That Book With The Vampires

I read “Twilight” this week.

My dear little sister (age 18) and a few groovy adult friends convinced me not to believe the negative press and I figured, heck, why not. I cannot properly insult someone until I have walked a mile in their shoes.

… I think I might keep these shoes.

Not that I suddenly think vampires are hot or that the writing was good, oh contraire! No… I just enjoyed these shoes. They are like that pair of cute shoes that I cannot wear in public… but like to prance about the house in once a month because I feel deliciously silly in them.

And that is how I feel about “Twilight”- it is cute. Angsty, awkward, adolescence ridden cuteness.

For those who are too opposed to even begin this book, let me fill you in on some points:

-This story is told in the first person.

-This “First Person” is Bella Swan.

-Bella Swan is in high school. (I like to think this explains a lot of the “bad writing”, it reads like one of my high school journals only with more vampires.)

-Bella is incredibly clumsy, it is her super power.

-Vampires (in this book) are incredibly graceful. I like to think this is why she is fascinated by them- she cannot seem to take three steps without tripping over air.

-Bella is a new student, moving in with her father as her mother has remarried.

-She chose this move.

-She angsts over it anyway, because she is a teenager and that is more or less her job.

-Buffy was right, high school is Hell.

So, wait… why did I enjoy this book again?

It is one of those books that looks bad, sounds bad, is bad… but does not feel so bad when you are reading it. I am trying my best to find a good explanation for why I might enjoy such a book, but all I can really say is that I did.

I am going to go wash out this bad aftertaste with some Evelyn Waugh.

Bombshell: The Life and Death of Jean Harlow

In case you missed the memo: Harlean Carpenter a/k/a Jean Harlow was twenty-six years old when she died. When reading David Stenn’s “Bombshell: The Life and Death of Jean Harlow” a second time through this was pretty much the only thought going through my head. (Well, that and “I’m twenty-two, what the heck am I doing with MY life?!” ) So much happened in those twenty-six years, but her life feels far from full.

The first time I read this book it was the summer before my senior year of high school. I was making up a paper from the school year before, focusing on the roles of women in early Hollywood. (The original paper was on vaudeville and old Hollywood in general, but my teacher told me it was scattered and I needed to narrow it down and, basically, start over.) I honestly do not remember reading anything else for that paper… or even writing the paper, for that matter. I just remember finishing the book and then, the next day, bringing my kitten (Harlean a/k/a Baby) home. My cat, for the record, is a blonde. Obviously, this book means a lot to me.

But it is also cool in a non-I-named-my-cat-after-it kind of way: The research Stenn put into this little number is amazing. There are about a hundred pages at the end of the book that are purely notes and sources! This book, from what I understand, made previous Harlow biographies obsolete. (Including “Harlow: An Intimate Biography”… which was the only other Harlow biography I had ever heard of and then only because it was so poorly researched. I own a copy, found it in a free box once, never read it.)

The book reads like a novel. This is not to say that it sounds fictional, just that it runs smoothly in a way that I generally do not associate with nonfiction. It is fascinating, gripping and exciting- not to mention horrifying. I am trying not to give too much away, so forgive me if I am vague. I rather doubt that anyone I know really knows much about Harlow, so I almost feel bad giving away any of the book’s content. I want everyone to read this book! Maybe if more people showed interest it would… you know… come back into print. (For some odd reasons most of the books I am mad about are out of print… if you know where to find an inexpensive copy of June Havoc’s “Early Havoc” do let me know.)

Here is something I think I can give away: there are two Jean Harlows. The “real” Jean Harlow is Harlean’s mother, a beauty in her own right with a pushy, independent streak. She lived through her daughter, the passive Harlean. I would hesitate to call Mother Jean a “Madame Rose” because… I respect Rose. (If I reread “Gypsy” any time soon, which I might, or acquire a copy of “Early Havoc” I will discuss this in more depth.) She is a stage mother though and a particularly pushy one, which puts this very mildly. (Mother Jean scares me- terrifies me. I do not think I have ever been as terrified of a person I have only read about as I am about Mother Jean. ) The book focuses almost equally on the two Jean Harlows and on the identity issues implied. Psychology buffs will love this book just as much as any film fan, there is plenty to think about.

And now I do not know what to say about this book! Read it! Talk to me about it! Ask me questions in the comments!

Not a Review, Just a Note

Some (most?) of you may know that I named my cat after Jean Harlow. (Her name is Harlean but, not unlike Jean Harlow, she responds to 'Baby.') What you might not know is that I named her this because I was reading David Stenn's "Bombshell: The Life and Death of Jean Harlow" at the time. This book made me care for Jean Harlow more deeply than I do for Judy Garland.

The copy I read was a hardcover library edition and I never really had the chance to reread it. It seemed like and important book for me to have though, I named my cat and later my screen name and "art studio" after it. (I have considered naming a child Harlow someday, or at least using it as a middle name.) So, about a year ago, I started looking for a copy of this book. I found copies easily enough, the problem really was that it was out of print and, being a waitress at the time, out of my price range.

