball bobbling an inch off the ground around 20 feet in front of my path. It looked like a ping pong ball suspended in the air. As I got closer, I could see it was a spider, about the size of my fingernail, carrying her sac of unborn across the road.
The sheer beauty of the spider’s deed enthralled me. Had I not been out walking, I would have missed this spectacular feat. Had I been in a car, well.
Last week when I stumbled upon Geoff Nicholson’s new book The Lost Art of Walking, I smiled. Really, choosing to read a book about walking is no stretch, but I worried. Would it be entertaining?
Oddly enough, he begins his treatise on walking with the story of a fall. His fall in the California hills outside his home while photographing the surrounding scenery. One misstep and Nicholson saw the ground fast approaching. Was it a rock? Perhaps a root that tripped him. We will never know, but the fall left him with a broken arm that slowed his typing ability.
As readers, we benefit from his fall. The book is entertaining on so many levels. The subtitle, The History, Science, Philosophy, and Literature of Pedestrianism, hints to a comprehensive exploration of man’s unique gait.
In the first chapter alone the discussion turns from Nicholson’s personal fall to man’s first erect step as Homo sapiens. Then the brief dialogue evolves into baby’s first steps in the womb when you thought he was kicking. Next the conversation flows into the origins for all the different forms of the word walk. Did you know our English language has over 30 examples of the word such as hoof, pace, step, tread, plod, slog, lumber, hike, etc?
One might think this book unstructured, but they would be wrong. This is a well organized, fun romp into our basic need to get from point A to B. Be sure to amble through this read.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
First Week of Southern Living
Southern Reading
Hope you got a chance to start on one of your chosen books this week. Stella at Growing with Stella discovered Harry Crews' Blood and Grits this week and is enjoying her cross country 70s tour. Blood and Grits is a collection of nonfiction essays written for magazines like Playboy and Esquire. She now knows why Harry Crews is called the Father of the Rough South. A genre that is also known as Grit Lit or Dirty South. :D
I read Classic Crews: A Harry Crews Reader and loved it, but will say his writing is an acquired taste. He likes to shock and awe in a quite unnerving way. Others in this genre include the late Larry Brown, Tim McLaurin and Daniel Woodrell. My mouth was fly appealingly open after finishing Woodrell's The Death of Sweet Mister. A book I read but choose not to write about for the newspapers.
In the south, Sundays are spent at church and then eating lunch with the family. Growing up our routine was early church followed by Sunday school then a quick trip home where we changed clothes and headed to Sweetheart and Papa's house for dinner. If we decided not to have dinner we would show around 3:00 p.m. for a visit.
I challenge y'all to go on a visit this Sunday. Visit at least five other Southern Readers and get to know them. Tell 'um Maggie sent ya!
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Ella Minnow Pea (copy)
Twenty-one miles off the coast of South Carolina swims an independent island called Nollop. It is named for its most famous inhabitant, Nevin Nollop, who developed the popular pangram “The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.” (Pangram is a sentence assembled by using all the letters of the alphabet.) In the midst of the island’s square, stands a monument with each letter represented by its own tile in the illustrious sentence.
In this small nation, devotion to the word is a tradition. The governing bodies encourage citizens to pursue language, but technological is forgotten. Nollopians do not watch television or chatter on phones or type on computers. They have a daily newspaper, an enormous library and keep in close communication with their neighbors through letters.
On the morning of July 17, little Alice Butterworth was crossing the town square when she came upon shattered bits of tile. Looking up she notice one of the tiles from the cenotaph missing and realized she was staring at the remains of the letter “Z” from the word “lazy”. Dutiful Alice rushed the pieces to the office of High Island Council and a meeting was called.
The emergency meeting generated many a spectator and within seconds opinions were filling the air. So much so, Most Senior Gordon Willingham called for a closed session.
The Nollopians mulled around the outside windows while councilmen debated the little tile’s fate. Tempers flared and some stormed off only to be called back. Finally, after three hours, Willingham stepped out on the courthouse steps to convey the decision. “From this day forward the letter “Z” will no longer be employed. Those in violation of the new Anti-Z law will suffer dire consequences. First offense is a public reprimand. Second offense is a choice between corporal punishment by flogging or public humiliation through a day in the headstocks. Third offense calls for banishment from the island forever.”
