Was without a doubt The Story of Edgar Sawtelle. Ironically, Edgar is also the last book I read this summer. Just finished it last night. I cried at the end, and then I reread a few passages and cried some more. Then I tried (and failed) to go to sleep. It's one of those books you can't sleep on; its magnificence presses on your mind until you find yourself rifling through your bookshelf at midnight, looking for something comparable. You fail, and ultimately have to rely on the Benadryl you're taking for your disgusting case of hives to knock you out.
Edgar Sawtelle is a mute fourteen-year-old boy who's family makes their living breeding dogs in the thick Northwoods of Wisconsin.* But when a Hamlet-esque turn of events results in his father's death, Edgar flees into the wilderness, taking along three dogs for company.
The esteemed authors on the back of my copy call Edgar a Coming Of Age Story, which I suppose is true, although one might argue that every single book ever written is a Coming Of Age of sorts (after all, when do we ever truly grow into ourselves? And what kind of author would depict a character as being entirely static, unless he/she was not aiming for realism?).
What I liked most about the book was the insight about the breeding and training of the Sawtelles' dogs. Also the insight into the minds of the dogs themselves. The dogs are truly characters in this novel, with as much depth and intelligence as anyone you've ever met.
Edgar is a pinnacle of fine storytelling, and as I'm sure you know, there are a lot of books out there that don't read like stories, that don't sweep you along and tangle you up and never really release you, even after you've finished the last page.
Only the very best ones do.
*I should tell you: Another one of the reasons why I loved this book was because I am very familiar with the setting of the book. We drive through the Chequamegon (believe it or not, I spelled that correctly without having to Google first)(also, it's pronounced Sha-Wa-Meg-Gun for you outoftowners) National Forest every time we visit our boat on Lake Superior.
Showing posts with label Reviews. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Reviews. Show all posts
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Friday, July 15, 2011
Important Parts of Last Night
Let me tell you about last night.
Last night was Harry Potter (oh boy, don't tell me you didn't see this one coming).
And it was magnificent.
I mean, there were parts that made me shudder and wonder to myself what the heck were the directors thinking I don't understand why they couldn't stay true to the book here why are they jumping off a cliff good Lord why is Snape clutching a corpse this is bordering on disturbing why didn't they show Percy's big entrance that was one of my favorite parts oh my gosh Ginny please go away you make me sick sometimes.
Or something along those lines.
But I think over all, the movie, just like the book, had the ending that it needed and deserved.
That's really the most important thing, right?
There were other important parts of last night, though.
Like the feeling of complete panic that swept through the theater when the 3D glasses weren't working and everything was blurry. I was literally almost in cardiac arrest when The Man Behind the Curtain finally adjusted the projector correctly and the trailers came into focus.
Like when the Weasley family was mourning Fred and everything was quiet until I began to hear sniffing sounds coming from all around me. The entire theater was crying. The man next to me was crying. The ladywiththemostobnoxiousvoicei'veeverheard behind me was crying (loudly). And I suddenly felt like laughing. Until Harry began his walk towards the Forbidden Forest. Then I stopped laughing and started sniffing myself. I actually fogged up my own 3D glasses and had to wipe them. Not being a glasses-wearer, that was a new experience for me.
Like taking pictures in the lobby of people dressed up as Patronuses and Veela and Freds with bandaged ears and two twin boys with hair sprayed red.
Like when my friend and I had to visit the facilities before the movie. We waited in line for about 10 minutes before we finally got stalls. I was just trying to calculate what my odds of catching an STD from the toilet seat were when I heard my friend yell to me (from across the lavatory): "Holly! We flush ourselves in!" The entire bathroom erupted in echoing, nerdtastic giggles.
Like after the movie, when I decided not to wait for Bea (the GPS) to 'acquire satellite.' I thought I could manage to get home by myself. A sort of deluded Harriet Tubman, I convinced myself that I could find my way North. Apparently, I couldn't. I ended up goodnessknowswhere at 3 in the morning making illegal uturns in quiet neighborhoods and pleading with Bea to help me. She eventually did. Then the problem became keeping myself awake.
Like when I sang every Beatles song I know (which is, forgive me, an awful lot of Beatles songs) at the top of my lungs in order to keep myself awake. I was so tired that my voice was scratchy and pathetic but I made it home okay nonetheless. The dogs were happy to see me.
