Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Tuesday, December 30, 2014
Black House
I'm not a fan of horror, but I started reading Stephen King after I read a book he wrote on the art of writing. And after seeing The Green Mile. I find his talent at crafting words and structuring story amazing. There is a depth and a life to his "worlds" that is beautiful. So that's why I picked up Black House, the creepy thriller that Stephen King and Peter Straub collaborated on together. I haven't read Straub before and have no way to identify who penned what lines or how they shared the writing. I don't care. I found myself in a frightening and tangible world, alongside a believable other-world. The characters were fully, roundly developed. I especially liked the blind disc jockey with his various on-air personas, his insight and his gumption.
I kept only three quotes. I'm glad I did. As I read them over again, the story comes back. And I remember why I connect to the story; it's written by people who, from what they write, seem like me.
Page 6: Like most assumptions, this one embodies an uneasy half-truth.
Page 83: Voluntarily, idly, he walked into craziness, and now he was crazy.
Page 93: Jack's grief, which has been sharpening itself underground, once again rises up to stab him, as if for the first time, bang, dead-center in the heart.
I kept only three quotes. I'm glad I did. As I read them over again, the story comes back. And I remember why I connect to the story; it's written by people who, from what they write, seem like me.
Page 6: Like most assumptions, this one embodies an uneasy half-truth.
Page 83: Voluntarily, idly, he walked into craziness, and now he was crazy.
Page 93: Jack's grief, which has been sharpening itself underground, once again rises up to stab him, as if for the first time, bang, dead-center in the heart.
Monday, December 29, 2014
Congo
Maybe it seems funny, reading a jungle thriller during the holidays. I actually was reading Michael Crichton's Congo mostly during November though.
At the time I was participating in Portland Storyteller Theater's workshop of Urban Tellers. I was encouraged to do it by a couple of friends thanks to some animated stories I've told. But it was much harder than I thought it'd be. I ended up telling a story that I do like, but that feels a little "fluff." But that may be only because it is a story from twenty years ago. It's about a hike I took in Papua Guinea during my honeymoon, trying to find a waterfall I'd seen from the little bush plane. You can find it on youtube under my name or by clicking here. Although I was more challenged than I expected by storytelling, I did enjoy it and would do it again. It's such a unique art form. Oral stories are a little different every time they are told.
I had seen the movie version of Congo several years ago (years!) when it came out in theaters. It was interesting how dated the technology in the story was, yet how cutting edge it still felt. To me, my story about the waterfall was so similar to this one, which seems strange to say. But the similiarity was in the failure of both missions. I never made it to the waterfall; the team didn't get the diamonds. Yet the lessons from the journey proved to be the value of the undertaking.
Okay, it's a stretch.
And I didn't keep any quotes. The power was in the suspense, not the lovely use of language. :-)
At the time I was participating in Portland Storyteller Theater's workshop of Urban Tellers. I was encouraged to do it by a couple of friends thanks to some animated stories I've told. But it was much harder than I thought it'd be. I ended up telling a story that I do like, but that feels a little "fluff." But that may be only because it is a story from twenty years ago. It's about a hike I took in Papua Guinea during my honeymoon, trying to find a waterfall I'd seen from the little bush plane. You can find it on youtube under my name or by clicking here. Although I was more challenged than I expected by storytelling, I did enjoy it and would do it again. It's such a unique art form. Oral stories are a little different every time they are told.
I had seen the movie version of Congo several years ago (years!) when it came out in theaters. It was interesting how dated the technology in the story was, yet how cutting edge it still felt. To me, my story about the waterfall was so similar to this one, which seems strange to say. But the similiarity was in the failure of both missions. I never made it to the waterfall; the team didn't get the diamonds. Yet the lessons from the journey proved to be the value of the undertaking.
Okay, it's a stretch.
