South of Broad, by Pat Conroy. I loved The Lords of Discipline. I liked My Losing Season. I saw The Prince of Tides and liked it well enough. And Conroy's forward in Gone With the End made the book sit a little better with me. So I was looking with great anticipation to readingthis book.
It started off with great promise. Leo Bloom Day, when we meet Leo Bloom, as well as Niles and Starla Whitehead and Betty, the orphans. There's Ike, the son of the new black football coach. The reader is introduced to Molly Huger and Fraser and Chad, the ultra-rich kids who were kicked out of their school for pot. And finally, the twins, Sheba and Trevor Poe, with the crazy mother and psychopathic, pedophilic father. Somehow, we're supposed to believe that in their senior year of high school, these ten diverse individuals formed such a tight bond that Niles, the moutain boy, could find love with Fraser, the rich (but homely) high school basketball star. Of course, the only two black characters, Ike and Betty would have to find love with each other. We're supposed to believe that the conversations among these friends was always witty and glittering and that all of them are very successful, particulaly Sheba, who is gorgeous and becomes a Hollywood star.
There's is a lot that Conroy asks us to believe. But the story is not particularly believable and ultimately, I have to admit that I missed the theme of this story. At best, it reminded me of a weaker version of The Big Chill, on the road to San Francisco, without a good soundtrack of course. Ultimately it starts to seem silly and preposterous.
It's beautifully written--that Conroy has a way with words. But this story is not among his best.
Current read: Never Let Me Go
Current listen: Atlas Shrugged
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Some progress
A Thousand Splendid Sunss. When I read books set in the 18th or 19th century, particularly Brit Lit, I often think how fortunate I am to live at a time and in a place where woman aren't second-class citizens and where there is upward mobility. This book is a reminder of the difficulty of life for women in the Middle East. Two women, both who have much to recommend them, totally dependent on Rasheed, who has no incentive to become educated, to be temperate, or least of all, a good lover. He knows he can have not one, but two women who are essentially his property; he has absolute control over them.
Beautifully written, it's hard not to fall in love with the characters of Mariam and Laila and to cry for suffering they endure. Poor Mariam, who knew few days of happiness once she deserted her mom and went in search for her father--at least not until she allowed herself to love and care for Laila and Aziza. Triumphant Laila, who finally got to marry her true love, but only after years of suffering marriage to Rasheed and having to deal with him putting her daughter, Aziza, in an orphanage rather than finding a way to feed all of them or to share what little they had.
I am blessed that I'm never likely to experience such things other than vicariously.
Persuasion, by Jane Austen. This is not my favorite book but once I finally sat down to read it and fell back to reading Austen's English as well as I do modern English, it went pretty fast. I knew that Anne Elliot would end up with Capt. Wentworth, the man she was engaged to marry some eight years earlier until a good friend persuaded her that it would be a poor match since his fortune was yet to be earned, notwithtanding his absolute confidence that he would have success at sea.
I like Jane Austen perhaps because her stories are reminders that money doesn't necessarily mean brains or good judgement, as is evident in Anne's father, who couldn't manage to live within his means but looks down on Capt Wentwoth's station in life. But even Anne, the heroine, is somewhat shallow in finding Mrs Clay unacceptable for her widowed father because she has freckles and doesn't come from a family of the same social level. Ultimately, Mrs Clay would not have been a good match, but for more substantive reasons than Anne has for objecting to her.
Predictable, but still good.
Reading: South of Broad, by Pat Conroy.
Listening: Atlas Shrugged, by Ayn Rand.
Beautifully written, it's hard not to fall in love with the characters of Mariam and Laila and to cry for suffering they endure. Poor Mariam, who knew few days of happiness once she deserted her mom and went in search for her father--at least not until she allowed herself to love and care for Laila and Aziza. Triumphant Laila, who finally got to marry her true love, but only after years of suffering marriage to Rasheed and having to deal with him putting her daughter, Aziza, in an orphanage rather than finding a way to feed all of them or to share what little they had.