We have been under this rule for less than a month and the newspaper has ceased to print and the library has closed. There have been 27 first offenses, 3 second offenses and young Master Creevy has been shipped to the States. We cringe knowing the “Q” fell off the monument this morning.
Ella Minnow Pea by Memphis playwright, Mark Dunn, is told completely through letters. Readers better mind their “p’s” and “q’s” as letters begin to drop like flies.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
The Bird!
Welcome to All
Southern Reading
Challenge Participants!
I hope you crack open a favorite or soon to be favorite Southern book this afternoon and enjoy reading in the sun! I read some snippets out of Jenny Bond and Chris Sheedy's Who the Hell is Pansy O'Hara? on the back porch this morning, and got tickled while reading the To Kill a Mockingbird chapter. Harper Lee fondly refers to the book as The Bird.
Lee in an early interview, before she became recluse, talks about our unique southern way of life. "There is a very definite social pattern in these towns that fascinates me. I think it is a rich social pattern. I would simply like to put down all I know about this because I believe that there is something universal in this little world, something decent to be said for it, and something to lament in its passing. In other words all I want to be is the Jane Austen of south Alabama."
I am so excited for those of you reading To Kill a Mockingbird for the first time. Please be sure to share!
So far there are 57 of you! YAY! On the sidebar is a blog roll of southern challengers. Please click a blog and go a visitin'! Tell 'um Maggie sent you! Oh, Kim in Ohio! Your link does not work! Please sign-up again on Mister Linky!
'
I'll be giving away magnolia pecans and autographed copies of southern books again this year! Be sure to sign up or play along with the contest for a chance to win!
This Week's Winner!
31
Random numbers generated May 16 2009 at 15:4:21 by http://www.psychicscience.org/. Free educational resources for parapsychology, psychical research & mind magic.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
A Rare Breed of Love (copy)
Baby doesn’t speak. Instead she looks at you with haunting black eyes and the question on her lips expresses, “Will you love me and treat me special?”
Baby is a 15-year-old poodle that spent her first nine years of life as a breeder in a puppy mill at an undisclosed location in California. Her known story begins with a woman, book refers to her as “Drive-by Angel,” driving the country roads and spotting a “Puppies for Sale” sign. When Drive-by Angel pulled into the idyllic setting she remembered being excited by the type of puppies she might find.
She could feel something awry after the home owner refused her entrance into the house, but insisted she bring the puppies out to a pen in the yard. These were no puppies, but Drive-by Angel played along. Her heart ached as the dogs vied for her attention, but all she saw was matted-down filthy, malnourished animals.
The gig was up and the woman said matter-of-factly, “They’re too old to produce. I’m going to put them down. You can have any of them for two hundred dollars.” Drive-by Angel decided the little white poodle with 94 tattooed inside her ear—an indication of birth and expiration date—deserved a new home.
During her first days in the new home, Drive-by Angel gave her the name Baby. She explains, “When I brought her home, everything was a first for her. Grass. Toys. Furniture. My kids said, ‘She doesn’t know about anything, just like a baby.’”
Within two days of being in the new home, Baby jumped off the sofa and shattered her left leg. Osteoporosis is a common problem with breeder dogs because the puppies require most of the calcium produced by the breeder, and being in a puppy mill most dogs are deprived of sunlight, exercise and proper nutrition. Her bones were too brittle to repair and her leg was amputated. The vet also informed the family that Baby’s vocal chords were severed and this is why she didn’t make a noise when hurt.
Readers will encounter Baby’s story within the first chapter of Dr. Jana Kohl’s A Rare Breed of Love. The rest of the book is Baby’s encounter with the rich and famous in order to change our archaic animal laws. Seeing her portrait with the likes of President Barack Obama, Judge Judy, Elizabeth Dole, Paul Harvey, Todd Oldham, Amy Sedaris, etc., one will recognize her as the perfect “spokesdog.”
Visit with Baby here.
Saturday, May 09, 2009
Thank Yew Pat!
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
Hunger Games (copy)
My name is Katniss and I live in District 12. There used to be 13 districts in all; unfortunately, the number proved to be very unlucky for those District 13 inhabitants. Our District, lovingly referred to as The Seam, supplies coal for the other 11 Districts and the Capitol.
Our inhabitants long ago stopped cleaning the dust from their wrinkles and creases allowing one to spot a miner from miles away. I think this thought as I look down on my sleeping sister, Prim. Her skin, pink and smooth like the primrose she is named after, will one day blacken. Just how long she can go before working in the mines is uncertain. It is my hope she will find a job in town, but one thing is certain, she is hungry as our mother as our neighbors as the whole walking lot of District 12.