And I didn't keep any quotes. The power was in the suspense, not the lovely use of language. :-)
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
The Gravedigger's Daughter
Joyce Carol Oates writes dense, rich characters and tense yet satisfying scenes. I've loved her books in the past, and I loved The Gravedigger's Daughter. I kept only two quotes from this long novel. It's shows where my headspace is.
Page 46: The danger in motherhood. You relive your early self, through the eyes of your own mother. (So true!)
Page 303: She was lying awake in the dark, hands clasped behind her head. Thinking of her life strung out behind her like beads of myriad shapes, in memory crowded, confusing as in life each had been singular, and had defined itself with the slowness of the sun's trajectory across the sky. You knew the sun was moving yet you never saw it move.
I'm gripped.
Page 46: The danger in motherhood. You relive your early self, through the eyes of your own mother. (So true!)
Page 303: She was lying awake in the dark, hands clasped behind her head. Thinking of her life strung out behind her like beads of myriad shapes, in memory crowded, confusing as in life each had been singular, and had defined itself with the slowness of the sun's trajectory across the sky. You knew the sun was moving yet you never saw it move.
I'm gripped.
Thursday, July 31, 2014
July books 2014: Wildflower Hill, Sick Puppy, A Simple Murder
This month flew. Three books; no quotes.
Wildflower Hill by Kimberley Freeman. I really loved this story. It took me two tries to get into it, but the second time it struck me right and I couldn't put it down. The characters moved me.
Then there was Sick Puppy, by Carl Hiaasen. I read one of his books before and had a lot of fun with it. He does unpredictable sassy plot twists with complex and imperfect characters. I couldn't decide who was the sickest puppy.
Eleanor Kuhns' A Simple Murder was light for a murder mystery. Crafted well enough, it kept my attention. I was entertained.
Quotes will return.
Wildflower Hill by Kimberley Freeman. I really loved this story. It took me two tries to get into it, but the second time it struck me right and I couldn't put it down. The characters moved me.
Then there was Sick Puppy, by Carl Hiaasen. I read one of his books before and had a lot of fun with it. He does unpredictable sassy plot twists with complex and imperfect characters. I couldn't decide who was the sickest puppy.
Eleanor Kuhns' A Simple Murder was light for a murder mystery. Crafted well enough, it kept my attention. I was entertained.
Quotes will return.
Thursday, June 19, 2014
The Turnaround
George Pelecanos wrote an excellent novel called The Turnaround. I didn't save any quotes, probably because it was written so cleanly and directly, nothing fancy, just good story telling. It reminded me some of Bonfire of the Vanities, with the gritty happenstance of life and those moments that mark turning points.
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Saving Fish from Drowning
I love this novel! Amy Tan had me completely enraptured from the "note to the reader" before the book even started. And it turned out completely different than I expected. I highly recommend that everyone/anyone read Saving Fish from Drowning.
And I didn't keep a single quote! I think that's because I was too busy reading.
And I didn't keep a single quote! I think that's because I was too busy reading.
Monday, May 5, 2014
The Best American Short Stories 2011
Geraldine Brooks (who is my MIL's favorite author) edited the 2011 edition of The Best American Short Stories series. I did love her book, People of the Book. What an interesting collection. I didn't collect quotes from every story and although I enjoyed them all, the number of quotes doesn't indicate how much I liked the story. I noticed that several of the stories with no quotes at all were some of my favorites, such as Out of Body, Free Fruit for Young Widows and Escape from Spiderhead.
Cieling by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
Page 5: Her worldview was a set of conventional options that she mulled over while he did not even consider any of those option; the questions he asked of life were entirely different from hers.
Housewifely Arts by Megan Mayhew Bergman
Page 16: You can just see the innocence falling off a child's face -- every day.
Page 19: It's hard being a single mom, but it's easier than being a miserable wife.
A Bridge Under Water by Tom Bissell
Page 35: Two once-unimaginable objects, the first incubating in her stomach and the second closed around her ring finger, made her, she realized, unable to remember what being nineteen or twenty had felt like.