I am blessed that I'm never likely to experience such things other than vicariously.
Persuasion, by Jane Austen. This is not my favorite book but once I finally sat down to read it and fell back to reading Austen's English as well as I do modern English, it went pretty fast. I knew that Anne Elliot would end up with Capt. Wentworth, the man she was engaged to marry some eight years earlier until a good friend persuaded her that it would be a poor match since his fortune was yet to be earned, notwithtanding his absolute confidence that he would have success at sea.
I like Jane Austen perhaps because her stories are reminders that money doesn't necessarily mean brains or good judgement, as is evident in Anne's father, who couldn't manage to live within his means but looks down on Capt Wentwoth's station in life. But even Anne, the heroine, is somewhat shallow in finding Mrs Clay unacceptable for her widowed father because she has freckles and doesn't come from a family of the same social level. Ultimately, Mrs Clay would not have been a good match, but for more substantive reasons than Anne has for objecting to her.
Predictable, but still good.
Reading: South of Broad, by Pat Conroy.
Listening: Atlas Shrugged, by Ayn Rand.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Disturbing
The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, by Rebecca Skloot. Having taught the case Moore v. UCLA for years when I taught Property, this book immediately caught my attention. I was outaged that UCLA would, without consent or knowledge, take Mr. Moore's cells and develop a cell line estimated to be worth billions of dollars. That Moore would have no legal recourse was even more disturbing.
And then there's Henrietta Lacks. An African-American woman, years before Moore, she suffered the same fate. Mrs. Lacks was the victim cervical cancer. Her cancer cells were the first that scientists were able to culture and grow in a lab. They were special; given the appropriate nutrients, they continue to divide forever. As a result of the HPV virus, her cervical cells mutated in such a way as to become truly immortal.
It is probably not hyperbole to suggest that every single person alive today has benefitted in some way from Mrs. Lack's cells. But not Henrietta. In fact, she suffered a horrific death from her cancer. Given that her cancer was diagnosed in the early 1950s at a time long before chemotherapy drugs existed in any substantial form or radiation was fully understood, cervical cancer was essentially a death sentence for many women. So, at the risk of sounding cold or callous, her death is sad, but no more tragic than the loss of others who died from cancer then or who die today despite the advances in cancer treatment.
What is particularly tragic is that her family, including her five children, never benefitted from the millions (billions?) of dollars that have been generated from selling her cells or from the products devloped using those cells. Mrs. Lacks' family is poor; her children don't even have health insurance that would allow them to obtain the drugs that have been developed using their mother's cells. In fact, her family wasn't aware that Mrs. Lacks cells existed until years after her death when researchers contacted them so that research might be conducted on them.
All of Mrs. Lacks' children have suffered to some degree or another, but Mrs. Lacks' younger daughter, Deborah, seems to have suffered almost as much as did her mother. Growing up without a mother and poorly educated; being treated wth condescension by those who didn't bother to explain things to her or being deliberately misled by those who aimed to take advantage of her, she was never sure whom to trust.
This book describes Deborah's trials as well as those of her siblings. Skloot recounts the science behind the HeLa cell line and the scientists who developed it. In the process, she raises a rash of legal and ethical questions. More importantly, she brings the memory of Henrietta Lacks to life. As one of the original scientists remarked early in the book, when she saw Mrs. Lacks' painted toenails as she finished the autopsy, she was reminded that indeed Henrietta Lacks was a real person, a woman who at one time lived an ordinary life. This book serves a reminder to those of us who didn't have to worry about contracting polio or who have the benefit of drugs that are safe and effective of the contribution Mrs. Lacks made to science. And perhaps opening up to Skloot so that this book could become a reality resulted in Deborah gaining some degree of peace before her death.
A book well worth reading.
