Tomboy, independent, bookish, sarcastic, tenderhearted, Native American - how could I not love it! Barbara Kingsolver's The Bean Trees

This books was a delightful read. There's something about BK's Kentucky roots and eventual pilgrimage to Arizona that I resonate with. I love her conversational writing (mostly first person in this one). There is humor, humility, and heart wrenching characters. She manages to weave these social justice touchpoints into a wonderful narrative. 

The friendships that evolve between a young Kentuckian and two Guatamalan refugees is totally charming. She encounters Lou Ann - a single mom who is given a chapter of her own to set the stage - a fellow Kentuckian and single mom. Their friendship is beset by mutual counseling, laughter, and sister-parenting. The protagonist, leaves her tiny Kentuckian town in a beat up old car, and changes her name,  determined to avoid pregnancy and poverty, along the way she acquires a Cherokee baby that is handed off to her as she passes through Oklahoma. She nicknames the baby "Turtle." The baby who has undergone deep trauma is transformed from a muted numb creature into an animated child through the love and care of Taylor and her community. 

Taylor meets Mattie at "Jesus is Lord Used Tires." Mattie is a mother figure and eventual employer to her and activist for the refugee community. Taylor falls for her Guatemalan friend Estevan whose wife is just beginning to emerge from an emotional abyss. She reigns in her feelings to do what is right, as does he. The connection is subtle and developed without sappy drama. 

"Jesus is Lord Used Tires" and the "1-800-the-Lord" call number offer a gentle satire of the market driven evangelical movement of the latter half of the 20th century, particularly in the Bible Belt. She eventually calls the number out of curiosity, only to have a sarcastic exchange with the operator who is conscripted to collect financial pledges for a televangelist. 

I'm drawn to BK's protagonists who seem to share a common thread: perhaps autobiographical? tomboyish, independent, bookish, sarcastic, yet tenderhearted - no wonder I love her stuff! Kindred spirits. 

Sad Missing Books

Over the past ten months I have read many books, some of them very good. Life happened and I didn't get to write about them. I want to document my standouts briefly here:

The Glass Castle - Jeannette Walls



I happened on this movie first on Amazon Prime and it blew me away so I had to read the book. I still don't know why this story moves me so much, but I love the characters and Jeannette's ability to integrate the challenges and joys of her unique upbringing.


Willa Cather - Death Comes for the Archbishop

I have been a fan of Cather since I read My Antonia as a child. I adored reading this book. Probably because New Mexico is calling to me. Again the intersection of Native American, Catholic Europe, and manifest destiny here - fascinating and something I've been pondering since my Ramona project.

Recent Nonfiction wrap up

Last Child in the Woods - Richard Louv
Free to Learn - Peter Gray

I just wrapped up Free to Learn. I had read Last Child in the Woods in the fall.  Before I crack open another nonfiction, I thought I would jot down some thoughts for the sake of my own synthesis.

The first thing that comes to mind is that it's difficult to simulate a hunter/gatherer model in modern society. At best we play pretend to replicate that kind of tribal life, play, and learning. Replicating this type of learning however, even if it misses my idealistic mark, is still preferable perhaps to the coerced factory model that the majority of our students and most of us have participated in for years. I pondered to my husband that in retrospect, adult life was a really difficult transition for me from the top down factory model school life that I had succeeded in for 16 years. It's almost as if I was always waiting for someone to pop out and tell me what to do, so I could do it and get the A. In the adult world, you may enter a company that is a top down model similar to factory school, but the rules may not be exactly the same.

If anything, a model that teaches kids to discover who they are, what they're interested in, how they lead, how they follow, and allows them to take risks and begin to live life as a real participant rather than incessantly train only to falter when they do enter the hallways of life, is a welcome concept.

Having awareness of the historical models of parenting that Peter Gray outlines was probably my favorite part of his book: trustful parenting (hunter/gatherer model), directive domineering (model instituted by the rise of agriculture and feudalism), directive/protective - current model views children as incapable and vulnerable.