Yes, it's over. Yes, I'll never see another Harry Potter movie in a theater (unless I go to see this one again, which, let's face it, is highly likely). Yes, before the movie started, I was dreading it starting a little bit. Everyone was. Harry Potter began when we were all young. People have waited for Hogwarts letters, people have waited for the next book, the next movie.
But the waiting is over. It's all here.
I have a Harry Potter book on my lap right now. The Prisoner of Azkaban, because it's my favorite. And I'm thinking about how different it is every time I read these books. How there's always something new. Not because the books have changed, but because I have. And I will.
And as long as there's still that, I don't think anything has ended at all.
Last night was Harry Potter (oh boy, don't tell me you didn't see this one coming).
And it was magnificent.
I mean, there were parts that made me shudder and wonder to myself what the heck were the directors thinking I don't understand why they couldn't stay true to the book here why are they jumping off a cliff good Lord why is Snape clutching a corpse this is bordering on disturbing why didn't they show Percy's big entrance that was one of my favorite parts oh my gosh Ginny please go away you make me sick sometimes.
Or something along those lines.
But I think over all, the movie, just like the book, had the ending that it needed and deserved.
That's really the most important thing, right?
There were other important parts of last night, though.
Like the feeling of complete panic that swept through the theater when the 3D glasses weren't working and everything was blurry. I was literally almost in cardiac arrest when The Man Behind the Curtain finally adjusted the projector correctly and the trailers came into focus.
Like when the Weasley family was mourning Fred and everything was quiet until I began to hear sniffing sounds coming from all around me. The entire theater was crying. The man next to me was crying. The ladywiththemostobnoxiousvoicei'veeverheard behind me was crying (loudly). And I suddenly felt like laughing. Until Harry began his walk towards the Forbidden Forest. Then I stopped laughing and started sniffing myself. I actually fogged up my own 3D glasses and had to wipe them. Not being a glasses-wearer, that was a new experience for me.
Like taking pictures in the lobby of people dressed up as Patronuses and Veela and Freds with bandaged ears and two twin boys with hair sprayed red.
Like when my friend and I had to visit the facilities before the movie. We waited in line for about 10 minutes before we finally got stalls. I was just trying to calculate what my odds of catching an STD from the toilet seat were when I heard my friend yell to me (from across the lavatory): "Holly! We flush ourselves in!" The entire bathroom erupted in echoing, nerdtastic giggles.
Like after the movie, when I decided not to wait for Bea (the GPS) to 'acquire satellite.' I thought I could manage to get home by myself. A sort of deluded Harriet Tubman, I convinced myself that I could find my way North. Apparently, I couldn't. I ended up goodnessknowswhere at 3 in the morning making illegal uturns in quiet neighborhoods and pleading with Bea to help me. She eventually did. Then the problem became keeping myself awake.
Like when I sang every Beatles song I know (which is, forgive me, an awful lot of Beatles songs) at the top of my lungs in order to keep myself awake. I was so tired that my voice was scratchy and pathetic but I made it home okay nonetheless. The dogs were happy to see me.
Yes, it's over. Yes, I'll never see another Harry Potter movie in a theater (unless I go to see this one again, which, let's face it, is highly likely). Yes, before the movie started, I was dreading it starting a little bit. Everyone was. Harry Potter began when we were all young. People have waited for Hogwarts letters, people have waited for the next book, the next movie.
But the waiting is over. It's all here.
I have a Harry Potter book on my lap right now. The Prisoner of Azkaban, because it's my favorite. And I'm thinking about how different it is every time I read these books. How there's always something new. Not because the books have changed, but because I have. And I will.
And as long as there's still that, I don't think anything has ended at all.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
In Which I Do the Unprecedented
I made the Dean's List. I finally, finally made that darn Dean's List. It took 4 semesters.
But I don't talk about that.
The point is that I have a big, pompous, maroon and gold certificate, and that I'm going to hang it up somewhere like I used to do with spelling awards when I was little.
In other news, last night I got to attend a production of "Little Shop of Horrors." As a member of the Press. I went by myself, even though they had reserved two tickets for me; I wanted it to just be me the first time. To drink it all in and all (and all). Well, I ended up wishing I had brought someone, because I was probably the only person under 65 at the show. This was okay most of the time, except when the old man behind me would stage whisper things. Like "watch out!" and "would you look at how low her top is?" (at least he didn't yell Macbeth, although I bet he was thinking about it. He really didn't like that Seymour was murdering people: "Unethical young folks! Who do they think they are?"
