Midwife of Venice

Critics are comparing The Midwife of Venice to The Red Tent and The People of the Book. While I find the book fascinating, I don't find it as developed as the other two. But, it sort of taps into many of the main themes in Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice, which I always enjoyed teaching.

Hannah Levi is renowned for her gift of coaxing reluctant babies from their mothers' using her secret "birthing spoons." When a rich Count begs her to attend his dying wife and save their unborn son, Hannah is torn. A Papal edict forbids Jews from giving medical treatment to Christians, but he offers her a sum of money that will allow her to buy her husband out of slavery. She becomes entangled in the Counts' family rivalry which endangers the life of the child she saved.

As far as historical fiction goes, this book is rather lightweight, but, face it, with the holidays kicking up their happy heels, this is perfect reading for me. The author does an excellent job detailing Jewish laws that result in many inner conflicts that Hannah must resolve.

This book is set for release in February and would make a great book discussion title.

My big excitement over the weekend was visiting my friend Sherri's annual Christmas extravaganza. She starts decorating her house in June! Really. Every inch of her house, including her kids' bedrooms, are filled with cheer...lights, ornaments, pillows, candy, tree skirts and cheer. Now, the tree skirt comment may seem absurd, but, if you stop in the store when Debbie or Matt is working, they will confirm. Sherri has...ohhh...easily 500 tree skirts....and she gives the tour of her lavishly decorated home decked out for Christmas in...you guessed it... a tree skirt!

Sherri has been decorating her house effusively for more years than I can count, and each year she invites friends in for a tour. I can't possibly begin to explain how over the top and happy this all is, so each year I try to take a few friends along. Last weekend, both Debbie and Matt said that I had not even come close to preparing them for the mayhem of color and visual eccentricities. I took a few pictures and if any show off the true spirit of Sherri and her home, I'll post them. If any of you know the lovely Rhonda from Heart-A-Rama, you will be delighted to learn that Sherri is her sister. All the girls in that family are so unique. Sherri has a Goldi Hawn vibe about her. Maybe next year you can come along!

My Cranky Thanksgiving Note

Happy Thanksgiving!

You all know me pretty well - testy, cantankerous, hard-boiled, sardonic, critical - yup, that's me, and more! So, since those are my primary personality traits, I am also guessing that you all don't know how much I value you, and how many times I smile and laugh because of you. You don't know how often a comment you made comes drifting back to me, giving me food for thought, and an opportunity to look at something in a new way. You might not see the awe I hold inside for your talents, or understand the respect I have for your intelligence. You inspire me to be a better person, or at least to aspire to be the kind of person you will keep in your life despite those aforementioned character flaws. I am grateful for your friendship.

Now go eat some turkey.

Dogs and Distractions

On Friday night, I must bravely face the other members of my book discussion group, and tell than that I did not finish A Dog's Purpose. I have read enough reviews of this book to know that my theory holds true: dog on cover = great sadness. I have found an endless string of diversions conveniently drawing me away from turning those pages. I have cleaned cupboards, and rugs, rearranged furniture, planned Thanksgiving dinner, bought and returned some display units from a closing retail store, worked our Heart-A-Rama script to death. This week I will bravely head into the basement, both at home and at the store. to tackle the growing mounds of general junque. Nope. No way will I finish the book by Friday night.

The most compelling distraction has been The Lost City of Z, a book I've been meaning to read for a long time. There's no time like the present, right? Z was (is?) a fabled civilization in the Amazon jungle. In 1925, British explorer Percy Fawcett and his 21 year old son went in search of the legendary city, and never returned. During the first months of their exploration, they sent numerous telegrams home, logging their whereabouts. The final telegram said they would be venturing into the deepest part of the journey,. and would most likely be unable to communicate for about year. They were never heard from again.

The two became fodder for all sorts of speculation, and all types of stories of their expedition surfaced, including several comic books. What happened to them? Were they captured? Did they contract a fever and die? Or, did they discover Z, fall in love with it and decide to stay?