As someone who has experimented with child led concepts since I read Continuum Concept when my kids were little, I think we have a lot to learn about different cultural concepts of child raising. I also realized that my small children would run out in front of cars if I did not sometimes hold their hands. I don't know if it was because I lacked "trustful parentingness" or if the dangers presented in our world are higher stakes experiments that don't allow children a proper progression of trustfulness.I also missed the presence of tribal support that I did not often find in my nuclear family oriented world. There were not a plethora of eight year olds or old grandmas around to hold my babies while I did....  I did allow them to free play without adult direction as much as possible.

The days of neighborhood roaming must have been great indeed. I didn't have a neighborhood, but I did do range roaming with siblings, friends, and cousins. Simulate away, until we figure out a better experiment, like a society where children are allowed to integrate, work, play, learn, and fully participate.

all over the map

I have had this blog for awhile now. At first I wrote about my cross cultural experiences living in Italy, my kids, some of my thoughts etc. Then I decided that was too personal and vulnerable and I removed them all from here and reverted them to drafts.

I revamped the blog in 2017 and made it about the books I'd read which reads like a school assignment - only with worse grammar and much funnier.

I don't want to spill all like some bloggers, although reading about other people's stuff can be interesting and make you feel better (or worse) about your own.

I also feel guilty blogging because I hate reading other people's blogs. (not hate, just don't take the time. If have time to read I prefer a book.) I felt it would be inauthentic and unfair for me to blog when I don't take time to read other blogs. It's like having a conversation where you do all the talking. 

I have been listening to Elizabeth Gilbert's podcasts about the creative process, based on her book Magic Lessons. They've been fun in a lot of ways. They also helped me to realize how much I long to share my writing, and how afraid I am of sharing my writing. It's so much safer to not convey. I can have a pristine face for the world to see. What if someone catches a glimpse of me through my art? What if they laugh? Liz would say "What if they do? They're probably laughing at you anyway, giving you flack, or most likely not thinking about you at all. And if you put yourself out there they might despise you, like you, or love you for like one minute and then they won't be thinking about you again."

I guess this is me giving myself a pep talk on a public forum (That no one reads because I don't promote haha.)

So I might be doing more writing, about writing, the creative process and maybe my forays into sharing more. I might retreat again after experimenting, but life's too short not to grow and not to experiment, and not to risk disapproval for something.

The Silent Library Books

I have a confession to make. I check out lots of library books and do not read them. I actually check them out, studiously enter their due dates in my calendar (even setting a reminder to sound off in time for me to return them), and THEN I renew them. Repeatedly. Until one of two things happens: I incur library fees, those loathly accountability shame-mongers that I despise (because I despise a free public lending library becoming a paid attraction because of MY ineptitude); OR, I despair of reading them and return them. Never mind that the librarian doesn't know I haven't read them. I know I haven't read them.

So, instead of reading one of these charmers right now, I'm writing about not reading them, because apparently that might be more fun

Just take a look at these titles. Reduced Shakespeare: The Complete Guide for the Attention-Impaired [Abridged]...skip to the bottom--What Jane Austen Ate and What Charles Dickens Knew: From Fox Hunting to Whist -- the Facts of Daily Life in 19th Century England,  and my favorite title of all (move up a row), Break, Blow, Burn: Camille Paglia Reads Forty-three of the World's Best Poems. Who wouldn't want to read a book that says "Break, Blow, Burn" in caps-lock on a hot pink cover???

*Sidenote--All, I repeat, ALL of the picture childrens' books which I dutifully check out for my daughter GET READ. By her, by me, by us, together or apart. Why is it that I do not permit myself the pleasure (or the discipline--ah! that might be more to the point) of reading the oh-so alluring biblia which have attracted me enough to go to the trouble of checking them out, lugging them home, trying to not be overdue in returning them, and risking failure at the aforementioned life skill? (I also cyclically check out hoped-for reads of chapter books for my daughter, ostensibly for me to pre-read, but alas, here I also fail to read most of them).