Page 49: It was uncanny: every paragraph was filled with information vague enough to be uninteresting and precise enough to be soporific.
Out of Body by Jennifer Egan
Free Fruit for Young Widows by Nathan Englander
La Vita Nuova by Allegra Goodman
Gurov in Manhattan by Ehud Havazelet
Page 101: Sokolov, old world conqueror, who had held the gae of every woman in his novels class, who had wooed dozens just by a line from Herzen or a pose struck thoughtfully looking out a window, who had slept with half the humanities faculty at Lehman, knew all at once age, irrelevance, invisibility.
Page 102: And since, he had returned daily to verify the sensation, rage, and concede and quietly wonder at the many ways we pass into insubstantiality. An old fool in love.
The Sleep by Caitlin Horrocks
Soldier of Fortune by Bret Anthony Johnston
Foster by Claire Keegan
Page 137: I am used to it, this way men have of not talking: they like to kick a divot out of the grass with a boot heel, to slap the roof of a car before it takes off, to sit with their legs wide apart, as though they do not care.
Page 142-3: Neither of of us talks, the way people sometimes don't, when they are happy. As soon as I have this thought, I realize that the opposite is also true.
Page 143: I want to say that I am afraid but am too afraid to say so.
Page 154: "Many's the man lost much just because he missed a perfect opportunity to say nothing."
The Dungeon Master by Sam Lipstyle
Peter Torrelli, Falling Apart by Rebecca Makkai
Page 192: Or maybe he'd slouched all the way down Adams, his parka blurring him into the frozen crowd, the crowd sweeping him onto the train, the train shooting him up north and off the face of my earth.
Property by Elizabeth McKracken
Page 196: The weight of the bag was like the stones in a suicide's pocket.
Phantoms by Steven Milhauser
Dog Bites by Ricardo Nuila
ID by Joyce Carol Oates
To the Measures Fall by Richard Powers
Page 270: You still read for pleasure: all kinds of things. The hunger remains, but, as with sex, the costumes must grow ever more elaborate to produce the same transport.
Page 273: Overnight, the World Wide Web weaves tightly around you. A novelty at first, then invaluable, then life support, then heroin.
The Call for Blood by Jess Row
Escape from Spiderhead by George Saunders
The Hare's Mask by Mark Slouka
Page 325: Who knows what somber ancestor had passed on to me this talent, this precocious ear for loss? For a while, because of it, I misheard almost everything.
Cieling by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
Page 5: Her worldview was a set of conventional options that she mulled over while he did not even consider any of those option; the questions he asked of life were entirely different from hers.
Housewifely Arts by Megan Mayhew Bergman
Page 16: You can just see the innocence falling off a child's face -- every day.
Page 19: It's hard being a single mom, but it's easier than being a miserable wife.
A Bridge Under Water by Tom Bissell
Page 35: Two once-unimaginable objects, the first incubating in her stomach and the second closed around her ring finger, made her, she realized, unable to remember what being nineteen or twenty had felt like.
Page 49: It was uncanny: every paragraph was filled with information vague enough to be uninteresting and precise enough to be soporific.
Out of Body by Jennifer Egan
Free Fruit for Young Widows by Nathan Englander
La Vita Nuova by Allegra Goodman
Gurov in Manhattan by Ehud Havazelet
Page 101: Sokolov, old world conqueror, who had held the gae of every woman in his novels class, who had wooed dozens just by a line from Herzen or a pose struck thoughtfully looking out a window, who had slept with half the humanities faculty at Lehman, knew all at once age, irrelevance, invisibility.
Page 102: And since, he had returned daily to verify the sensation, rage, and concede and quietly wonder at the many ways we pass into insubstantiality. An old fool in love.