Over the years, numerous expeditions set out to find some trace of the Fawcett party with no success. As a matter of fact, some of the subsequent explorers also vanished. This book details yet another group attempting to research and recreated Fawcett's travels.

That's as far as I am. The contrasts of Africa have always facinated me. The jungle, so lush and beautiful, holds so many secrets. Although we learn more about the continent each year, the densest parts continue to be populated by family groups and tribes far removed from civilisation. Areas swept by warm subtle breezes, exotic fragrances and the melodic animal conversation can also be deadly. I guess all the Tarzan movies I watched as a kid piqued my interest and, since I will never travel to Africa...way too hot and scary...books on the subject are a nice alternative.

*****Hey! A great big wave to our girl, Jordan Ridnour. She spent far too many of her young years battling and beating cancer. She was recently chosen to be a Kid Captain at an Iowa football game and take part in the opening coin toss. Jordan even got to wear a headset which is way cool!

*****Congratulations go out to Dr. Matt Campbell, HFMMC surgeon and friend, for being named one of Sail's 15 outstanding citizens. Matt recently returned from Ethiopia where he performed numerous mastectomies, gall bladder surgeries, and did some teaching in a village hospital. He is currently putting together a group of local doctors, dentists, and nurses to take to Bolivia in spring. These are the people who deserve our admiration and our thanks. These are the people who never stand up and say "Look at me." They simply see what needs to be done and they do it. I often think that the people who blow their horns the loudest have the least to blow them about. I am happy that we have pockets of people like Matt and his colleagues in Manitowoc, so why don't you all just send him a little note of appreciation?

More congratulations....Our Jacque Miller has passed the bar! Our Jacque Miller is a full fledged attorney! Way to go, Jacque. What's next? (Come on, I know you always have another plan in the works. Spill it!)

Emily Trask just finished starring as Miranda in Shakespear's stormy play, The Tempest. She recently returned to Wisconsin to ply Fred's wife, and a bag lady in the Milwaukee Rep's always stunning version of A Christmas Carol. The plays at the historic Pabst Theatre and tickets are on sale now. Go if you can.

What am I reading? Silly question...A Dog's Purpose, of course!

OOPS!

THE DORK REPORT

Edition 1 volume 1

Many more to come, I am sure!

Your read correctly, it's time for the first Dork Report. I will be the first to admit there were plenty of opportunities to relay such reports in the past, but this incident called for special attention since the egregious occurrence seems to be perpetrated at another's hand. However, I can't lie to you, it was all my fault.

If you are one of the five or six people who read my first Sunday of the month column in the Herald Times Reporter, something in yesterday's offering might have rung a tiny bell. That's because it was my November 2010 column! When I sent it over to Ben, I selected the wrong file. I guess they have come to trust me enough to just print what I send with no editing. Something tells me that might change now.

So, don't go blaming Ben. He's a good guy, and the HTR is painfully understaffed. They do their best, and sometimes fill in the blank spaces with sub-standard work like mine.

I'm not sure when they will run the correct column. I have begun alternating months with Cherilyn Stewart, the Director of the Manitowoc Public Library. It saves time for both of us, but continues to get the word out concerning the local reading scene.

If you're interested, I have included the article that should have run. Ben may save it for January, at which point I hope to convince him that, if he must use my picture with the article, that we find a more current one. I have had two different sets of glasses since that picture was taken, and my current frames are now three years old...so that tells you way too much, correct?

By this time you're all thinking "What a dork," but I beat you to it, didn't I?

Here's the article:

Every morning, upon opening my email, I find a newsletter from the fine folks at Shelf Awareness. For anyone into books, this one-stop source gathers info on up and coming authors and titles, as well as teaser chapters from yet to be published books.