See, we haven’t won a Hunger Game in years. It has been so long that our last winner, a broken down old sot, doesn’t even remember winning. Winners get extra food from the Peacemakers. Loads of flour and salt for cooking, eggs and ham for meals, and abundant fruit will practically make us fat. Otherwise, these things are only available through the black market. One can live off the Capitol’s rations, but remain hungry or die of starvation as a result.
I’ve been hunting in the forest to help out our small family’s need for food. It is real easy for me to slip under the razor-wire fence at a gathering of bushes without being detected. Actually, I think the Peacemakers know I do this but look the other way. They are my best customers.
My hunting buddy is Gale. We used to compete for game, but find it easier to work together for better prices at the market. He is also a great help with large game and fending off the flesh eaters. The bad thing, he calls me catnip.
Today is the day of Reaping. During the Reaping a male and female are chosen to represent their District in a fight to the death. Gale feels pretty sure he will be picked today. The odds are in his favor. He carries 18 points for his age then all the points from his siblings leaving them with one a piece; plus, he has added points for food during the year. I could easily be chosen for the female slot since I carry all but one of Prim’s points.
It is with utter horror I hear the announcer yell, “Prim!”
Readers will go without sleep to finish this dystopian tale titled Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins.
Check out VaSilly's review for a different take! :D
Sunday, May 03, 2009
Southern Reading Challenge Three!
It's that time of year!
The time when you pour a glass of lemonade or sweet tea and take your official summer spot on the porch. Lean back in that chase lounge surrounded by geraniums and ferns, and begin the summer long journey into Southern culture.
Yes, it's hot!
Yes, it does get uncomfortable, but it is well worth the effort as you discover our unique "Southern" point of view.
You may choose to read any style of Southern book such as Appalachian tales, Civil War sagas, Gothic myths, Grit lit, and heart-wrenching biographies. Click here for ideas. Just as long as you read three (fiction or nonfiction) between May 15th and August 15th.
I plan weekly drawings and contests like last year, but I might steer away from the $50 pecans. Money's tight!
To get started, sign on Mister Linky with a url specific address back to your 3 books post and join me on the porch!
Thank yew!
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks (copy)
When we moved into our new Mississippi home, there were some things the previous owner graciously left behind. There were straight-back walnut chairs, a wood lathe, twin bedsprings, and two 75 lb dogs; surprisingly, the two dog houses were gone. It was in minutes of our own 75 lb dog being released from the car that dominance was established. Our sweet household dog, Reba, was attack by both yard dogs and she remained in terror for a couple of months.After three years of unsuccessful integration, our dog died (unrelated causes) and a new puppy was brought into the yard. We struggled with the idea of allowing them to mix, but puppies have a tendency to roll over and expose their bodies to aggressors. We watched closely as she wiggled excitedly from my arms and ran head-on into the alpha dog. At no point did she flip over, turn tail and run, or suffer a nip on the ear. Within a year, this same puppy, around 30 lb, became the alpha dog without much ado.
These are my thoughts as I read The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks by E. Lockhart. In this young-adult novel, main character, Frankie, becomes the alpha dog in a group of males older and way bigger than her.
Frankie, short for Franklin, recalls a time when she could walk the halls of Alabaster Preparatory Academy in complete obscurity. Being bookish, she was content with her friends, good books and innocent crushes on certain male students such as Matthew Livingston. Any social activity was vicariously attended through her older sister and senior, Zada.
That was last year. This year Frankie has the figure of Venus, and no problem coming out of her shell. When she accidently wrecks her bicycle in front of the school entrance, none other than Matthew Livingston comes to her rescue. She is literally in shock as he offers his hand and walks her all the way to her first class.
The following week and Frankie is attending a senior party as Matthew’s date. The party is a little slow except for the cajoling between Matthew and his three buddies: Alpha, Dean, and Callum. Alpha’s real name is Alessandro Tesorieri, but he is considered the alpha dog of the pack. Frankie realizes Alpha isn’t that aggressive to smart females and her ability to rise amongst the group is possible.
Follow along as Frankie masterminds pranks with code names like Doggies in the Window, Night of a Thousand Dogs and Canned Beet Rebellion that assures her rise to female alpha.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
The Help (copy)
The setting is a hot Jackson in August of 1960. Aibileen arrives at the Leefolt residence where she will raise yet another white baby. This is what she is good at—raising white babies—and from the looks of it she is in the nick of time.