The Sleep by Caitlin Horrocks
Soldier of Fortune by Bret Anthony Johnston
Foster by Claire Keegan
Page 137: I am used to it, this way men have of not talking: they like to kick a divot out of the grass with a boot heel, to slap the roof of a car before it takes off, to sit with their legs wide apart, as though they do not care.
Page 142-3: Neither of of us talks, the way people sometimes don't, when they are happy. As soon as I have this thought, I realize that the opposite is also true.
Page 143: I want to say that I am afraid but am too afraid to say so.
Page 154: "Many's the man lost much just because he missed a perfect opportunity to say nothing."
The Dungeon Master by Sam Lipstyle
Peter Torrelli, Falling Apart by Rebecca Makkai
Page 192: Or maybe he'd slouched all the way down Adams, his parka blurring him into the frozen crowd, the crowd sweeping him onto the train, the train shooting him up north and off the face of my earth.
Property by Elizabeth McKracken
Page 196: The weight of the bag was like the stones in a suicide's pocket.
Phantoms by Steven Milhauser
Dog Bites by Ricardo Nuila
ID by Joyce Carol Oates
To the Measures Fall by Richard Powers
Page 270: You still read for pleasure: all kinds of things. The hunger remains, but, as with sex, the costumes must grow ever more elaborate to produce the same transport.
Page 273: Overnight, the World Wide Web weaves tightly around you. A novelty at first, then invaluable, then life support, then heroin.
The Call for Blood by Jess Row
Escape from Spiderhead by George Saunders
The Hare's Mask by Mark Slouka
Page 325: Who knows what somber ancestor had passed on to me this talent, this precocious ear for loss? For a while, because of it, I misheard almost everything.
Wednesday, April 9, 2014
The Cupcake Queen
My daughter told me to read this one. My expectations were not too high for The Cupcake Queen by Heather Hepler, but I found it to be a surprisingly well crafted, well written and entertaining young adult novel.
Page 28: I kept speeding up and then slowing down during the walk to school. I didn't want to be late, but I really didn't want to be too early, standing around and staring at my shoes while everyone else talks to one another and pretends not to see the new girl staring at her shoes.
Page 28: I kept speeding up and then slowing down during the walk to school. I didn't want to be late, but I really didn't want to be too early, standing around and staring at my shoes while everyone else talks to one another and pretends not to see the new girl staring at her shoes.
Saturday, April 5, 2014
Wicked Autumn
Wicked Autumn is a quiet mystery story by G. M. Malliet.
Page 44: Thea, poised for her usual rapturous leap at the sight of the visitor, remembered her training just in time: she sat hard, tail wagging so thunderously that its hip-shaking momentum threatened to topple her over.
Page 112: They suddenly became to him what they were -- fallible, ordinary people all carrying stories to tell that they dared not tell anyone.
Page 191: He saw that she had missed a button on her cardigan, or perhaps a button was missing altogether. In anyone else, this would be a sign of mild forgetfulness. In the fastidious Miss Pitchford, it was a clear measure of her distress, bordering on incipient madness.
Page 237: Wanda's sense of her place in the village was her prize psychological possession.
Entertaining, though not overly captivating.
Page 44: Thea, poised for her usual rapturous leap at the sight of the visitor, remembered her training just in time: she sat hard, tail wagging so thunderously that its hip-shaking momentum threatened to topple her over.
Page 112: They suddenly became to him what they were -- fallible, ordinary people all carrying stories to tell that they dared not tell anyone.
Page 191: He saw that she had missed a button on her cardigan, or perhaps a button was missing altogether. In anyone else, this would be a sign of mild forgetfulness. In the fastidious Miss Pitchford, it was a clear measure of her distress, bordering on incipient madness.
Page 237: Wanda's sense of her place in the village was her prize psychological possession.
Entertaining, though not overly captivating.