Back to the original question--Why do get so many "free" books, renew them 3-5 times out of their 9 renewal lifespan, and return them either overdue and unread or on time and unread? Not sure (lack discipline is not fun to admit, but probably the truth), but a gratifying little discovery emerged about this topic after riffing on this theme with Zona... The power of community. That is my rescue rope. After discussing my issue with my friend and getting a good laugh out of it, I actually picked up the Reduced Shakespeare and plunged in. The friendly sarcasm has me stifling a smile about every paragraph or so. Not my usual fare, but it makes the material fresh, plus I'd like to brush up on Shakespeare a bit, and this looked a fun way to do so.

I also broke open the first book in the Infinity Ring series, which I checked out to pre-read it to see if it might be worth recommending to my son to read. I had learned that Michael de la Pena authored a later book in the series, and since I enjoyed his illustrated children's book, LOVE, I thought I'd give the series a go. (Apparently they are authored by a variety of writers. Interesting.) It's a time-travel book which goes back into history to save the world. The parents are involved, and in the first ten chapters or so, the disrespect so casually paid to adults in general was minimal. Yay. I don't know if I'll finish it, because I would actually prefer to read more grown-up syntax and diction and to be carried along more sophisticated themes than this one has; however, I've appreciated the exposure to the book as a window into some reading at my kids' level.

Despite the genuine kick I've gotten out of writing about the books I've checked out from the library,  I sincerely hope that I'll spend a few more half-hours reading them instead. 

This moment of truth was brought to you, with a chuckle, by Emilee Weeks Ames. Thanks for reading.

Mary Austin

I really want to be kind here because this woman had quite a hard life. Father died, several siblings, died, and she was treated indifferently by her mother who hero worshipped her oldest son. 

I really wanted to like this autobiography. Land of Little Rain was pretty interesting if disjointed and mystical in expression.

The hardest thing about this was the way she referred to herself in the third person and then would occasionally revert to the first when things got emotionally intense.

Her perspective about her childhood in the post civil war Midwest was the most interesting part - also her pioneering days in this area (Kern County).

The whole theme of the book was a manifesto about her being a someone. To me, when a person goes out of their way to outline their accomplishments and lists all the influential people that they met even briefly, it is indicative of a deep cavity within that feels unrecognized. This makes sense in light of her father's early death and her mother's total lack of affirmation or recognition for the gifts of this bright unique woman. Her husband also was stuck in a time capsule and had no vision for her contribution. They eventually went separate ways.

I think Mary's encounter with Indian culture is what most fascinates me. It spoke to her at a deep level and helped bridge the gap between her convention loving Midwest upbringing and her creative spirit - also how to connect with God outside of organized religion. Perhaps this is where she and I meet. I've never had a direct connection with an indigenous culture (sadly) - perhaps my visit to a Oaxacan village in southern Mexico would be the closest thing - but it was superficial at best. However, I do encounter God best outside of organized religion though I'm not against religion, persay. This is one of my favorite passages from Earth Horizon: "There was a small campody up George's Creek, brown wickiups in the chaparral like wasps' nests. Mary (why not just say I?? - oh maybe she hoped someone would have written her biography and no one did so she wrote it herself.... ooohhhhh). Mary would see the women moving across the mesa on pleasant days, digging wild hyacinth roots, seed gathering, and as her strength permitted, would often join them, absorbing women's lore, plants good to be eaten or for medicine, learning to make snares of long, strong hair for the quail, how with one hand to flip trout, heavy with spawn, out from under the soddy banks of summer runnels, how and when to gather willows and cedar roots for basket making. It was in this fashion that she began to learn to get at the meaning of work you must make all its motions both of body and mind. it was one of the activities which has had continued force throughout her life. 

I also liked her description of her artists' colony in Carmel. They were a band of nature worshippers - sense seeking through outdoors stimuli. I can relate to that pursuit. I try not to worship it though, the creator doesn't like it. He likes to be celebrated through his creation. He does like it to be appreciated. Am I too brazen, speaking for him? I'm just too lazy to profess it as my opinion. It is my opinion. 