Long story short, I got a package today. I placed the order about a week ago for a hardcover... but this is no hardcover! I have next to me, right now, a pink paperback UNCORRECTED PROOF. For the record, you really are not supposed to charge money for proofs- but I am NOT going to complain (though I am slightly bummed that it lacks a glossy photo section) because I FINALLY have this book!

I am going to start rereading it now, E. M. Forster and French scandal will just have to wait. Golly gee, I am excited.!

Wishful Drinking

The first time I encountered this book was at the library. (I worked at a library in addition to the bookstore until fairly recently.) I remember because the cover was absolutely fantastic, as you can now see for yourselves. Unfortunately, when I first saw this book it was in a bin headed for another library. Sure, I could have requested it for myself... but that is NOT how I roll- instead I added it to my mental list of "if you see this book anywhere you are allowed to buy it."

That was at least half a year ago. I could not tell you what I actually was reading at the time but somehow I remembered this book and that I had given myself permission to buy it. My brain is amazing, in case you were wondering.

Anyway, I did not encounter this book again until 7:15 pm on Saturday, January 2nd of 2010 at the Hudson News shop by the Amtrak portion of Penn Station. I had stopped in because (concluding my third ever visit to my pen pal) I realized that I had bought a book at Penn the last two times I had been in New York and that it was getting to be a tradition with me. A good tradition- any tradition involving book buying or lending has to be good. So, armed with this tradition I went into the shop and headed toward the new titles (scolding myself for wanting to track down classics instead, of course) and what caught my eye? The cover of this book triggering a remembrance of me giving myself permission to buy it. Add permission to tradition and BINGO, I now have my very own paperback of this memoir. (I am pretty sure this is why I never have money when it comes time to make payments on my student loan.)I had no expectations for this book, was not even sure what it was about aside from the obvious: Carrie Fisher and drinking. I was not even aware that it was based off her one woman show! (In my defense: I had given myself permission to buy it- not to research it.) I had never read any of her novels. I am near positive I will, but am fairly happy that I have not yet done so.

Not sure what to make of this book (which is hilarious, by the way) I enlisted Amazon.com to provide me with reviews and my findings are thus: people who have read the novels are disappointed; people who have not are not. Both kinds of people agree that seeing the show live is really how the material is best enjoyed. (A review by Entertainment Weekly on the cover of the book suggests “Get someone to read this rollicking book aloud to you.”) Even without reading these reviews or having any prior knowledge of the show… I could tell this book was more of a script than a traditional memoir and, honestly, that is what I love about it. Well, one thing anyway.

Confession time: you will probably never hear of a book on this blog that I do not like. Why? Because I make a point of not finishing books when I realize I do not like them. (“Jane Eyre”, for example, has been sitting on my shelves with a bookmark somewhere in towards the beginning for years now. Similarly, about half way through “Gone with the Wind” there is a Pokémon card marking the spot where I finally decided I did not care for Scarlet O’Hara.) You are going to hear positively glowing reviews and probably get sick of me singing praises very quickly.

Now, back to singing praises: I am a sucker for memoirs by female entertainers- “Gypsy” got me started and Janis Ian’s “Society’s Child: My Autobiography” turned this into a bit of an obsession with me. It is womens studies, history and entertainment rolled into one and, really, I do not think I could ask for anything more. Basically I was guaranteed to like this book and, oh! Hey! I DID.

I am also a sucker for formatting. I love it when a books has pictures that make sense with where they fall in the text. I like it when the text makes direct references to said pictures. I like it when words and pictures work together to make a story more effective- oh, hey! Carrie Fisher does that in this book! There are several places where this is awesome, but the best one for me was when she mentions that there is a psychology text (addressing manic-depression) that she is mentioned in. She says that when she was told about it she was told there was also a photo of her in it. “…would you like to see it? Because I would really like to show it to you.”
It is, of course, a picture of Princess Leia, not Carrie Fisher. (I have come to think of them as two different people, partially because of this book.)

So… if you are unable to see the show but are intrigued I recommend this lovely book. I read it in two days (including distractions) and I bet you can too.

The Man Who Loved Books Too Much

(Or: Why I Love Christmas, Trains and my Big Brother.)

Books are, obviously, a fairly huge part of my life. I have six overflowing bookcases in my bedroom, one of which I may be trading in for a larger case in the near future because this Christmas I hit the book lover jackpot: about 85% of what I received (and what I gave others, come to think of it) was books. Most notably: my sister got me "Girl Sleuth" (a book on Nancy Drew and her creators), my mother gave me two large shopping bags full of antiquarian childrens books and my older brother, who usually does not get me anything, got me two amazing books- Oscar Wilde's Fairy Tales (Signet Classics, so it features a neat "about the author in relation to this book" sort of introduction) and "The Man Who Loved Books Too Much", a book that my bookstore cannot seem to keep stocked for more than a few hours after the latest order comes in.

I am always a little wary of really popular books- I started working at Boswell's Books during the rise of the Twilight Saga- but also terribly interested in what the fuss is about. Not interested enough to really follow through with buying and reading the book for the most part, but intrigued enough that should, say, my brother give me a copy... I would not mind cracking it open.