And then there's Henrietta Lacks. An African-American woman, years before Moore, she suffered the same fate. Mrs. Lacks was the victim cervical cancer. Her cancer cells were the first that scientists were able to culture and grow in a lab. They were special; given the appropriate nutrients, they continue to divide forever. As a result of the HPV virus, her cervical cells mutated in such a way as to become truly immortal.
It is probably not hyperbole to suggest that every single person alive today has benefitted in some way from Mrs. Lack's cells. But not Henrietta. In fact, she suffered a horrific death from her cancer. Given that her cancer was diagnosed in the early 1950s at a time long before chemotherapy drugs existed in any substantial form or radiation was fully understood, cervical cancer was essentially a death sentence for many women. So, at the risk of sounding cold or callous, her death is sad, but no more tragic than the loss of others who died from cancer then or who die today despite the advances in cancer treatment.
What is particularly tragic is that her family, including her five children, never benefitted from the millions (billions?) of dollars that have been generated from selling her cells or from the products devloped using those cells. Mrs. Lacks' family is poor; her children don't even have health insurance that would allow them to obtain the drugs that have been developed using their mother's cells. In fact, her family wasn't aware that Mrs. Lacks cells existed until years after her death when researchers contacted them so that research might be conducted on them.
All of Mrs. Lacks' children have suffered to some degree or another, but Mrs. Lacks' younger daughter, Deborah, seems to have suffered almost as much as did her mother. Growing up without a mother and poorly educated; being treated wth condescension by those who didn't bother to explain things to her or being deliberately misled by those who aimed to take advantage of her, she was never sure whom to trust.
This book describes Deborah's trials as well as those of her siblings. Skloot recounts the science behind the HeLa cell line and the scientists who developed it. In the process, she raises a rash of legal and ethical questions. More importantly, she brings the memory of Henrietta Lacks to life. As one of the original scientists remarked early in the book, when she saw Mrs. Lacks' painted toenails as she finished the autopsy, she was reminded that indeed Henrietta Lacks was a real person, a woman who at one time lived an ordinary life. This book serves a reminder to those of us who didn't have to worry about contracting polio or who have the benefit of drugs that are safe and effective of the contribution Mrs. Lacks made to science. And perhaps opening up to Skloot so that this book could become a reality resulted in Deborah gaining some degree of peace before her death.
A book well worth reading.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
An Accomplishment of Sorts
Because it's listed as one of the best novels of all time, I felt obliged to read Gone with the Wind. I've never wanted to read it. I never watched more than bits and pieces of the movie and never felt that my life was missing anything. But I set out to read it, encouraged a bit by the very elegant forward by Pat Conroy. So I read it. Screaming and cussing all the way.
In the end, if I read it as a story of survival of a strong female protagonist, then it was mostly a good soap opera. If I read it as an apology for the South and the "glorious cause" for which it seceded, then I'm not convinced. In fact, I came away even more convinced that the right side won the War and proud to be Yankee--after all, they won the War.
There wasn't a single likeable character. Not Scarlett, that conniving, self-centered witch. Not "Miss Melly" (who would have been "Miss Smelly" if she'd grown up around real people). Melanie, that gracious "great lady," who cheered the murder of a Union soldier. Not Prissy, who is portrayed as being the dumbest person who ever walked the earth. Not Ashley, who had about as much spirit as cold oatmeal, a weakling, willing to hide behind the skirts of Miss Smelly (I mean Melly). Not Rhett, just as Machiavellian as Scarlett. Perhaps, Mammy came closest to being likeable, but even she, critical of the "free issue n ," who were at least willing to support themselves rather than continuing on as a willing slave, had little to recommend her.
To the extent the book gave me some insight into so-called "Sourthern Pride" I suppose that is a merit of the book.
But it's done.
Now reading: The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, by Rebecca Skloot.
In the end, if I read it as a story of survival of a strong female protagonist, then it was mostly a good soap opera. If I read it as an apology for the South and the "glorious cause" for which it seceded, then I'm not convinced. In fact, I came away even more convinced that the right side won the War and proud to be Yankee--after all, they won the War.