At one point, she confesses that she really missed out on being cared for by a man. I thought that was interesting. She associated with and admired women who were  at the forefront of feminism - she herself lived an unconventionally independent life for a woman of her day, yet felt that there was an intrinsic role that she was not privy to. 

So Far Away by Meg Mitchell Moore ~by Emilee Weeks Ames

Hi folks,

This is my first guest post on Light and Set, and the second novel by Meg Mitchell Moore which I've read. (Check back soon for my post on the first novel, The Arrivals--which incidentally was her first novel too).

I'm noticing a phenomenon with Moore's novels... the first fifty pages in, my heart gets invested quickly but then recoils...I feel too closely what the characters are feeling -- so I set the book aside. Only to pick it back up a day or two later, too curious about the characters and budding plot to abandon the story. And then I move on to fall in great like with the novel.

Word of warning--there are no chapter divisions. For me, that required more resolve to find my own stopping place, set down the book, and recommence the next day. (Binge-reading numbs me similarly to binge-watching.)

Quick summary--two protagonists intersect in So Far Away, a 60-something year-old archivist (Kathleen) and a 13 year-old girl (Natalie) in search some moorings for their lives. Both women find themselves drawn into the memoir of a long-since-departed great-great-grandmother (Bridget) of Natalie, which reveals secrets which otherwise would have gone to the grave with her.

Both Natalie and Kathleen have their own crises to deal with: Kathleen with the persistent (suppressed) grief over losing her runaway teen daughter, and Natalie with plowing along, quite isolated, without help from her absent, separated parents too mired in their own lives/depression to parent her. This, added to Natalie being cyberbullied by her former best friend, drives Natalie to seek help deciphering the spidery writing in a black notebook she has found in her basement (we come to learn it is her distant relation's memoir).

First, I love the dual female protagonists and the intergenerational/ancestral connections with the journal.  I enjoyed getting to know Kathleen's quirks (cooking a gourmet meal when lonely) and inner monologue ("all around us, girls in danger"), and seeing her long-lost daughter through the eyes of memory. Natalie's inner world, her tenuous sense of self without any real ally (until Kathleen starts personally offering support to her), and her blow-off-the-adult-and-act-apathetic verbal manner with mis-stepping parents was very believable, and I felt great empathy for her. (This resulted in giving some imaginary lectures to her parents.) It was lovely and poignant to watch these two women, younger and older, tentatively get to know each other, then come to depend upon each other.

But there's really a triad of main characters, because Bridget's delightful memoir becomes a third character in its own right. It reminds me of how Anne Bronte similarly inserted another story into the main narrative in The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. (However, Moore keeps interjecting Natalie's breathless suspense into the reading of Bridget's account, which gets a bit annoying. Yes, author, we haven't forgotten that Natalie is here, doing the reading with the co-archivist, Neil.) I won't spoil her tale for you here; I hope you'll read it for yourself. 

I enjoyed the interplay of dramas of the supporting characters and their subplots. For me, the crux of the dramatic tension rippled through the pages when Kathleen and Natalie once again met, in crisis, with no guard up, and their whole stories came out--finally!--to each other. That was what each needed the most...(Natalie to Kathleen): Tell me your story. Tell me why you are guarded, responsible, shut down--and maybe I will find a thread connecting me to you. And Kathleen to Natalie: Tell me the truth about your mother, your father, your ex-friend, what's happening to you. And I because I love my disappeared daughter, I can't help but love you and will do my utmost to bridge the gap to wake the people in your world whom you need the most.

I loved how Kathleen realized she couldn't re-live her time with her daughter through her connection with Natalie...if only life were so simple. But she could be who she was: a darn good archivist who helped people fill in the gaps in their family tree, in their story, in their hearts. And I dearly loved Bridget's journal's last words after her scandalous confession therein--life keeps going, for that's what a life does.

Unless we tell our stories, they will go to the grave with us. But they live on if they are shared. They can do some good to those we share them with, even if (especially if) they include the "bad" parts...those things we have learned the most from because they cost us, or our beloved ones, the most. That resonates with me, and the tale was well told.

Thumbs up.

by Emilee Weeks Ames