Easy As 1-2-3

 

This sweet little book tugged at my heart. 

The story is simple. 

And now I want to see the best in everyone.

Without the Bow and Arrow

This was fun.  Plus the hero is a hard-working young girl.  Who loves her sister.  And thinks critically about ethics.  And politics.  And illusion.  I may be raising people like this.

Sometimes a Book Packs a Punch

Once in awhile, I read some non-fiction.  This year I've read these four.  They have all been excellent, and have improved the quality of our conversations, our homeschool, our finances, our parenting, our understanding, our connection, and our lives.  Hefty.

Remembering

When Hwin, the horse, meets Aslan, the lion, for the first time, she is afraid.  Yet she approaches him and says, "Please, you're so beautiful.  You may eat me if you like.  I'd sooner be eaten by you, then fed by anyone else."  It's my favourite scene from all The Chronicles of Narnia because it reminds me that I believe in sacrifice, and courage, and greatness.

Fine, I Guess

I enjoyed this series.  It was easy and entertaining.  It's got me hungering for some Homer.  On the other hand, I can't say that I care that much about the characters, or even that I know them that well, I don't miss them, or wonder what they're doing now, I can't say that I learned that much from them, I'm not convinced we'd be best friends if only they got to know me.  In other words, they're no Jo March, Harry Potter, or Lucy Pevensie.

Reading Personally

Munro and Atwood explore people so thoroughly that I feel exposed in their words.  I would read anything they write.

Do You Like Picnics?

Over the summer, I read this series, by Jan Karon.  I can comfortably recommend it to anyone who doesn't mind picnics, wisteria, orange marmalade cake, dogs, and kindness; and enjoys characters rich with memory, joy, sorrow, fear, hope, and beauty. 

Also Episcopalians.

I'm Glad We Had This Little Chat

"Why Maggie!  Isn't this Saturday?"

"Yes.  I believe it is."

"Don't you normally blog about books on Saturdays?"

"Yes.  I do"

"Why haven't you lately?"

"Well, now.  That's a good question."

"You're getting really behind.  You'll never make it to one hundred books this year if you keep this up."

"Thanks for that.  You always know just what to say to lift my spirits."

"You're welcome.  Sometimes a kick in the pants is all you need (reading three books a week for the rest of the year also wouldn't hurt)."

I Swear...For Now

I read three more plays this week and Shakespeare has me thinking about constancy.  These stories are full of likable resolve breakers.  The King of Navarre, Longaville, Biron, and Dumain, Titania, Demetrius, and Lysander, Antonio, Bassiano and Gratiano all go back on their word.  And yet, I root for them.  Why is that?  Is there a time when it's okay to break a promise?  If so, what's a promise worth?  And when did the word constancy take on that old-fashioned flavour?

An Intense Thirty Pages Apiece

I might be on a Shakespeare kick right now.  These are both plays I read about fifteen years ago.  I certainly enjoyed them then.  I had great high school English teachers.  But with this reading, I'm finding a rich delight that I don't remember from before.  The language is exciting.  It makes my core zing.  And then there are the people.  With just letters, Shakespeare shades in character, conflicting motivations, and deep emotion.  He puts his finger on personhood and I forget that what I'm actually doing is looking at paper and ink.

The 'Respecting' of the 'Equal Partner'

The Taming of the Shrew may not have been the best choice for this week.  In the past, I've been able to enjoy the more shocking bits and pretend the play encouraged kindness and understanding between marriage partners.  Now, I'm thinking about the dangers of misogyny.

I still enjoyed the shocking bits.

From Away

This was a 'read whatever's kicking around the house' week.  It turned out that what was kicking around my house was two books with roots in Newfoundland.  Now, I've never been to Newfoundland.  But I grew up in Nova Scotia and an Atlantic province is an Atlantic province.  So Newfoundland makes me think of home.  Years ago, Jared's work took us to Edmonton.  I loved it there.  But my distance from the ocean was an ache.  One day, I was driving up Gateway Boulevard when Murray McLauchlan's "No Change in Me" came on the radio.  He's a Newfoundlander and his song is about having to leave home for work.  I heard the words, "You can't eat the air, And you can't drink the sea," and pulled over.  I sat in our little Civic that had carried us and all we owned across the country, and sobbed.  Now I live in Northern Ontario.  I love it here too.  But this week, I read these two books and felt homesick.

  If that wasn't enough Newfoundland, or just not enough homesickness, here's more.

Bravery

My recent reading has been delicious.  I've savoured every word, stunned by these bold women.  How do they do it?  They take what is inside, out, and pronounce it good.  Worth sharing.  They are brilliant.  But it is their daring that leaves me reeling.  Maybe I won't apologise for breathing.
*Clicking on a book cover will take you to my goodreads review*

Looking Back

I cannot remember having heard of Jane Austen before the summer of my grade nine year.  An English teacher mentioned to me that one of her students had read all of Austen's novels before entering high school, which begins in grade ten in Canada.  I felt a twinge that that would never be said of me.  I think my discomfort was less about Austen and more about growing up.  I saw in that moment that with each milestone, I crossed a threshold over which I would not return.  I'm a two-way threshold kind of person.  I never check out of a hotel with out a vague uneasiness about relinquishing my claim to that room and anything I may have left behind.  I want to be able to go back.  Always.  And yet, I feel a little thrill that I can't.  I'll turn thirty-four this year.  These are the only months of my life that I'll spend as a thirty-three year old.  After today, I'll never be thirty-three in May again.  The fact that I'll have to say goodbye to this time lends it a special excitement. 

I've read and loved Austen's six completed novels many times in the nearly twenty years since that summer.  This week, I read Pride and Prejudice again, along with two novels that remind me of it.  I still love her work.  And I still find it deeply linked to a sense of leaving something behind and starting something new. 

 

They Sing

The books I read over the last couple of weeks are not examples of great literature.  There's not a Jane Eyre among them.  So, I was surprised to find myself so moved.  These autobiographies of four Canadian singers are full of humour, wisdom, and vulnerability.  Each impressed me.  Shania Twain's book was the most unnerving, maybe because she grew up in the town where I find myself.  She writes frankly about the terrible abuse of her childhood with an amazing willingness to forgive and understand.  Jann Arden's book is just what you'd expect, dark and hilariously funny.  I laughed really hard.  Anne Murray's book focuses on her career, and what a career!  She's spent time with everyone from John Lennon to Doris Day to Queen Elizabeth to Shania Twain, Jann Arden, and Rita MacNeil.  Which brings me to the last book.  Of these four singers, Rita MacNeil is by far my favourite.  What is it that draws me to this shy Cape Bretoner?  Of course, she has pipes, is strong, humble, and funny.  Plus, I grew up listening to her, so there's also some nostalgia at work here.  But there's something more.  Her songs feel highly personal.  They graze the longing and the steel hidden in me.