I brought a notebook along to jot things down in, and most of my notes ended up being about the audience. Here are some direct quotes: (please note: I don't understand/remember what some of these mean. I wrote them last night. Should I be worried?)
-"Back in the meat locker!"
-Evidently the Errol Flynn mustache is coming back
-They brought blankets (Okay. This one's about the 65+ers.)
I'm going to be hard pressed to keep this review focused on the play.
But I don't talk about that.
The point is that I have a big, pompous, maroon and gold certificate, and that I'm going to hang it up somewhere like I used to do with spelling awards when I was little.
In other news, last night I got to attend a production of "Little Shop of Horrors." As a member of the Press. I went by myself, even though they had reserved two tickets for me; I wanted it to just be me the first time. To drink it all in and all (and all). Well, I ended up wishing I had brought someone, because I was probably the only person under 65 at the show. This was okay most of the time, except when the old man behind me would stage whisper things. Like "watch out!" and "would you look at how low her top is?" (at least he didn't yell Macbeth, although I bet he was thinking about it. He really didn't like that Seymour was murdering people: "Unethical young folks! Who do they think they are?"
I brought a notebook along to jot things down in, and most of my notes ended up being about the audience. Here are some direct quotes: (please note: I don't understand/remember what some of these mean. I wrote them last night. Should I be worried?)
-"Back in the meat locker!"
-Evidently the Errol Flynn mustache is coming back
-They brought blankets (Okay. This one's about the 65+ers.)
I'm going to be hard pressed to keep this review focused on the play.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
No DisreSPECT, John Green
I just finished reading...
This:
I bought it from HPB a few summers ago, and only just got to it because it's the week before finals week, and because during the week before finals week, I need to read something uncomplicated.
Unluckily, An Abundance of Katherines is not uncomplicated. It contains math. Theorems.
Luckily, I loved it anyway.
Although not as much as Looking For Alaska (which, to be fair, is a top notch book. Hard to beat). An Abundance of Katherines was original, yes, but what confused me was the way John Green (author) squeezed in a moral right at the end. The moral (I'm paraphrasing here) was that it's easy to become so caught up in a goal (being world-famous, being popular, etc.) that you don't remember why you wanted that thing (to be world-famous, to be popular, etc.) in the first place.
Here's the actual quote: "Maybe life is not about accomplishing some (kidscoveryoureyesquicklynow) bullshit markers."
And that's a great moral, truly it is. My problem was that I didn't get a sense throughout the book that the characters were trying too hard to accomplish -stupid- markers. In retrospect, yeah, but not in spect. Unfortunately, my friends, the spect is where I should be noticing things.
I almost think that the theorem, and the Katherine thing, and Hassan being awesome, and the Lindsey love story, and the (kidsagainpleaselookaway) tampon string factory crisis, and the road trip, and etc. distracted me from the point of the novel. Which is bad. An Abundance of Katherines tried to be about 10 different novels at once.
Whereas my spect's maximum is one.
This:
I bought it from HPB a few summers ago, and only just got to it because it's the week before finals week, and because during the week before finals week, I need to read something uncomplicated.
Unluckily, An Abundance of Katherines is not uncomplicated. It contains math. Theorems.
Luckily, I loved it anyway.
Although not as much as Looking For Alaska (which, to be fair, is a top notch book. Hard to beat). An Abundance of Katherines was original, yes, but what confused me was the way John Green (author) squeezed in a moral right at the end. The moral (I'm paraphrasing here) was that it's easy to become so caught up in a goal (being world-famous, being popular, etc.) that you don't remember why you wanted that thing (to be world-famous, to be popular, etc.) in the first place.
Here's the actual quote: "Maybe life is not about accomplishing some (kidscoveryoureyesquicklynow) bullshit markers."
And that's a great moral, truly it is. My problem was that I didn't get a sense throughout the book that the characters were trying too hard to accomplish -stupid- markers. In retrospect, yeah, but not in spect. Unfortunately, my friends, the spect is where I should be noticing things.
I almost think that the theorem, and the Katherine thing, and Hassan being awesome, and the Lindsey love story, and the (kidsagainpleaselookaway) tampon string factory crisis, and the road trip, and etc. distracted me from the point of the novel. Which is bad. An Abundance of Katherines tried to be about 10 different novels at once.
Whereas my spect's maximum is one.
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