My favorite newsletter feature is a column called “The Book Brahmin”, posing a set of questions to a writer, illustrator, book editor or other individual involved in publishing. The column title references a group of 19th century writers who, taking their name from the highest level in India’s caste system, called themselves the New England Brahmans. These writers, associated with Harvard and Cambridge, included Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Oliver Wendell Holmes, and Bronson Alcott. Along with their nature loving, politically activists peers, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Henry David Thoreau, the Brahmins ushered in the Transcendental movement Their works continue planting seeds of non-conformity in the minds of high school American literature students

That might all sound dry, and boring, but, really, the column is lively and revealing. Since my drop-in visits to the HTR began about two years ago, people often approach me randomly to talk about what they’re reading. People love to share their thought on books. These discussions invariably end with a flurry of questions about my favorites. That got me thinking about the “Book Brahmin” questions, and so, with the permission of my friend, Marilyn Dahl, Book Review Editor at Shelf Awareness, I decided to put myself in the Brahmin hot seat.

Here goes:

What’s on your nightstand right now? Scattered about my home, you’ll find The Tower, the Zoo, and the Tortoise, a whimsical British book about an inept Beefeater and 128 year old tortoise named Mrs. Cook. I’m also working on Sacre Bleu an advance reader copy of Christopher Moore’s offbeat interpretation of what caused Van Gogh’s death. You’ll always find a David Sedaris and a Garrison Keillor lying about, as well as a new addition to the ever -on- hand catalogue, a sturdy 1925 edition of Little Pictorial Lives of the Saints.

Have you ever faked reading a book? Oh goodness, true confession time. Yes, I faked reading The Scarlet Letter...twice! I even wrote an essay or two about this unread novel. Ironic, isn’t it? Such a grand deception about a book warning of the effects of sin and guilt. However, I redeemed myself by reading (and enjoying) just about every Hawthorne short story Hawthorne ever wrote.

Ever bought a book for the cover? In fact, I just bought and read The Family Fang for that reason. I couldn’t resist the family portrait – nerdy dad, Lisa Loeb look-alike mom, and two kids wearing Commedia dell'arte masks. The engaging, and somewhat twisted, story of a family who staged “happenings” in pre-flash mob days balances the good with the bad about growing up surrounded by unchecked creativity.

Is there a book that changed your life? In 9th grade, I read Manchild in the Promised Land by Charles Brown’, chronicling his coming of age amidst poverty and violence in Harlem. It’s the first time I fully understood that not everyone was as fortunate and as happy as I was. That’s a huge discovery.

Favorite line from a book? That’s easy. “Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them.” That’s from The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. Everyone ought to read that book.

Want to step into the witness stand and be my next Book Brahmin? Email me at bdenor @ lsol.net, and we’ll get started.

American Boy...Guest blogger Steve Head

As revealed in an earlier entry, I stopped by LaDeDa recently. To call my time in Manitowoc a visit would be an overstatement. It was more like a hit-and-run. Before I could dash to my next location our hostess of books asked me three times if I wanted to read Larry Watson’s newest book, American Boy. Her final query included the fact Watson had written Montana 1948. This tidbit was the tipping point and I left with Watson among my take-aways.

American Boy is told in first-person by Matthew Garth, a high school senior only child of a single mother, set in Willow Falls, Minnesota. Matt’s best friend is Johnny Dunbar, oldest child of Dr. & Mrs. Dunbar, where he is enjoying Thanksgiving Dinner in 1962. Before the night is over a young woman is brought into the Dunbar home, the victim of a gunshot wound inflicted by her loser boyfriend.

Dr. Dunbar allows the boys to watch as he treats the girl, exposing her midriff where the bullet traversed just below the surface. Matt is smitten with this slightly older girl who was “pretty in a way unfamiliar to most of us.” Since she has no family to go to the Dunbar’s take her in and she eventually becomes the doctor’s office assistant.

You have probably guessed where this is going. Two boys. An older girl. Trying to impress the girl. Pushing and pulling to define relationships. By Christmas we witness Matthew operating as an adult, paying the personal price for this growth.

If you are a fan of coming-of-age books I recommend American Boy highly. Even if you are not, Watson is a fine writer and storyteller. Support local writers. Larry Watson lives in Milwaukee. And support your independent book seller.

