Bedside Reader

It’s no secret that America, like most other countries, has a huge income disparity, and this creates a strata of class structures. Rather than entertain political and social philosophies, I want to share a wonderful book I read recently, which in part illustrates the gap between the rich and the working poor. The God of Animals (2007) by Aryn Kyle is a novel about much, much more, but I’ve got a bee in my bonnet tonight because a senior friend of mine just got his meager Social Security income cut by approximately one-quarter. It rankles me that those of us with the least seem to get hit the worst with taxes and/or cuts in pay or services. Anyone who does or has lived close to the bone knows that every dollar counts. Kyle’s novel tackles similar issues when describing the hard-scrabble life of a dysfunctional family on a fictional ranch in Western Colorado.

The narrator’s voice is that of a eleven to twelve-year-old girl. Through her eyes, we see her father struggle to make his ranch a success by catering to the well-heeled horsy crowd. While he doggedly pursues his dreams, he often ignores the daughter and her needs. It’s painful to witness the father’s manipulations and the daughter’s obedience to his sometimes unrealistic demands. At times I found myself questioning the validity of the narrator’s story, but this is a minor criticism and further strengthens the belief that a “tween” tells the tale.

Kyle intertwines the lives of disparate characters, including a dead girl and a teacher, with such a degree of skill it was difficult for me to put the book aside until I finished it. Rich in themes, the book gives readers much to ponder, but the lessons regarding success and trying to climb out of poverty are especially poignant. We don’t have to live on ranches to recognize the affects of grinding poverty and lower social class.

A word to the wise–do not eat Italian expresso ice cream before settling in for the night! I’ve been up all night without catching so much as a cat nap, thanks to my late evening “dinner” of the delicious but dumb decision to eat expresso ice cream. Thank goodness for books!

I’ve been debating whether or not to go here, but here goes: I’ve been pretty depressed lately. Some days, it’s really difficult to get going, and I dog myself with all the stuff I didn’t accomplish. As the weather warms, so does my mood, and, yes, there’s a book for it, too.  Poets on Prozac offers a mental health perspective that is sympathetic to folks enduring a “depressive episode.”

Edited by Dr. Richard M. Berlin, the book is a collection of essays by well-known, established American poets. The topics are specific to depression and its affect on creativity, and each poet’s struggle with pharmaceuticals. (Treating chronic depression with pills is an emerging science, so each of us is a guinea pig of sorts for the mental health community.)

Apart from the entertaining narratives and relentless honesty of each essay, my favorite part of the book is the comparisons the poets make to their poetry before then after receiving chemical treatment. The telling result is the poems seem much more fresh when the writers are feeling mentally balanced. A common fear among artists is that depression feeds the creative spirit, yet this book proves the opposite.

Work created under a cloud of depression tends toward a narrow worldview, lacking in humor and joy. In particular, I love J.D. Smith’s pre and post depression poems, but if I had to pick a favorite, it would be one written in his happier state of mind. To wit, I leave you with an example: “Pistachios” (J.D. Smith)

Clams of dry land/suspended mid-gape,/they are, as well, truncated/busts of hatchlings that peep/for an imminent feeding,/and parentheses, poised/to shelter a digression.

I love classic literature, and sometimes Hollywood agrees with me. Recently, there is buzz surrounding a new movie version of Jane Erye. I’ll probably go to see it at the theatre because I enjoy a good bodice-ripper every now and then. Still, I can’t help but think of other great classics that remain trapped on the printed page. One that comes to mind is the French masterpiece, Germinal, by Emile Zola.

Written in 1885, this moving tale of a small village and its dependence on the dangerous mining industry is eerily relevant to today’s class struggles. The human condition never seems to improve over centuries; we make the same mistakes over and over again. Nonetheless, the novel is so poignantly descriptive that I was moved to tears more than once.

Although the human trials and tribulations are indeed disturbing, the fate of the mining horses caused me to weep a torrent of tears. Zola gives voice to these poor animals–one horse in particular named Bataille–and it is the saddest tale I’ve read in a long time. How cruel we humans can be to each other, but to submit our miseries and disregard on innocent animals is all too much for my tender heart!

Ah, well. If you’re up for a great story from another country in another time, then Germinal is one you should read. It is gritty and unsentimental in every aspect, including what passes for love. It also serves as a reminder of why we need unions today.

A novel set in the seventeenth century, Girl with a Pearl Earring (1999), and a movie, Goodfellas (1990), set in the later part of the twentieth century have something in common. Both have female main characters who narrate the story in the first person . . . great idea for the movie, but not such a great idea for the book.

In general, it is not a good idea to write an entire book in the first person because it limits the scope of the story and, frankly, gets a bit tedious to read after a time. Although the story idea is clever and well-imagined, I fostered a growing dislike of the main character Griet. Therein lies the problem with first person narration–if one doesn’t like the main character, it’s difficult to sustain an interest in the book. However, Girl is so unique in its subject matter, which reveals the inner workings of the Vermeer household from the maid’s viewpoint, that I finished the story.

In contrast, I adore Martin Scorsese’s movie, Goodfellas (1990). Unlike a novel, first person narration works better in a movie, for the visuals offer the viewer a type of third person, omniscient point-of-view. The female narrator (Karen Hill) who tells the inside story of a mafia wife is a sympathetic character. Not quite innocent and not quite naive,  she gives the audience a believable and intimate look at the life of a mob family. Using a female point-of-view to tell a mob story is deliciously ironic.

Girl with a Pearl Earring may soon become a movie. This could be a case of a movie being better than the book that inspired it. Can you  think of any books that worked better on the big screen?

http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/American_Robin/id

Last week, I saw a robin in the shrub outside the kitchen window. He was eating berries and appeared to be looking at me. Since we’ve had more than our share of bitterly cold days, I could hardly believe my eyes. Just to be sure, I grabbed my well-worn bird book and tripled checked the guide for all the signs: feather markings, beak, and tail. Sure enough, it was the beloved harbinger of Spring, an American Robin!

An indispensable guide for bird identification is Peterson Field Guides’ Eastern Birds. I adore its colorful illustrations, coded maps, and succinct descriptions. Another great resource for birders is the website sponsored by the Cornell Lab of Ornithology: www.feederwatch.org   In addition to information found in a good book, I love the site’s bird calls. It adds another dimension to the joy of bird identification.

The folks at the Lab were swift to respond to my observation and confirm the sighting. Best of all, that first sighting was no fluke. Since that day, I have seen robins in groups of 2s and 3s. So hold on, folks, Spring is just around the corner–at least in Northern Illinois.

Just so you know, dear reader, not all of my tastes run to the light and fluffy side. I like nonfiction, too, including some history. Unfortunately, not all gifted historians are gifted writers, and many of us may recall the boring, torturous required reading for history classes. One historian who reverses the stereotype is Christopher Kelly. His books read like fiction (some argue that history IS fiction or, at best, a lie).

Recently, I read Kelly’s The End of Empire (2009), which focuses on the Roman empire and its encounters with Attila the Hun. It seems the origin of the Huns is a mystery worthy of any fiction writer’s imagination, and Kelly treats the race with a respect unusual to history’s past treatment of the so-called barbarians. Although I’m not a fan of war, Kelly’s unique focus on Attila and the tensions between empires “savage” and “civilized” makes for an enjoyable world history lesson.