Sunday, March 23, 2014
Divergent, Insurgent, Allegiant
Each book in Veronica Roth's series, Divergent, Insurgent, and Allegiant, is spellbinding. I read all three in five days. I enjoyed the complexity of the social and political systems - also the complexity of the characters. No one was pure good-guy or fully bad-guy.
Reading so fast, I only managed one quote on page 100 in Allegiant:
Take a person's memories, and you change who they are.
There were lots of interesting treatments on so many real world and complex issues. I wonder if my attention on memories is due somewhat to the last book I read.
Having the last book alternate in Tris' and Tobias' point of view through me at first, since it was different from the first two books. There had to be a reason. I sure was unhappy about that reason, but it made the author's decision make sense in the end.
I haven't seen the movie yet. How does it compare to the book?
Reading so fast, I only managed one quote on page 100 in Allegiant:
Take a person's memories, and you change who they are.
There were lots of interesting treatments on so many real world and complex issues. I wonder if my attention on memories is due somewhat to the last book I read.
Having the last book alternate in Tris' and Tobias' point of view through me at first, since it was different from the first two books. There had to be a reason. I sure was unhappy about that reason, but it made the author's decision make sense in the end.
I haven't seen the movie yet. How does it compare to the book?
Saturday, March 15, 2014
Memory Wall
When I started reading Memory Wall, by Anthony Doerr, I found myself recoiling a little. It was the content: the first story is about a woman with dementia who keeps notes to herself all over her wall. Too close to home perhaps; I hate it when I can't remember things. But I kept reading and I'm so glad I did! It took some surprising twists and was amazing and thought provoking. Every story in this collection of shorts is different and beautiful. I love the way memory or memories is dealt with in such different ways, often other-worldly.
From "Memory":
Page 2: Alma stands barefoot and wigless in the upstairs bedroom with a flashlight.
Page 42: "To say a person is a happy person or an unhappy person is ridiculous. We are a thousand different kinds of people every hour." (says Alma)
Page 70: What is memory anyway? How can it be such a frail, perishable thing?
From "Village 113":
Page 151: But perhaps, she thinks, there is no good and bad to it at all. Every memory everone has ever had will eventually be under water. Progress is a storm and the wings of everything are swept up in it.
From "The River Nemunas":
Page 175: I wonder about how the sky can be a huge, blue nothingness and at the same time it can also feel like a shelter.
From "Afterworld":
Page 192: She sits up too quickly and her eyesight flees in long streaks.
From "Memory":
Page 2: Alma stands barefoot and wigless in the upstairs bedroom with a flashlight.
Page 42: "To say a person is a happy person or an unhappy person is ridiculous. We are a thousand different kinds of people every hour." (says Alma)
Page 70: What is memory anyway? How can it be such a frail, perishable thing?
From "Village 113":
Page 151: But perhaps, she thinks, there is no good and bad to it at all. Every memory everone has ever had will eventually be under water. Progress is a storm and the wings of everything are swept up in it.
From "The River Nemunas":
Page 175: I wonder about how the sky can be a huge, blue nothingness and at the same time it can also feel like a shelter.
From "Afterworld":
Page 192: She sits up too quickly and her eyesight flees in long streaks.
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
Boy's Life
Another book I picked up from subbing high school English: Robert McCammon's Boy's Life. The story drew me in and carried me along; a quick read in over 600 pages. It's all about keeping the magic. I'm gonna make my kids read it - I don't think it will take much convincing.
Page 2: We are born with whirlwinds, forest fires, and comets inside us. We are born able to sing to birds and read the clouds and see our destiny in grains of sand. But then we get the magic educated right out of our souls. We get it churched out, spanked out, washed out and combed out.
Page 8: My blue jeans had patches on the knees, like badges of courage marking encounters with barbed wire and gravel.
Page 16-17: Underwater, he fought the lake's muscles. The car fell away beneath him, and as his legs thrashed for a hold in the liquid tomb, more bubbles rushed up and broke him loose and he climbed up their silver staircase toward the attic of air.