There wasn't a single likeable character. Not Scarlett, that conniving, self-centered witch. Not "Miss Melly" (who would have been "Miss Smelly" if she'd grown up around real people). Melanie, that gracious "great lady," who cheered the murder of a Union soldier. Not Prissy, who is portrayed as being the dumbest person who ever walked the earth. Not Ashley, who had about as much spirit as cold oatmeal, a weakling, willing to hide behind the skirts of Miss Smelly (I mean Melly). Not Rhett, just as Machiavellian as Scarlett. Perhaps, Mammy came closest to being likeable, but even she, critical of the "free issue n ," who were at least willing to support themselves rather than continuing on as a willing slave, had little to recommend her.
To the extent the book gave me some insight into so-called "Sourthern Pride" I suppose that is a merit of the book.
But it's done.
Now reading: The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, by Rebecca Skloot.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Quick turnaround
Justice, by Michael Sandel. I have at least a passing understanding of the philsophies of Kant, Jeremy Bentham, and others as they attempted to develop a theory of justice. The ideas of justice expressed in the book have already influenced the way I view some of the concepts I teach. In class recently, my discussion about the employment-at-will doctrine was heavily influenced by some of the concepts stated in the book. It was fun to see the students thinking through the questions I posed.
A good book. Sometimes a bit dry, but perhaps it merits my re-reading.
Child 44, by Tom Rob Smith. Are you kidding me? If this book were any more improbable, it would have sprouted wings and flown around the room.
As a suspense book, it was a page turner. As a reminder of the brutality of the Stalinist regime, it stoked my interest. But that said, the plot was totally implausible. That two people, Leo and his wife, Raisa, with no training in criminal investigation in a culture where crime officially didn't exist so that to suggest such was a crime against the State, could discover the identity of a serial killer and confront him is nothing short of a flight of fancy. That they could do so when the murders stretched the length of the country when traveling without papers makes the story even more unbelievable. That a former security police officer, discredited and demoted to the lowest of jobs could manage to solve the crime, elude detection as he snuck back into Moscow, escape from a prison train, and still escape capture with no money just stretches an improprobale story even more. And to end the storys with the hokiest, dime-store ending--of the millions of people who lived in the Soviet Union, the perp was Leo's brother, whom he hadn't seen in 20 years? Yeah, right.
If reading about a serial killer of chidren can be called "light reading", as light reading goes, it was mildly entertaining, but having read in another phase of my reading life a number of tightly written stories of Soviet Russia (The Charm School), this one doesn't come close.
Listening to I, Claudius.
Reading, Gone with the Wind??
A good book. Sometimes a bit dry, but perhaps it merits my re-reading.
Child 44, by Tom Rob Smith. Are you kidding me? If this book were any more improbable, it would have sprouted wings and flown around the room.
As a suspense book, it was a page turner. As a reminder of the brutality of the Stalinist regime, it stoked my interest. But that said, the plot was totally implausible. That two people, Leo and his wife, Raisa, with no training in criminal investigation in a culture where crime officially didn't exist so that to suggest such was a crime against the State, could discover the identity of a serial killer and confront him is nothing short of a flight of fancy. That they could do so when the murders stretched the length of the country when traveling without papers makes the story even more unbelievable. That a former security police officer, discredited and demoted to the lowest of jobs could manage to solve the crime, elude detection as he snuck back into Moscow, escape from a prison train, and still escape capture with no money just stretches an improprobale story even more. And to end the storys with the hokiest, dime-store ending--of the millions of people who lived in the Soviet Union, the perp was Leo's brother, whom he hadn't seen in 20 years? Yeah, right.
If reading about a serial killer of chidren can be called "light reading", as light reading goes, it was mildly entertaining, but having read in another phase of my reading life a number of tightly written stories of Soviet Russia (The Charm School), this one doesn't come close.