Guess what? I can see what the fuss is about in this one. That said, I was half convinced that this book was going to make me physically sick. Not sure if it was the subject matter or the fact that I read most of this book on trains to and from New York. (Does anyone else find the smell of the dining car completely unbearable?) This is a book about a rare book thief (not about my ideal boyfriend, as the title might otherwise imply) and the "detective" bookseller who tracked him down. It is also about the world of book collecting, selling and stealing, with enough random book related data to make any bookworm smile. This book did make me smile, but, as I said, it also made me uncomfortable.

Books are not dollar store candy, stealing them (to me) is not something that ought to be seen as a game. Stealing a book is like stealing a painting- it is not just stealing from the owner/seller, it is stealing from the world. I work in a bookstore which sort of adds to the ill I feel toward the theif in the book... but most of it is that Gilkey, the theif in the book, could not display his "library" to anyone. Stolen rare books, again like paintings, have a way of disappearing after being stolen.

Another queasy point was the motive. Books, owning books, as a sign of wealth. I know my personal library is impressive, but that is not the point of having books for me. For me... books are for reference- be it something actually in their pages or just summoned by the nostalgia of looking at them. They are also for lending so I can share a conversation or two with friends about their contents. Gilkey... the books were to impress others and show them an identity- that of a cultured gentleman- except that he *cannot* show these books off. They are stolen, no matter how impressive they are, so they are hidden away. That... does not sound like "loving" books to me, it just sounds spiteful. What good is a book if it cannot be read and shared?

Enough spoliers now, this is meant to be a review. Here is my conclusions on the book: inspite of any unease this book may have caused me, and perhaps because of said unease, this book is damn good. It even feels like a good book. The pages are cut in a sort of "frayed" manner (this is at least true of the hardcover) which gives an interesting texture. I am postive this is intentional- that this is for making the book feel like the rare books it talks about. (Personally, I think that is awesome. Anything that adds to the importance of "bookness" is something I treasure- as far as I can tell ebooks do not have frayed, bendable pages.) The story (which is true, did I mention that?) is well paced and easy to follow- while still surprising the reader once in awhile. A fine piece of journalism turned personal narrative and one I reccomend to booklovers everywhere. Borrow it from a library or buy it from an independent bookseller- I promise you, this one is worth the fuss.

Thanks Ev!

Current Reads:

Les Liaisons Dangereuses - about half way through
The Christmas Box - read ENTIRELY this morning
Complete Fairy Tales of Oscar Wilde - just begun
The Man Who Loved Books Too Much - just begun

Good thing I have Monday set aside as a reading day... and plenty of train time on Wednesday! Maybe I can get some reviewing/reflecting done THIS WEEK!

The Christmas Box

I have been a terrible blogger, I know. Still, I am writing now so maybe I have it in me to be good after all.

I just spent my morning reading "The Christmas Box" under the tree by candlelight. I try to read it every Christmas season as it was one of my favorite stories growing up. (We had a book on tape, read by the author, that would be used to shut me up on long car rides to see relatives.) Each year I become a little more aware of the bad quality of the writing... but I also find that I really do not care if it is bad. I will still end up in tears for the entire second half of the book, barely able to read the Memoriam on the last page.

This year is no exception.

I read the whole book in an hour (I guess it is a "novella"), including a pause to find the tissues and light some more candles. For reasons unknown I wake up around 4:30 every Christmas. I used to wake up the whole house but last year I discovered the joy of reading by the tree and waiting for a much more pleasant and Christmassy family to stumble out of bed. I do not remember what I read last year, it was not "The Christmas Box" - it was one of the few years in my memory where I did not touch the book. I suppose that does not matter as I knew just what book I wanted to read this morning, never mind that I am in the middle of "Les Liaisons Dangereuses". (Contrary to popular belief, French scandal novels are not good for Christmas morning reading.)

"Each year I find the story of the Christmas Box is told less and needed more" opens the tale. As a child I could never figure out WHY the story was told less and needed more, though I accepted it as a truth. That is why I decided to read it every year, actually. I thought I was doing the world a favor by being just one little girl reading this story about parental love. I still feel that way and I have to wonder if everyone who reads this books feels that connection.

I always feel a little ashamed when I recommend this book. It is blatantly Christian and, as I mentioned before, the writing itself is less than impressive. Maybe it is not a book for everyone, maybe that is why it is told less and needed more. The message is good, the story itself is beautiful- but the means and the medium are lacking. From childhood to this very day I tell people my favorite book is "The Secret Garden" but, really, it is this thin red and white volume with gold letters on the cover. (That said, I do adore "The Secret Garden" and it runs a very close second.)

Anyway, if you think you can get past the religion and the writing and enjoy a beautiful story with a good message that can be finished in an hour or two... I think you all ought to give "The Christmas Box" (by Richard Paul Evans) a try. My bookstore carries it and I am sure most libraries and independent bookstores have it as well. (Do NOT order it online or get it or any book from a chain store or you will make me very, very sad.) I think it is a holiday classic in spite of its faults, maybe you will too.

Happy Christmas,
Colleen