Page 23: If his nose had been any larger, he would've made a dandy weathervane.
Page 64: The place looked and felt like a hothouse where exotic hats had bloomed.
Page 177: I swallowed my rage like a bitter seed, not knowing that it would bear fruit.
Page 332: Everything seemed to be gleaming and glinting, and our feet were cushioned by gardens of Oriental weave.
Page 486: It seemed to me, as I walked in the presence of all those stilled voices that would never be heard again, that we were a wasteful breed. We had thrown away the past and our future was impoverished for it.
Ah, yes. You must read this book.
Page 2: We are born with whirlwinds, forest fires, and comets inside us. We are born able to sing to birds and read the clouds and see our destiny in grains of sand. But then we get the magic educated right out of our souls. We get it churched out, spanked out, washed out and combed out.
Page 8: My blue jeans had patches on the knees, like badges of courage marking encounters with barbed wire and gravel.
Page 16-17: Underwater, he fought the lake's muscles. The car fell away beneath him, and as his legs thrashed for a hold in the liquid tomb, more bubbles rushed up and broke him loose and he climbed up their silver staircase toward the attic of air.
Page 23: If his nose had been any larger, he would've made a dandy weathervane.
Page 64: The place looked and felt like a hothouse where exotic hats had bloomed.
Page 177: I swallowed my rage like a bitter seed, not knowing that it would bear fruit.
Page 332: Everything seemed to be gleaming and glinting, and our feet were cushioned by gardens of Oriental weave.
Page 486: It seemed to me, as I walked in the presence of all those stilled voices that would never be heard again, that we were a wasteful breed. We had thrown away the past and our future was impoverished for it.
Ah, yes. You must read this book.
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
The Book Thief
A story so well wordsmithed, The Book Thief is delicious to read. Markus Zusak has crafted a masterpiece. I loved the personification of everything, even the narrator, Death. The words enter your soul and you feel the eternity of it.
Page 7: The abhorrence on his cheeks were growing thicker by the moment.
Page 9: The plane was still coughing. Smoke was leaking from both its lungs.
Page 10: I walked in, loosened his soul, and carried it gently away.
Page 12: The streets were ruptured veins. Blood streamed til it was dried on the road, and the bodies were stuck there, like driftwood after the flood.
Page 24: A final, soaking farewell was let go of, and they turned and left the cemetery, looking back several times.
Page 27: ... empty hat-stand trees ...
Page 42: A bathrobe answered the door.
Page 48: Insane or not, Rudy was always destined to be Liesel's best friend. A snowball in the face is surely the perfect beginning to a lasting friendship.
Page 65: The soft-spoken words fell off the side of the bed, emptying to the floor like powder.
Page 84: Like most misery, it started with apparent happiness.
Page 109: I guess humans like to watch a little destruction. Sand castles, houses of cards, that's where they begin. Their great skill is in their capacity to escalate.
Page 112: Burning words were torn from their sentences.
Page 250: Standing above him at all moments of awakeness was the hand of time, and it didn't hesitate to wring him out, it smiled and squeezed and let him live. What great malice there could be in allowing something to live.
Page 367: Her nerves licked her palms.
Page 392: Stars of David were plastered to their shirts, and misery was attached to them as if assigned. "Don't forget your misery..." In some cases, it grew on them like vines.
Page 7: The abhorrence on his cheeks were growing thicker by the moment.
Page 9: The plane was still coughing. Smoke was leaking from both its lungs.
Page 10: I walked in, loosened his soul, and carried it gently away.
Page 12: The streets were ruptured veins. Blood streamed til it was dried on the road, and the bodies were stuck there, like driftwood after the flood.
Page 24: A final, soaking farewell was let go of, and they turned and left the cemetery, looking back several times.
Page 27: ... empty hat-stand trees ...
Page 42: A bathrobe answered the door.