*******Thanks Steve. "Hostess of books"....funny!

For those of you wondering which book won the great Torn Between Two Covers battle, here's your answer: The Tower, The Zoo, and the Tortoise. The Washington Post called this book "satisfying and heartwarming," and People magazine said "...this book will steal your heart." I agree! More next week.

Two Books and One Big Problem

Last week, I ignored my number one never-to-be-broken reading rule and started two books on the same day. Being on the negative end of the multi-tasking capability scale, I have no excuse for what I did, and now I find myself in a bit of a quagmire. How big is that quagmire? Well, now I am stuck...torn between two covers (bad pun, but this seems like it is shaping up to be one of those awkward stream-of-consciousness pieces). Want to know what happens when I start a new project before I totally complete another? Come to my house and check out my Heart-A-Rama piles from last May. I brought the bags of costumes and other assorted accouterments home, set them down...binders in the dining room, stuffed garbage bags in the bedroom, and there they remain, because I got sidetracked by another great opportunity.

Now I find myself with a huge decision, my peace of mind, and the future of my reading comfort hinging on the outcome. Which book do I continue reading? Will I have to start all over to get reacquainted with the characters and the plot? And what about the book I dismiss? Will I return to it at some point, or will it forever be forgotten, pushed aside and left to rot like a partially eaten banana that looked good when first peeled? Speaking of rot, that last metaphor stunk, didn't it?

What the heck, maybe telling you a little about the two books causing me such angst will help guide my decision. First, there's The Tower, the Zoo and the Tortoise. Being a sucker for quirky British stories...Sue Townsend being my favorite quirky Brit - I knew this would give me a few chuckles. Balthazar Jones lives in the Tower of London. He is a Beefeater, and has an unusual hobby that drives his wife batty; he collects rain. Balthazar is also charged with creating a zoo to house the exotic animals the Queen has been gifted, but he isn't quite up to the task. You gotta love a book book that includes seven ravens and a one-hundred and eighty-one year old tortoise named Mrs. Cook as major characters.

That's book #1. About thirty pages into it, I received a signed ARC (advance reading copy) of Christopher Moore's book, set for April 2012 publication, Sacre Bleu. Moore makes me laugh even though I don't always understand his esoteric references. He get irreverent at times, as he does in Lamb, the story Jesus' teen years wandering and doing boy stuff with his best friend, Biff. Moore gets outrageously bawdy in Fool, a re-telling of Shakespeare's King Lear. But that's OK with me. The guy is smart, and I enjoy his smartness all tangled in ways that are unexpectd and obtuse.

There's a surprise on each page, along with something to be learned, and, I assume, a lot of fictional history. Sacre Bleu opens on the day of Vincent Van Gogh's suicide, or was it a murder? The premise is intriguing, and the disjointed group of characters have me wondering just how they will all fit together. I know that Henri Toulouse-Lautrec wanders into the picture at some point.

Well, that's where I'm at. It would cost me nothing to abandon either book since I have barely broken the binding on either. But, both plots are calling. Oh, what to do? Today, I will dwell. I will evaluate. I will pace, ponder and obsess. I have set a goal. By 4 pm today, I will screw my courage to the sticking point (what did Lady Macbeth mean by that anyway?) and bravely set one book aside, out of sight, and commit to either Balthazar and the bully ravens, or return to the cornfield to uncover the truth behind Van Gogh's untimely death.

Or, maybe I could store my Heart-A-Rama gear. But then again, why bother, HAR 2012 is right around the corner.

*******If you have some time, check out the table setting exhibit at the Rahr West. Neat-O!

The Tortoise and the Artist...Where did my post go?

honestly...I really did write a post this week, and I was happy with it, unike several of the past entries. ut, where has it gone?

No time to re-do right now! GRRRRRRR.