Listening to I, Claudius.
Reading, Gone with the Wind??
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Keepin' it brief
Read: The French Lieutenant's Woman. A beautifully written book about existentialism. Sara Woodruff, not defined by Victorian convention. Lives her life, notwithstanding the contstraints of the period. Sometimes laugh-out-loud funny. Some twists in the plot. I'm not sure that I fully understand Sara, but she's what I'd like to think I am or would have been had I lived during that time. I'm not even close.
Read: The Checklist Manifesto, by Atul Gawande. It only made sense that because I read Gawande's other two books that I would read this one as well. A quick read that extolls the virtues of using checklists. Gawande makes the case for the use of checklists in all areas where the complexity has grown to exceed the abilty of one individual. He relies on examples from the world of finance, aviation, and construction to demonstrate the value of checklists. He makes the case, but probably could have done it just fine with fewer examples. I got themessage from the time I bought the book.
Listening to: Justice.
About to read: Gone With the Wind???
Read: The Checklist Manifesto, by Atul Gawande. It only made sense that because I read Gawande's other two books that I would read this one as well. A quick read that extolls the virtues of using checklists. Gawande makes the case for the use of checklists in all areas where the complexity has grown to exceed the abilty of one individual. He relies on examples from the world of finance, aviation, and construction to demonstrate the value of checklists. He makes the case, but probably could have done it just fine with fewer examples. I got themessage from the time I bought the book.
Listening to: Justice.
About to read: Gone With the Wind???
Friday, January 15, 2010
I Should'a posted!
I did finish some reading on my Christmas break. NJot a lot, but some.
The Girl Who Played with Fire, by Stieg Larson. A sequel to The Girl With the Dragon Tatoo, Lizabeth returns to prove that she's smarter than anyone I know. A hacker with perfect memory, she is at at the heart of the mystery surrounding the death of two new characters who were about to publish an expose/thesis about th white slave industry in Sweden. There is a Star Wars-like revelation and and an even more shocking twist. Parts are implausible, but I like that Larson creates stories about strong women, particuarly a strong woman who hates men who hate women. I'm looking forward to the next book. Sorry that there won't be more given Larson's death.
A Death in the Family, by James Agee. A short, but moving book about the death of a father in a car accident. The irony of his having traveled to his parents' house out of fear that hisown father was on his deathbed, only to find that his father was not. And then to be killed on the way home to his family, having promised his family that he would return. The anxious waiting following the call to the man's wife about the accident, without providing information about the condition of the victim. The initial shock and the questions about what happened. The telling of the children. The visit tothe funeral home. All are poetically described. Ultimately, the books serves as a reminder of how tenuous of a grasp on life any given individual has, and how interwoven are the lives of those who love that individual. Life is sweet even when it is hard.
The Girl Who Played with Fire, by Stieg Larson. A sequel to The Girl With the Dragon Tatoo, Lizabeth returns to prove that she's smarter than anyone I know. A hacker with perfect memory, she is at at the heart of the mystery surrounding the death of two new characters who were about to publish an expose/thesis about th white slave industry in Sweden. There is a Star Wars-like revelation and and an even more shocking twist. Parts are implausible, but I like that Larson creates stories about strong women, particuarly a strong woman who hates men who hate women. I'm looking forward to the next book. Sorry that there won't be more given Larson's death.
A Death in the Family, by James Agee. A short, but moving book about the death of a father in a car accident. The irony of his having traveled to his parents' house out of fear that hisown father was on his deathbed, only to find that his father was not. And then to be killed on the way home to his family, having promised his family that he would return. The anxious waiting following the call to the man's wife about the accident, without providing information about the condition of the victim. The initial shock and the questions about what happened. The telling of the children. The visit tothe funeral home. All are poetically described. Ultimately, the books serves as a reminder of how tenuous of a grasp on life any given individual has, and how interwoven are the lives of those who love that individual. Life is sweet even when it is hard.
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