Page 48: Insane or not, Rudy was always destined to be Liesel's best friend. A snowball in the face is surely the perfect beginning to a lasting friendship.
Page 65: The soft-spoken words fell off the side of the bed, emptying to the floor like powder.
Page 84: Like most misery, it started with apparent happiness.
Page 109: I guess humans like to watch a little destruction. Sand castles, houses of cards, that's where they begin. Their great skill is in their capacity to escalate.
Page 112: Burning words were torn from their sentences.
Page 250: Standing above him at all moments of awakeness was the hand of time, and it didn't hesitate to wring him out, it smiled and squeezed and let him live. What great malice there could be in allowing something to live.
Page 367: Her nerves licked her palms.
Page 392: Stars of David were plastered to their shirts, and misery was attached to them as if assigned. "Don't forget your misery..." In some cases, it grew on them like vines.
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
The Forest Laird and also The Devil and Tom Walker
Just shy of 500 pages, The Forest Laird by Jack Whyte is a tome. I did enjoy the story and all the details of life in the late 1200s, even though, having seen the movie Braveheart years ago, I knew how tragic William Wallace's life was. The vernacular and old-speak in the story was great, like using "ken" instead of the word "know", but I didn't glean any quotes from it.
I subbed for an English teacher today and one of my classes read Irving Washington's The Devil and Tom Walker (out of the Adventures in American Literature textbook.) Written in early the 1800's, this cautionary tale is set in 1727.
Vivid descriptions of the warring couple:
He had a wife as miserly as himself: they were so miserly that they even conspired to cheat each other.
This quote is less about a lovely turn of phrase and more about its interesting attitude toward slavery, given the era it was written in:
He [the devil] insisted that the money found through his means should be employed in his service. He proposed, therefore, that Tom should employ it in the black traffic; that is to say that he should fit out a slave ship. This, however, Tom resolutely refused: he was bad enough in all conscience; but the devil himself could not tempt him to turn slave trader.
And who hasn't met a self-righteous s.o.b. like this:
Tom was as rigid in religious as money matters; he was a stern supervisor and censurer of his neighbor, and seemed to think every sin entered up to their account became a credit on his own side of the page.
Ah, me. Fun in a high school English Lit class.
I started the book that another of my classes from today is reading. By page 18 I was hooked.
Here's a quote from the preface: We are born with whirlwinds, forest fires, and comets inside us. We are born able to sing to birds and read the clouds and see our destiny in grains of sand. But then we get the magic educated right out of our souls. We get it churched out, spanked out, washed out and combed out.
Can you guess what this novel is that I am reading now?
I subbed for an English teacher today and one of my classes read Irving Washington's The Devil and Tom Walker (out of the Adventures in American Literature textbook.) Written in early the 1800's, this cautionary tale is set in 1727.
Vivid descriptions of the warring couple:
He had a wife as miserly as himself: they were so miserly that they even conspired to cheat each other.
This quote is less about a lovely turn of phrase and more about its interesting attitude toward slavery, given the era it was written in:
He [the devil] insisted that the money found through his means should be employed in his service. He proposed, therefore, that Tom should employ it in the black traffic; that is to say that he should fit out a slave ship. This, however, Tom resolutely refused: he was bad enough in all conscience; but the devil himself could not tempt him to turn slave trader.
And who hasn't met a self-righteous s.o.b. like this:
Tom was as rigid in religious as money matters; he was a stern supervisor and censurer of his neighbor, and seemed to think every sin entered up to their account became a credit on his own side of the page.
Ah, me. Fun in a high school English Lit class.
I started the book that another of my classes from today is reading. By page 18 I was hooked.
Here's a quote from the preface: We are born with whirlwinds, forest fires, and comets inside us. We are born able to sing to birds and read the clouds and see our destiny in grains of sand. But then we get the magic educated right out of our souls. We get it churched out, spanked out, washed out and combed out.
Can you guess what this novel is that I am reading now?
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