Movies, Books, and More

August was Night of the Stars month on Turner Classic Movies (TCM) and mid-month they featured Joanne Woodward, wife of Paul Newmann. Although both are deceased I’ve always been a fan of both and took the time to watch The Drowning Pool. This was a follow-up to Harper, with Newmann in the lead role. And both are based on the Lew Archer novels by Ross Macdonald. TCM explained Newmann wanted to keep the "H" theme going given his success in The Hustler and Hud.

Drowning Pool, released in 1976, was possibly the first film to include the annoying buzzing sound when your seat belt is not engaged. Harper was able to do what everyone at the time wished they could do, make it go away without buckling up. Since I had never read the novel it seemed appropriate to see how Hollywood changed the original 1950 book.

Besides altering Archer’s name they moved the location to New Orleans, away from Quinto in the Nopal Valley. Like Archer’s home base of Santa Teresa, theses locations cannot be found on any map of California. The film also included a previous romanatic relationship between the detective and the client, missing from the novel. But there is something in the book the movie will never capture, and that is Macdonald’s style, like his introduction of the client.

If you didn’t look at her face she was less than thirty, quick-bodied and slim as a girl. Her clothing drew attention to the fact: a tailored sharkskin suit and high heels that tensed her nylon-shadowed calves. But there was a pull of worry around her eyes and drawing at her mouth. The eyes were deep blue, with a sort of double vision. They saw you clearly, took you in completely, and at the same time looked beyond you. They had years to look back on, and more things to see in the years than a girl’s eyes had. About thirty-five, I thought, and still in the running.

Or a personal recollection.

…For the nephew of a lord he was very obliging. I myself was the nephew of my late Uncle Jake, who once went fifteen rounds with Gunboat Smith, to no decision.

I tried to remember what my Uncle Jake looked like. I could remember the smell of him, compounded of bay rum, hair oil, strong clean masculine sweat and good tobacco, and the taste of the dark chocolate cigarettes he brought me the day my father took me to San Francisco for the first time; but I couldn’t remember his face. My mother never kept his pictures, because she was ashamed to have a professional fighter in the family.

And lastly, the proprietor of a restaurant and lounge.

Dennis’s Hunt Club was dim and chilly and crowded. Indirect lights shone with discretion on polished brass and wood, on polished plates and highly polished faces. The photographs that lined the paneled walls were signed by all the big names and the names that had once been big. Dennis himself was near the door, a gray-haired man wearing undertaker’s clothes, clown’s nose, financier’s mouth. He was talking with an air of elegant condescension to one of the names that had once been big. The fading name glanced at me from under his fine plucked eyebrows. No competition. He registered relief and condescension.

MacDonald is known for having introduced psychology to the hard-boiled detective novel. But his descriptions, observations, and recollections grab you by the collar and make you see and feel what he’s looking at. That is what keeps me turning the pages.

There are more than 20 Archer novels. The early works are not as polished as Drowning Pool, and the later books have a repetitive feel to them. But on a lightning-filled night when the power goes out I’m only too happy to light the oil lamp, or the battery powered reading light, and entered the world of Ross MacDonald’s Lew Archer.

*********A few words from me.

Hey, guest blogger, Steve, was in town last week and stopped for a visit. He is a neat guy and I wish you all could meet him. OOPS. I guess I forgot to take a current picture. Looks like the mystery of his true identity will linger longer.

The Minneapolis Trade show was uneventful...unless you count my falling into a ditch outside the Guthrie Theatre. I'm not sure how much of that humiliating experience I want to commit to cyberspace, but let me add that the words "alien abduction" come into play.

I have meant to take back my ugliness concerning Cormac McCarthy's The Road. No, I didn't like the story one little bit. But, the writing, the intensity, and the provocative issues will stick with me, and I will be an advocate for this book in the future.

Not much else happening today. Matt and I are attempting the big fall store jumble...moving shelves and generally assessing what we have and what we need. Of cours, Matt has volunteered to move things while I direct traffic. I have already warned him that by the end of the day, he could be shoving all shelves to their original spots, and may be plotting retaliation schemes. We will see.