The baby is wailing with colic, and her mother is pleading for her to be quiet. Not touching her mind you, she stands at a distance shushing. I go straight in to little Mae Mobley, pluck her out of the crib, and sit her in my lap. I start the bouncy, my way of easing that ole gas out and she settles down. Miss Leefolt, still standing at a distance, throws her hands in the air. “I tried everything and it wouldn’t hush! It wouldn’t stop!”
Now, Mae Mobley is two, and we are inseparable. From the time I enter the residence, she is doing the gimme fingers. No matter how many times I kiss her boo-boos and soothe her hurt feelings, you can tell it is Miss Leefolt’s attention she craves.
Today, I am instructed to keep her quiet and out of the way. The ladies are playing bridge in Miss Leefolt’s small dining room, and Mae Mobley is mere feet away in her highchair. The swinging door distracts sweetie as I come and go while waiting on the ladies.
The ladies consist of Miss Leefolt’s two college friends, Miss Skeeter and Miss Hilly, and Miss Hilly’s mom Miss Walter. Miss Walter be deaf as a doe-nob according to Minny, my friend who works for her.
During the ladies’ conversation Minny’s name comes up. Miss Hilly is saying how Minny’s stealing the family heirlooms right out from under Miss Walter’s nose. It’s not so, but Miss Walter doesn’t hear the talk and doesn’t disprove.
Naturally, I’m all ears hoping to hear more when Miss Hilly stand up and announce she needs to use the bathroom. This seems a little odd. She knows it is down the hall, but she’s waiting for Miss Leefolt to acknowledge her. Then she asks to use the upstairs bathroom. Miss Skeeter asks what’s wrong with the hall bathroom, and Miss Hilly say that’s where the help goes.
Kathryn Stockett has done a rare and beautiful thing. She has crafted an engrossing story of three women navigating the confusing Civil Rights Era in her native state of Mississippi. The Help is hands-down the best book of 2009.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Mississippi Voices (copy)
Two women, two different eras, one state, and one love are my thoughts as I consider the poetry written by Margaret Walker and Patricia Neely-Dorsey. At times, I saw little in common with the ladies other than poetry as form. Walker’s poetry rocks with evils perpetrated on living man as Neely-Dorsey’s poetry sings the joys of southern living.
The two have totally different opinions as the gap in their generations is very apparent. Walker, born in 1915, spent her formative years under the shroud of an ugly segregated south; whereas, Neely-Dorsey flourished in a post-Civil Rights Movement, Mississippi.
It is Walker who sometimes centers on the negative. For example, in the poem titled “Lineage,” she up lifts her strong grandmothers to turn and knock herself down with the line, “Why am I not as they?” Neely-Dorsey remains upbeat to the core, even the poem “Right to Vote” which might easily lean to the bitter, affirms the positive:
That this was how it was;
But, believe you me, no matter what,
I vote, now, just because.
Then I began to compare the poetry and noticed some shared themes. The old adage, “write what you know,” runs throughout these poets. They talk about themselves, family members, and community characters; although, Walker speaks of the broader African-American community and Neely-Dorsey peppers hers with Tupelo locals.
One positive shared theme is sense of place as they herald the beauty of our state. Walker’s “My Mississippi Spring” hums,
flowers with forsythia,
japonica blooms, flowering quince,
bridal wreath, blood root and violet;
yellow running jasmine vine,
cape jessamine and saucer magnolias:
tulip-shaped, scenting lemon musk upon the air.
Neely-Dorsey’s “Mississippi Morning” sings,
On a summer’s day;
It’s such a grand production,
It seems we all should pay.
Another poem by Neely-Dorsey will be getting a lot of press in the coming weeks. She told an on-air personality that a mayoral candidate in Boonville requested the use of her poem “If Mississippi’s in You” for her campaign. The end of the poem proclaims,
I’m Mississippi bred,
And when I die,
I’ll be Mississippi dead.
Both books, This is My Century: New and Collected Poems by Margaret Walker and Reflections of a Mississippi Magnolia: A Life in Poems by Patricia Neely-Dorsey, are equally compelling and a great way to celebrate National Poetry month.
Monday, April 13, 2009
100 Years of Stories and Pics!
April 13, 1909