See you next week.

The Family Fang

Have you ever bought a book based solely on the cover, or the title? Well, that's exactly what I did with this book...both the title and cover called, and won! Come on, just look at those proper, but oddly anachronistic parents. And what's up with the masked kids?

The Fangs are performance artists, and their guerrilla stunts get more and more involved as the book progresses. Chapters alternate between descriptions of the flash events which happened in the past, and current events in the now adult children's lives. The parents, Camille and Caleb, spend their free time developing scenarios that utilize the innocence, and show stopping talents of their kids. At one point, they print hundreds of fake "Free Chicken Sandwich" coupons, embedding the logo of a fast food outlet in a mall food court. Buster and Annie pass out hundreds, while mom and dad linger near the the restaurant, video camera loaded and ready to film the chaos when the food stand is rushed by hungry shoppers.

At another point, they dress Buster up as a kiddie pageant contestant. He is resistant to the gown and make-up, but after a heavy duty guilt trip, he agrees. Buster perfects the wave, the walk, and the smile. In the event that he wins, Buster has a prepared speech about the stupidity and sexism of child beauty contests. He will toss his crown into the audience, resume his boyish swagger and exit. But, much to his parents' surprise, the plan backfires; I won't spoil that for you.

Both kids have adult troubles, possibly connected to their theatrical childhoods, but that isn't clear to me yet. Because I'm only at the halfway point, I haven't decided if I like Camille and Caleb or not. That will probably be based on how everything turns out for the kids. Buster has lost a tooth, and part of his face from a potato gun stunt gone bad, and Annie has posted revealing photos on the internet in an attempt to advance her B movie career. For a while, they have been living independent, adult lives away from home, but, I just reached the part where both "kids" have moved back home. I'm guessing the performance hi-jinks will resume shortly, and I can't wait.

This books if fun, quirky, fast paced, and Ann Patchett called it "genius." You can't find a better endorsement than that, can you?

***Well, I head to Minneapolis on Thursday for my big trade show. I been hoarding a Steve blog for next Monday. You will appreciate that far more than any attempt I would make at being coherent after a long weekend away from home.

Thanks for stopping by.

9/11

Our principal came on the P.A., interrupting classes. His voice was shaky, hesitant. Then we heard what sounded like crying. For what seemed the longest time, we didn't know if he was even going to speak. Finally, he chocked out these words, "America is under attack."

The words didn't register. Under attack? Why? Where? Do we need to do something? I turned on my classroom TV just as the second plane hit. For most of the morning, classes came and went...all silently engaged, and trying to process the movie-like images.

While we watched from the safety of our classroom, the students and staff at Stuyvesant High School, four block from Ground Zero watched too. But their watch was different. Everything about their lives changed that day...the certainty of a future erased.

In 2002, the group that witnessed first hand, minute by minute, the evil that unfolded, stood on a stage and recounted history. They saw what we did not see. They felt what we all felt, but to a magnified degree.

with their eyes is the collection of monologues shared by students, teachers, officer workers, janitors...united forever by the events of September 11. These are voices of fear, shock,pain, confusion, and eventually - hope, belief, faith and patriotism. Every one is moving and memorable. One of the opening memories is shared by a student standing at a window with a friend. She is acutely aware that her friend's mother works in the World Trade Center and that, together, they are most likely witnessing her death. It doesn't get much more powerful that than, does it?

For weeks following 9/11, we were all a bit more careful with one another, more aware, more gentle. But, as normalcy slowly returned, many of us picked up the pace of our lives again, filling our calendars with obligations and events, falling away from those short lived patterns of greeting strangers, connecting and re-connecting with who and what is truly meaningful. I did not watch much of the coverage this past weekend. Too sad for me. The reminder of a day and lives not to be forgotten were enough to send me back in time 10 years, when I finally understood what is really important in my life.

*****On a lighter note...how about that Garth Neustadter! An Emmy! Much deserved!